Monday, September 23, 2013

9.22.13 Riding the Roller Coaster

Today I’m sitting in a beautiful, completely furnished home that has been given to us to live in and use as our own. What an incredible gift. Saturday when we met the owners’ daughter to get keys and a tour, once again, tears sprang to my eyes. (When I named my blog “Flash Flood Colorado” I had no idea that this title would have a double meaning!) These tears were tears of gratefulness.  Steve works out of an office above our garage at home, and now has a basement office set up where he is doing business almost as usual. I have a load of laundry in the washer and another in the dryer. It feels close to normal life. We feel very blessed, especially as we know there are many people around us that are still in shelters or temporary housing.
Last week was a roller coaster of activity and emotion. We met with FEMA, but have no response from them, yet. We’ve been in contact with neighbors and are saddened with those that are still without housing. We’ve had moments of despair, but, we have been encouraged by all the phone calls, prayers, and offers from friends, old and new.

The lack of information was a frustration. Finally, on Friday, we started to get real info. A web page had been set up for the residents of our neighborhood, and our county had a meeting for all the evacuees. The statistics of how many people are affected by the flooding (several thousand, in our county alone) was more comprehendible when we saw the mass of people sitting in the auditorium for this meeting. Many different agencies were represented at the meeting, and I wanted to puke at all the political blathering. I might not be able to hold my tongue if another politician refers to the evacuees as being “resilient.” We need to see action, not hear platitudes! BUT, we were able to hear some encouraging words. CDOT plans to rebuild the roads as quickly as possible, giving residents access to homes by Dec. 1, and the sheriff plans to patrol the evacuated communities.

News had reached the outside world, that some of our neighbors had stayed and built a mile long single lane 4-wheel road from the highway, over a ridge and into another neighborhood that had road access. Quite a few people had been able to drive over on Saturday, bringing vehicles and other personal items. On Saturday, we heard of a group that planned to drive as far as possible and then hike into the neighborhood, also retrieving what they could. We made plans to join them, and obtained a pass from the Sheriff’s office to drive through the restricted area. Perhaps we would be able to get another vehicle out.

Early Sunday morning, we met Captain just outside of Lyons and headed up in his rental jeep.  We showed our passes at the National Guard check point and drove through Lyons, unable to see the town in the pre-dawn dark. Apple Valley Road and Blue Mountain road were open, and we headed up through the neighborhood that occupies the other side of Pinewood’s Ridge. We found the new road with a gate across it, but upon further inspection, the gate was not locked, so on we went.  Dawn was just emerging as we slowly picked our way along the bumpy, bendy, one-lane dirt road. Captain commented that he hoped we wouldn’t meet someone coming the other direction, and within 30 seconds, we did. After backing up into a small turnout, we let them pass and were on our way again. Soon, the road dumped out onto highway 36 about a mile below Pinewood.

Steve's first view of the new river bed
It was about 7am as we drove down Kiowa St., and saw neighbor Steve who told us that the last group of residents would be leaving in a convoy at 8am, and then the gate would be locked. We didn’t have much time. Neighbor Steve offered to drive us on the trail to the “island” with his ATV, but we determined that was not the best use of our time, so the only other option was to wade across the river if we wanted to get to our house. And that’s what we did. The river had gone down considerably, but was still much larger than normal. We picked up a couple of sticks in the debris to stabilize ourselves and away we went, getting wet up to our mid-thighs. A deer followed us as if to say, “I’m glad you’re back!”

The house looked just like it had when I had left, with the exception that the refrigerator and freezer were empty. We had 30 minutes to gather a few things that we could carry across the river: a few more clothes, a pair of shoes for each of us, important papers, my laptop, a quilt I was working on (my form of stress relief), and a bridesmaid dress that Leah would need in a few months. We also looked for things that might freeze and burst, setting them in the bathtub. We didn’t, however, have time to winterize the heating system and plumbing. That will require another trip. And, getting a vehicle out was impossible.

Leaving highway 36 onto the new road
This was Steve’s first look at the property since the flood, and he was amazed at the impact. He had heard descriptions from Captain and me, and had seen our pictures and videos, but seeing it was a different story.  Steve wasn’t able to put into words all that he was thinking and feeling, but he did say that he was feeling better about it all after being there.

the convoy
We lined up in the convoy and drove out with about 75 other vehicles. It was a long and slow process as we had to wait several times for all to catch up. 

