In September of last year, Hurricane Helene came through Western NC and absolutely decimated large swaths of land in my area. Entire small towns in our area lost their communities to the floods, with some 12,000 homes uninhabitable or completely gone in the aftermath. There were an estimated 1,000 landslides in our mountains, destroying homes, ending lives, and forever changing the landscape.
I live in Asheville, where the massive amount of rainfall flooded our rivers, and the strong winds uprooted huge trees in the soggy ground. One of the main downtown areas in Asheville, and the most bikeable and walkable part of our city, flooded over 30 feet, and we lost some of my favorite spots including our local climbing gym and a gear consignment shop.
The Blue Ridge mountains that surround our city are known for their tree-filled ridgelines, turning a lush green in the spring and bright golden hues in the fall. However, many of these ridges in the surrounding area lost a majority of their trees, like bowling pins flattened to the earth.
And in the past few weeks this spring after a prolonged, abnormally-long dry spell, wildfires burned up so many of those dead, fallen trees and debris, more than 20,000 acres of some of our most beautiful mountain trails and camp spots.
With shifting weather patterns and climate change, these extreme weather events are happening more frequently and in areas previously thought to be somewhat immune to the effects of climate change. Asheville was even deemed a climate safe haven by some: thought to be too far inland for hurricanes, too mountainous for tornadoes, too rainy for fires, and not on a fault line to be affected by earthquakes. But as we’ve all lived in the past six months, no place is safe from extreme weather and its devastating impacts.
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Immediate Aftermath
My family and most of those close to us were extremely fortunate to be safe from the harm and to not have sustained damage to our homes, but needless to say, our lives were completely changed after the hurricane. We spent weeks with no electricity and no water flowing through our pipes, and months with no drinking water at our house. Our kids were out of school for an entire month, and only six months after the storm was the water at their schools deemed safe for drinking.
Although this was a hardship for us, I was also incredibly lucky to have been so prepared. I pulled out our Coleman camping stove and set up a front porch kitchen, used my bear canister to retrieve water from our creek to flush our toilets, and filtered creek water with my Platypus gravity filter for drinking. I set up a dry toilet outside on our back porch, and it was not too difficult since I already had kids accustomed to going outside from years of backpacking and camping.
We didn’t get to shower for weeks, but I had finished a thru-hike the month before, so this wasn’t so out of the ordinary and feeling grungy wasn’t terrible. Soon, we had a set-up to take cold showers with mason jars from rain barrels, though I couldn’t quite convince the teenagers to do it.
Along with having camping gear to use in the immediate aftermath of the hurricane, I already had plenty of ready-to-eat snacks and backpacking meals that I store for when the urge strikes me to go out and hike, so we never had to worry about food when the grocery stores weren’t open in the days following the storm. We ate through the food in our fridge and freezer before it went bad, even sharing with neighbors in a big community potluck grill fest when no one had power.
Once that was gone, we ate ramen until World Central Kitchen arrived and started feeding us along with a few creative local restaurants who had access to well water and brought it into the city in huge 275-gallon totes, so we never had to wait in a long grocery store line or try to scrounge up cash to pay (in the first weeks, most places couldn’t take cards since there was no internet).
Returning to the Mountains
As a mom who runs away to the mountains every chance she gets, the impact Helene had on my favorite trails, mountain streams, and campgrounds has been one of the hardest in terms of the lasting impact on my life. I swim in our local rivers and creeks and regularly commune with thousands of trees I walk past. I know so much of the landscape, so intimately, I couldn’t even begin to imagine in the beginning how affected these places might be after so much devastation.
I didn’t expect to have a strong urge to stick close to home in the aftermath of the storm. Leaving town felt impossibly difficult, and there was a strong sense of community and not wanting to abandon the folks you survived the storm with. Not to mention, even going camping was not particularly appealing after essentially being forced to “camp” at home for weeks with no power or water!
On top of the lack of desire to get outdoors, took months before I could even access many of my favorite spots, let alone the more commonly used trails close to town. With all of the Blue Ridge Parkway in our area closed, it felt impossible to even try to hike during what’s usually one of the most beautiful times of year here in Western NC with the mountain ridges changing into brilliant shades of golds and reds.
