In North Carolina, remnants of Helene become an ‘unprecedented tragedy’

Raging floods and mudslides unleashed by the remnants of Hurricane Helene have dealt an “unprecedented tragedy” in the mountains of western North Carolina, leaving at least 37 people dead in the region and communities struggling to cope without water, food, power, gasoline and cellphone service.

More than 400 miles from where it made landfall as a powerful hurricane, Helene has continued to wreak havoc across several states, with an overall death toll reaching more than 90 on Sunday. That total could still rise as rescue workers reach stranded communities.

Some of the worst devastation was in the towns and cities nestled between the forested mountains of western North Carolina, with roads, power lines and water treatment facilities heavily damaged throughout the region.

Local and federal officials along with the National Guard raced to deliver supplies to paralyzed areas, and repair and restore what they could, while dozens of other teams searched for people who fell victim to the raging floodwaters or were still looking to escape.

“This is an unprecedented tragedy that requires an unprecedented response,” North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper said at a news briefing Sunday afternoon.

Officials said that about 460,000 people were without power and more than 1,000 had taken refuge in 24 shelters. A major disaster declaration was in effect for 25 counties.

In the town of Swannanoa, helicopters were dropping food from overhead at a church and a Harley-Davidson shop. About 20 miles northwest, in Weaverville, the water treatment plant was damaged by 8 feet of rainwater, said Mayor Patrick Fitzsimmons.

Complicating the recovery efforts was the vast number of road closures — more than 200, including Interstate 40 — and the damage to the water treatment facilities. In the artsy and rapidly growing city of Asheville, officials said restoring the full system could take weeks.

On Sunday, the volume of water in the city that had consumed entire restaurant buildings had barely receded in the afternoon. Blue dumpster bins, kegs from breweries and colorful pieces of pottery floated by on the floodwaters. Debris littered the streets, including a washed-out Halloween costume, mangled chairs and tangles of branches.

All around Asheville, there was evidence of the destruction caused by Helene, which made landfall on Florida’s Gulf Coast on Thursday night before marching inland and tearing across the Southeast. Huge trees were collapsed and entire stretches of roads were crumbled and engulfed by rivers.

But the personal devastation was most visible in the pockets of downtown where people gathered, looking for a bar of cellphone reception or spotty Wi-Fi to reach friends and family who had lost communication with them. At a public library, dozens huddled as near as they could to the closed building to reach its Wi-Fi and connect, often for the first time in days, to the outside world.

Matthew Eberst, 23, of Asheville, had only enough gas in his vehicle to drive 32 miles, but he had risked a trip to the library because he needed to know how his friends were, and tell others that he was OK.

“Trying to get home,” Eberst texted a friend worried about him. “But I have no gas.”

Others near the library were similarly questioning whether it was worth risking the few gallons of gas they had left to flee Asheville.

“We can’t be making treks for Wi-Fi for very much longer,” said Scott Saettel, 45, who just moved from Denver this month, one of the many newcomers drawn by the city’s outdoorsy aesthetic and sweeping mountain views.

Around Saettel were several people speaking to loved ones on the phone, some tearfully relaying that they were alive and others discovering, at last, that the person on the other line was fine. And they echoed similar questions: Are you OK? Do you have food? Can I help you?

Others sent more messages to people who had not responded in days.

“It’s moment by moment at this point,” said Joshua Upchurch, 35, as he responded to the 68 text messages he had received from family while offline. His best friend lives near the Swannanoa River, which had badly flooded, and now Upchurch blasted texts to him one more time. “How are you doing?” he wrote.

Avril Pinder, manager of Buncombe County, which includes Asheville, said clear skies were helping search-and-rescue crews as they canvassed the area. “We are still trying to save every single person we can,” she said.

Officials there said that the number of unaccounted people had fallen below 600. Earlier, Pinder said they had received about 1,000 reports of people unable to find family members, but she said that some were duplicates and that she was confident the numbers would drop as communication systems were restored. It is common in the immediate aftermath of natural disasters that numbers of missing people swell as survivors become cut off from family members.

Two districts in Asheville beloved by tourists and locals for its restaurants and shops were almost entirely walloped by severe flooding: the Biltmore Village, a dining destination, and the River Arts District, which is filled with artworks and bars.

“This is a beautiful, beautiful place,” said Karen Moore, 60, who has lived in Asheville for 11 years. She owns a condo that she rents out to tourists, but some of them had recently canceled their reservations for the fall, the busiest period for tourism in the tree-covered city. “Now we’re quite literally underwater,” she said.

Kevin Roush, 70, was walking his dog, Cooper, around downtown Asheville on Sunday, wondering how his friends were faring, especially those who were in their twilight years and disabled.

“We are witnessing a historic disaster,” Roush said, glancing at his phone to see if a bar of service had lit up.

Buncombe County Sheriff Quentin Miller said there were also reports of people waiting in hourslong lines for gas, with arguments breaking out in some cases. He added that he would order more deputies to patrol business districts to prevent looting.

Most of the few businesses in Asheville that were open were accepting only cash Sunday, which resulted in a huge line at an ATM, with more than 100 people and a wait of over an hour. For those who were cashless, that meant scrambling to find places handing out free meals and water.

“I ate my last bit of food today,” Sky Wynn, 30, told his mother over the phone next to a hotel offering free Wi-Fi. “Probably not what you wanted to hear, huh?”

Wynn, who lives in his van, said he had only a $20 bill with him, but he had heard a ramen restaurant was serving customers for free. Still, he said he was more worried about his friends who lived in low-lying areas and had not responded to his calls. “The not knowing, that’s what makes me nervous,” he said.

Cooper said the state was urgently trying to get supplies to affected areas and would be setting up “mass-feeding sites.” In many communities where water systems were shut down, residents were urged to boil water or use bottled water, if they could find it.

Magda Randolph, 72, who has lived in Asheville for 24 years, said she had never experienced a flooding event this powerful and wondered about the long-term impact.

“Our water system is greatly compromised. Our landfill got compromised,” she said. “It’s unclear what the quality of life is going to be like here for a while.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

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