A section of highway 36 completely gone.
Retracing our steps in the daylight was eye-opening.  We saw destruction in the town of Lyons:  houses that were twisted, caved-in, and swept away; debris piles left by the receding water that held chairs, sofa cushions, and other household items amid tree limbs and soggy grasses; vehicles crushed by rushing water and fallen trees, with mud and muck stuck in windows and bumpers; a water-logged piano lying in a yard. We caught a few glimpses of the damage to the highway, large sections fallen into the river, and a bridge with bedrock swept out from underneath its supports. On the main roads, we saw heavy equipment, utility trucks and law enforcement, all trying to do their part in the clean up. Sobered, I thanked God that my piano was safe in my living room, my sofa cushions were still on my sofa, and our vehicles, although inaccessible, were still safe in our garage.  
Debris field in Lyons (look closely to see a piano)





The beep of the dryer brings me back to the present, and normal life goes on…a new normal. This new normal includes intense thankfulness for safety, shelter and gracious people. This is a lesson from the roller coaster ride that I hope I never forget!




Wednesday, September 18, 2013

9-18-13 The first few days of "What's next?"

It is Wednesday afternoon and I am sitting at Scott's computer. After about 48 hours of no rain, a thunderstorm with high wind is blowing over. Normally a thunderstorm is a welcome event; today it brings up anxious feelings and memories. I transferred my journal and pictures into blog form this morning and decided that I should also record what happens next.

Over the past few days I have made and received numerous phone calls and emails. Friends and relatives are eager to hear "the story". I have spent many hours recounting different pieces of the past week. We've patiently tried to paint verbal pictures to people in other places who can't understand how a flash flood like this one can happen. Steve and I have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of care and support, and have received numerous offers to live in spare rooms and basements. Yesterday a call came from a couple from our church who are out of state for an extended time. They said that our name came into both of their minds yesterday and they wondered if we needed a place to stay. They offered for us to use their house and furnishings. Wow, our prayers were answered beyond what we thought possible. We had been looking for a place to park our RV and stay for a while. God is good! Saturday we plan to "move" in - i.e. each carry in a suitcase.

Important contacts have been made. A call to our insurance company resulted in receiving sympathy, but no benefits as our home is still standing. I put in an application with FEMA and should receive notification within a week if there are any benefits available there. I'm not holding my breath, but it's worth a shot.

This is highway 36 just NW of Pinewood Springs
(picture copied from the internet)
Every evening since I arrived here, we've sat on our computers and watched videos and pictures taken by people all over the flood area. We've seen videos of houses washed down stream and of rescue workers evacuating people from the mountains. We've watched multiple videos shot from airplane or helicopter windows showing the flooding and broken roads. As we watch we often recognize the road or town or building. The images also help us understand why we're getting reports that it may be many months before we go home.

Some of the common things of life have required a bit more thought now. We've had to purchase those things that you take for granted will be in the closet when you need them: shampoo, toothpaste, underwear, clothing, etc. I'm sure there will be more moments when I think, "Where did I leave my ________, oh, yeah!" All my important paperwork is in my desk at home, which required a stop at the bank to get temporary checks, and calling our utilities to make arrangements for bills. Yesterday I had to find our mail. Since our little Lyons post office is out of commission, I stopped in at the Longmont office and was surprised to find the Lyons postal employees set up in a corner. My mail was retrieved as I overheard others talking about losing their homes and belongings. I repeatedly get an "I am so blessed" feeling - I felt it then.

Flooded parking garage in Boulder
Last night, Steve and I took Buster, our grand-dog for an after dinner walk. Just a little spin around Scott and Jenna's neighborhood and we saw many lower level condos and offices stripped of furniture and floor coverings, with fans blowing to dry up the rain that collected there. The musty, mildew-y odor wafted through many open windows. Ruined carpet, furniture and saggy cardboard boxes are stacked by curbs. A garden level garage was being pumped out, while vehicles sat in bumper-high water. Scott has been volunteering in the clean up - moving furniture, removing carpet, scooping sludge in a bucket brigade, etc. The amazing thing is that this is a tiny piece of the picture. The story is being repeated all over NE Colorado.