Through the incredibly hard work of volunteers and forest service employees, trails in Western NC began to reopen in the months following the hurricane. In November, a section of the Blue Ridge Parkway reopened, and my daughter and I drove up to one of our favorite backpacking spots for the night. One of the most popular spots near Asheville, Black Balsam Knob was practically deserted when we slept up there, a bit creepy to be honest since there are usually so many groups and individuals who frequent the area both backpacking and as day hikers.
As we hiked up towards the bald, we passed one of our favorite trees where we always take a snack break and climb on her sturdy branches. Like so many other trees, she did not survive the storm.
It took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes to see the familiar tree on her side, even though I had become used to scrambling over downed trees left and right on our streets and trails. This experience would be repeated over and over as more trails were cleared and re-opened, and I encountered once-familiar landscapes in ruins.
Streams and rivers had completely changed courses and were full of massive piles of debris. I still haven’t done much in the water exploration since Helene, and I’m curious to see how the summer goes. I have a few friends who are avid whitewater kayakers, and there is worry about underwater dangers from storm debris along with changed rock patterns and currents that many are left wondering if they will paddle these rivers safely in the near future.
And on top of the environmental impact the storm had on these places, I didn’t expect the emotional impact of trying to venture outdoors again. Walking along the rivers, even seven months later, we see remnants of homes: roof shingles, children’s toys, photographs and books.
But I love wild water play with my kids (and on my own!) and even wrote a post a few years ago about hiking to waterfalls in Western NC. This summer, I’ll start to return to these familiar sites to see how they’ve changed.
Prepping for the Future
I’m definitely not a prepper, and I don’t necessarily like a lot of the rhetoric or attitude towards “prepping” – so much of it is focused on individuals and families, hoarding resources to survive and trying to keep the outside world away during a crisis.
In contrast, what I found in the days after Helene was a strong sense of communal living, not only something I desired myself but also permeating the town itself. Neighbors walked around the streets, checking on each other, sharing food, fires, and supplies, and even trading childcare when schools didn’t reopen for a month.
But with that sense of community, also comes a sense of responsibility as someone who is able to store food, water, and other supplies in my home, to be prepared for the next natural disaster. When the National Guard was giving out boxes of water and MREs, we stored those up in our basement. I now have a decent supply of Sawyer Squeeze water filters that will double as backpacking filters AND emergency water filtering.
One other random item that came incredibly in handy when we didn’t water for those weeks was 5-gallon buckets, just the kind you can buy at a hardware store. I only had a few so then I ended up filling things like bear canisters and plastic totes, but especially the totes were clunky, awkward to carry, and leaky when I had them in the car. Once a supply of 5-gallon buckets was shipped in, I grabbed a bunch of them and they were amazingly useful from everything to hauling water, to flushing toilets, to making dry toilets.
Keeping plenty of fuel for my camp stove is also now high up on there on my list. I usually would only buy a canister or two when I knew we’d be going on a trip, but now I have a hefty supply of them for emergencies.
Other camping luxuries like solar showers were another item that was in high demand when we didn’t have water (and for the month or so when we got water back for flushing but it was too contaminated for showering). I also purchased a Berkey water filter, which can filter creek water in a pinch if the water supply is shut off. Now being a little too knowledgeable about municipal water supplies and all the chemicals they use (caustic soda, aluminum sulfate, orthophosphate, etc.) to get us clean, clear, lead-free water, I like the peace of mind (and taste) of filtering the water we get from our taps.
Moving on After Helene
Emotionally, living in a post-disaster community is a wild ride. In the matter of days, hours, or minutes, I went from experiencing the most profound gratitude for our safety, deep connection and love of our community around us, and utter sadness at the loss of life and the destruction of homes and small businesses. The daily witnessing of the devastation becomes normalized in a way, but it sometimes still takes my breath away to see semi-trucks in our rivers and massive piles of debris throughout the city.
For months, I felt a little jittery and anxious every time it rained hard. It’s still a whirlwind of emotions when I go for a hike, drive to the areas of town that were destroyed, when a new bridge is completed or road reopens. I cried when our local climbing gym announced they would rebuild and reopen next year, both remembering the flooding and all the precious memories I hold dear when I was in that building.
Slowly, slowly, life has moved on. Going back to the mountains to explore and find peace was my go-to mental health activity, so not being able to access my favorite hiking spots took a toll on me. As the springtime turns into summer, I am eager to keep exploring and healing in those same mountains and rivers I always have, embracing the scarring and the sadness along with the rejuvenation and beauty.
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- Hiking Safety for Kids
Getting Outside After a Natural Disaster
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