I made a couple of trips, handing water up the stairs to Kathy and was back in the kitchen when the room went dark. I looked up and the nine foot windows were covered by water.
By Louis Cahill
I haven’t made a big deal out of my move to Western North Carolina but it has been a really big deal for me and my wife, Kathy. Since I lost the sight in my right eye, and some of my left, getting to the mountains to fish has been a real challenge. I still see well enough to drive during the day but absolutely not after dark. Living in Atlanta sucks but living in Atlanta and not being able to escape for a good day of fishing is out-right intolerable. Tired of having to get off the water before the fishing gets good, so I can get home before dark, and with Kathy’s work more and more remote, we pulled the trigger on a home forty-five minutes north of Asheville in a place called Green Mountain.
If you watched 60 Minutes last week, you know that Green Mountain is what they are calling Ground Zero for the devastation caused by hurricane Helene. The destruction in and around our neighborhood is nothing short of biblical. Many of our neighbors are simply gone, and many more homeless. Those who still have homes are facing the onset of winter without heat, or in most cases, water. The devastation of the roads leading into and out of Green Mountain make supply runs long and dangerous. I honestly have no words for what I have seen there. I open my mouth to tell people and nothing comes out.
Our home is a story in itself. It’s honestly a dream I’ve had since I was a teenager. Someone in my hometown bought an old church and turned it into a home and the idea has fascinated me ever since. After almost 2 years of looking for the right place, we stumbled across an old Methodist church for sale. It was perfect. Not too big and without a grave yard. Two stories with a second floor sanctuary sporting 24 foot timber framed ceilings. It was love at first sight. Best of all, or so we thought, it’s just a quarter mile from the North Toe River.
I’ve had a few great days catching smallmouth on that river. I never expected, no one did, to find that river in my house. The three days leading up to hurricane Helene, seventeen inches of rain fell in our area. The ground was already saturated and the river and creeks full. Thursday night, Helene brought another thirty-one inches. By mid morning we had waste deep water in the downstairs and the yard was completely flooded. Kathy had filled jugs with water, as we were sure we would lose power and with it our well water. Thinking we might have a few inches of water downstairs at worst, I had left them on the kitchen counter.
You are getting the cliff notes version of this story, as it is quite involved, but I want to step away from the narrative for a minute and talk about the importance of making good decisions. I’ve always been really good in a crisis. Probably from having lots of practice. I feel like I can say without hesitation that the most important skill you can have in crisis is the ability to make clearheaded decisions in a hurry. I made a lot of really good decisions that day. Some that I believe saved my family, but it only takes one bad decision to ruin your day and I made one really bad decision.
With the downstairs already waste deep in water I decided to go after our drinking water. The scene downstairs was pretty dismal. The toilets were geysering six feet in the air and it smelled awful. My Smithfly raft, which I’d brought inside and packed with fishing gear was floating around the room. The water was almost to the countertops. I made a couple of trips, handing water up the stairs to Kathy and was back in the kitchen when the room went dark. I looked up and the nine foot windows were covered by water.
The scene was surreal and terrifying. Water was spraying through every crack. The key hole in the back door looked like a garden hose. I headed for the stairs but before I made it the windows broke and the full force of the current came through the house, pushing me back across the room. The water level in the room was rising fast and, luckily, had pinned my raft against the ceiling. I grabbed hold and was able to pull myself through the current to the door frame and out to the stairs. When I made it to the stairs, there was a foot of air left between the water and the ceiling. We grabbed our pets and abandoned the building through a second story door, which has a wheelchair ramp to the street.
The ordeal that passed over the next few days felt like a zombie movie. I am not going to go into all the details. Some of them are awful. I will just say two things. The state of things in Western North Carolina is probably worse than you know and I am beyond proud to be a part of this amazing community. My neighbors are amazing people and I don’t know what would have happened to us without their help. I would especially like to mention Deb and Rick at Triple R Oasis who took us in and fed us after the water came down and we were still trapped by road outages. Yes, that’s a shameless plug.
Kathy and I are safe, as are our animals. We even came home with an extra dog who lost his home in the flood. Many of our neighbors are gone. Some from the street, where the church is the only building left, and some from the world. Our hearts are heavy for those families. It will be a long time before anything feels normal in that part of the stat again. When it does, we’ll be there.
P.S.
Kathy and I are facing an enormous task cleaning up and rebuilding our devastated home. I have been humbled by the support we are receiving from friends, old and new, and strangers. My dear friend and long time G&G contributor, Dan Frasier, has put together a Go Fund Me page. I am linking to it here, kind of under duress. If you are inclined to help it is truly appreciated but never expected. My heart is buoyed by the generous support we are receiving. I have never been good at asking for, or even accepting, help. It is something I am having to learn. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all.
Louis Cahill
Gink & Gasoline
hookups@ginkandgasoline.com