And, life goes on everywhere we look. As I sat here today, I heard dogs barking, babies crying, horns honking and sirens wailing. I'm just glad that I'm not hearing the sounds of the raging river, although they will be forever imbedded in my head. Today's storm seems to be over. It was a normal one - moved in quickly, dropped a little rain and moved out. Phew




Monday, September 16, 2013

9-16-13 the After-effects

It has been several days since I’ve written. Several busy days. Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny!! In fact, it was dry all day. After breakfast of a hard boiled egg and 2 pieces of slightly dry raisin bread, I went to first see the river and then see how Captain and Roma were faring. The river had gone down some in the night, and they had slept well. Captain was on his deck heating tea on a single burner backpacking stove. Their dirty dishes were backing up and so were mine, so I put on a pot of water to boil and washed theirs and mine. It felt good to straighten up the house a bit, but I wished I could have run the vacuum on the entrance rug, which was caked with the grime that comes in during a rain.

My neighbor, Susan knocked on the door about 9am with a thawed turkey. I had told her that she could cook it on my stove-top. The turkey was divided into pieces and put into 2 stock pots to simmer. A crew from our “island” and the other part of the neighborhood were working on a trail for ATVs so that we would have a way out. Those of us not working on the trail were preparing food for the workers.

After the turkey was safely simmering, it was time for a cell phone run. I spoke with Steve who, again, told me of the necessity of getting out as soon as possible. When I told him that Captain and Roma where planning to stay, he became angry. I didn't understand at first, but after getting off the phone realized that this "thing" was must be much bigger than I was seeing. Little did I know that the flooding had covered an area the size of Connecticut. Steve also told me Beth had finally gotten communication out from Estes Park with a post on Facebook that they were safe and well. I called mom and got to speak with Leah for the first time since all this started; she was visiting my mom and dad in Holland, MI. Just as she got on the phone, an army helicopter descended into the small field just below the “cell phone” ridge. The noise and rushing air made it impossible to communicate, but I did hear her voice and that was good.
the army med evac helicopter


The helicopte
Getting instructions for
evacuating those with
medical needs
r was an army med evac unit. One of the soldiers hopped out and told us that they would be back in 30 minutes to collect the people with medical conditions and evacuate them to an area hospital. Several of the neighbors sped around our “island” rounding up these people: 2 older couples and an older woman with her grandson. At the same time, news came from the fire station by way off a neighbor who had hiked in that evacuations for the rest of us would begin later, probably starting Monday. The helicopter visit drew out all the neighbors and became a party as we watched the people being rounded up each with a few belongings, one with a small dog. We waved as we watch them being carried up into the air. 


I returned home to check on the turkey and prepare more food. I was walking up my driveway, when one of the volunteer firefighters drove up on an ATV with the announcement that general evacuations would be beginning as soon as possible at the fire station for as long as the weather held. Instructions were to pack only what we could carry, plus food for several meals. I scurried. I had already started a small duffle, but finished it. In it were clothing for 3 days, a pair of sandals, jacket, rain slicker, cell phone charger, toothbrush and medicines. I didn’t take things that I could easily replace. My laptop, library book and bible had to be rejected for weight reasons. I brought a house key to Roma and she came over to see what needed to be done in order to leave the house in good order. She took over with the food for lunch and promised to empty my freezer and cooler, allowing anyone to use what they could. Susan also decided to leave, so we prepared to hike out together.

Just as I was leaving my house, Captain drove up in his pickup. He told me to hop in, we picked up Susan on the next street and drove up and around the curve to the end of Kiowa st. where we found the new trail. Neighbor Steve was on his way down on his ATV, so we transferred vehicles. With our dufflebags in the small scoop in the front, I behind Steve and Susan clinging on behind me, facing backward, we headed down the trail. Several times we had to get down to walk and several times we had to wait for the trail crew to cut down a tree. We got to a spot where the crew was laying tree trunks over a washed out gully (a gully the size of the old river), making a rudimentary bridge and the ATV could go no further. It was time to hike. I put the handles of my dufflebag over my shoulders like a makeshift backpack, Susan carried hers, and off we went following the pink plastic ribbons tied around tree trunks marking the trail. We hiked past the water treatment plant, miraculously still standing, and Cree Ct., washed away. At the other side, a Larimer county search and rescue team and a Pinewood fireman team were assessing the situation and making a plan. One of the firemen drove us the rest of the way to the station on his cart. We arrived just as a helicopter was lifting off.

