I arrived in a rain squall in a little place called Maggie Valley, west of Asheville, the night before Helene hit. I was there to meet up with a group of photographers to capture the elk rut in nearby Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Little did we know that the hurricane would devastate communities dotting the valley floor and mountain sides alike. Raging rivers, power outages, flooding, communities swept away, roads destroyed, cell towers gone. No power, no cell service, no TV, no GPS. And that was the start. Soon gas stations closed, stores emptied. Then came the cash economy.
We were literally cutoff. Not only were we cut off we were blind as well. We had no idea what was happening beyond our little valley. The hotel I think had generator power, and as the days passed the hotel filled up with folks who needed power to run ventilators or other medical devices. I heard the folks next door whispering as they swapped oxygen tanks through the night.
Our group started to gather tidbits of intel from folks we ran into. Mostly about local roads and interstates. The interstates were closed in all the cardinal directions. Because no one had paper maps, we started to collect local tourist-type magazines and tear the cartoon like maps out, you know the ones with no scale or accuracy. From these we crafted homemade mosaic of the area and updated them with the intel we had gathered: I-40 west closed, I-40 east closed, I-26 north closed, I-26 south unknown….
Our hotel fortunately had an attached Mexican Cantina Restaurant. It became the gathering spot, a morning and nightly spot to meet up with folks and share information, great food, soon cash only. No doubt they had their issues at home coping with the damage brought by the hurricane, yet they showed up. The hotel staff were just a great as the restaurant staff. You would ask as how things were going: Things okay at home? Family safe? Their responses guarded, stoic.
We strangers, that is the 12 or so photographers from across the country, banded together. Shared family stories, swapped tales about our dogs, “loaned” cash to folks that needed it. No one asked or cared about one’s political views, one’s origins or status. That was all bullshit now. We gamed and planned exit strategies to get home.
One morning the Mexican Cantina was crowded with new faces, the parking lot crowded with utility trucks. I didn’t recognize the company name. I approached a group eating breakfast and asked what roads they took to get into the region. They said they were prepositioned in the area before the storm and didn’t know anything about road leading out of the area. I asked where they were from. Their response: Canada. I thanked them. They planned to be in the area for a while they said. Damage to the electrical infrastructure was bad, needed rebuilding, they added.
Our ragtag group of photographers made it out. Most went east then north. I went north through Asheville and saw first-hand the devastation. Asheville was hurting. Going north on I-26 I eventually diverted off onto country roads. My stomach sank to my feet when I saw sign saying Exit, road closed ahead. I-26 was closed. Once on the country roads it was ‘follow the car in front of you,’ hoping the road would remain open.
At some point, I stopped at an intersection near a bridge where there were two state trooper cars. I pointed to the road, asking, “Does that road go to Tennessee?” The response: “Yep.” It was a blur and didn’t really know where I was or where I was going. Finally, came around a bend, I think south of Erwin, and got a look at the river valley and I-26. The interstate looked as if someone had scooped up the valley and tossed all the mud and boulders and tree trunks onto it. One of those moments that takes your breath away.
Once I finally got decent radio and news feeds as I neared I-81, I was angered by news reports of the rank politics of casting blame on Biden and the Democrats I was goddamned livid because it sullied how we all banded together to help each other. Strangers all.
The news that Hurricane relief funds for Asheville, North Carolina were recently denied by the Trump Administration because of language in Asheville’s hundred or so page funding request, sparked my rage again. It also brought back memories of the Canadians who came to help and how they are being taunted by Trump. Is that how we repay friendship to our neighbors and friends? The offending funding request contained a single line about minority and women-owned businesses. The HUD secretary said, ‘DEI is dead at HUD.’ Mean, petty and cruel are still live and thriving it seems.
Today, I kind of feel like I did on that country road last year: Kind of a blur, not really knowing where my country is or where it is going.