One of the fire station bays had been turned into a makeshift terminal where we checked in and took a seat on a folding chair. They weren’t sure if the helicopter would be back for another load, but if it did, it would be about 90 minutes. So we waited and talked to neighbors and rescue personnel. We saw a tearful young woman holding onto a beautiful golden retriever. One of the Larimer county search and rescue team told me she had been flown in up highway 36 and there was at least a mile of road completely gone between Apple valley road and Longmont Dam Road. We also heard that Dead Man’s Curve, a mile above Pinewood, was out in two places.





The army Chinook helicopter announced its return with the familiar chopper sound, quickly descended into the field across from the fire station, and its back hatch folded down. Several soldiers hopped out.  “Time to go,” someone hollered. We grabbed our few belongings and promptly walked through the hot wind and debris being blown from the rotors. As we were walking, someone handed the leash of the golden retriever to Susan, and briefly told her that the dog, Bailey, was being picked up by an animal hospital on the other end; could she hold onto her for the flight. I grabbed Susan’s bag, and she dragged a very reluctant Bailey. Once inside the helicopter, we took a seat, one of about 30 seats, 15 on each side facing inward. There were about 20 of us and multiple pets. Ear plugs were passed out; it was deafening. Susan worked on calming Bailey. Loading was finished in a few minutes, a soldier fastened a strap across the luggage at our feet, and we went up, straight up.



The couple across from us struggled to calm 2 dogs and a cat in a carrier. The woman must have thought the cat could be calmed easier if she let it out (!?!?!?). It was not and couldn’t be held either. As they scrambled to catch the cat, the man ended up with blood streaming down his cheek and chin. They did catch it; they did get it back in the carrier; it did not calm down. We flew over several mountain ridges, feeling a gust of air each time we passed over. I peeked through a small opening in the mesh covering a window and caught glimpses of the outside world: a beautiful home with no driveway, and a highway that ended where it had been washed away.  We descended, still in the mountains, wondering where we were. The hatch again opened and more people got on, including a group of hunters. The noise prevented talking so I wrote on a piece of paper, “Where are we?” and handed it to a woman who had just gotten on. She wrote and handed it back: “Glen Haven = GONE.” Immediately the helicopter lifted again and this time we saw it heading towards the front range as rain drops began to hit the front windshield. I recognized Horse Tooth Reservoir from my peep hole and soon we were on the ground just below the dam. We grabbed our belongings again and exited in the windy blast.

Once away from the helicopter, someone loaded our bags onto a pickup truck, we were offered bottles of water, and ushered into a correctional facility’s bus. We were told that we were being taken to a Red Cross center at Timberline Church on the other side of Fort Collins. There was no one waiting for Bailey here, so she came along. The family sitting behind us knew Bailey’s story: she was on her way to an animal hospital because she was about to deliver puppies. I sent a text to Steve from the bus telling him where I was and where I was going. Off we went.


We were welcomed at the church by several gracious church members who told us where to go. As Susan tried to find out information about where Bailey needed to go, I went inside to find out what roads would be open for Steve to get to the church. Extensive flooding in Boulder, Longmont and Loveland had left few open roads. Everyone had been so helpful and considerate all day, until I talked with a Red Cross volunteer. I had questions and all she was concerned about was getting me to fill out their paperwork. I saw others at tables hunched over a 2-page form. I was interested in finding a bathroom, and a place to wait for Steve, not getting checked into the evacuation center. Finally I found someone who gave me rudimentary directions and I went back outside to sit on the sidewalk, lean against the building and call Steve to tell him where I was and how to get there. Susan’s son had arrived and they would be delivering Bailey to the animal hospital, as no one was there to pick her up. The church members were so kind, passing out water and snacks, and listening to the stories of the evacuees.

The wait was relatively short and the moment I saw Steve my emotions overflowed in tears. He took me to Scott and Jenna’s house in Boulder. Along the way, while watching flooding and remains of flooding, I called several people to tell them I was out. After a lovely hot shower and a yummy dinner, I showed pictures from my phone and told stories of my week. Beth found internet service and we talked to her and Matt on a video chat. I was so relieved to see everyone’s faces and hear their voices! I also watched numerous videos online of the widespread flooding and destruction. I heard overwhelming statistics of the thousands of square miles affected, the amount of rainfall (12” - 20 “) the 6 people confirmed dead, the thousands of people still missing, the thousands who remain stranded, and the thousands who lost their homes. Some are calling this the thousand-year-flood. We are so blessed that our house is standing, our RV and truck are available, we have a place to stay and we are safe. I am so thankful for the many people who had a hand in the evacuation efforts today. I couldn't thank them then, I hope someone does. Their compassion made a difference. Our concern is for Captain and Roma and other neighbors, who are still planning on staying in their homes. Somehow we need to convey to them the enormity of the flood and the necessity of getting to safety.

Sunday was a little less eventful for us, although it rained hard and swelled the rivers again. We went to our church in Longmont where we received lots of hugs and offers of a place to stay. Singing “Great is Thy Faithfulness” brought me to tears as I praised God for my situation. Friends invited us to go out for brunch with them and we stopped to see other good friends to show that we were healthy and well. We spent the afternoon checking to see if our trailer had survived the rains (it had!) and looking for an RV campground where we could park it and live. All the RV parks that we tried were full. There are many questions waiting to be answered about what the months ahead will hold for us, but I am not worried. God is with us.

Friday, September 13, 2013

9-13-13 The water rises

Today is Friday, and I just tilted the blinds to keep the sun out while I sit in my living room, writing. It has been days since I've seen the sun. A storm rolled in Monday of this week and stayed around, dumping more water than we could handle. This is how it went:

Monday, Steve left early. He had to bring our fifth wheel camping trailer to the dealer for warranty work, be on a conference call at 9am for work, and arrive at DIA by 11am for a flight to Oregon. As he left he said, as he always does, “I’ll call you tonight.” I stayed home, made a few phone calls, paid the bills and spent most of the day at my sewing machine. The weather forecast was predicting a rainy week, which was welcome since we hadn't had rain for close to 4 weeks and it was feeling dry. The Little Thompson River, which flowed along our back property line was down to a trickle. As I sat at my sewing machine, I looked out at the Ponderosa forest and the river in our glorious backyard in Pinewood Springs, CO.

It was getting cloudy when a fawn walked past my window, stopped and stared at me for what seemed like a long time before bounding off to the east along the river. Shortly after, I heard thunder and then rain. I said, “Thank You, Lord,” and watched the rain splatter on the ground and into the rain gauge. When Steve called that evening, I told him, “We got half an inch of rain today!” The rain fell gently most of the night.

Tuesday morning I had trouble waking up because the house was so dark.  The clouds were low against the mountains and the sun couldn't penetrate. I checked the rain gauge - ¾”! I took a little walk outside by the river, stopping to sit in one of our Adirondack chairs and enjoy the babble of the river - it was flowing a little again. The rain had helped. I also stopped for a bit to sit on the log that lay across the river; one of my favorite places.

Tuesday afternoon was a pleasant repeat of Monday. The thunder announced the rain which again watered the forest. That evening I told Steve, “another half inch of rain, that’s 1 ¼ inches in 2 days.” He responded, “That is really good, we needed that.” On a more serious note, I had received a phone call from my brother and sister-in-law. They had just seen a specialist for a large growth on her ovary. surgery was scheduled for Thursday. She asked if I’d to to the hospital in Denver to wait with my brother. “Of course,” I responded.

This is a zoomed-in picture from my deck.
Tuesday night the rain continued and when I woke up Wednesday morning the forest was dripping and the river was tumbling over the rocks. It looked like it did during spring runoff. And there was 2 ¼” in the rain gauge. I still hadn't emptied it - I like to see totals.

I decided to go to town to run errands and get groceries since I didn’t know what the rest of my week would be like with the surgery coming up. I put drinking water on my store list because I had just received an email that our water would be off for repairs that day. After a busy afternoon of errands, I arrived home with lots to carry in. It had begun sprinkling again, so I hurriedly made four trips between the garage and the house. As I was putting away my groceries, my neighbor, Roma, called to say a black bear had just wandered from their yard to ours. I went on the back deck and took a few pictures. He was hunched up in a tree by the river. My picture taking must have spooked him, because suddenly his head perked up, he scrambled down the tree and crossed the river in two splashes.

Since I had been busy all day, I hadn't been able to work on the quilt I was sewing, so I spent the evening pleasantly sewing. At about 8pm it started to rain again, hard! A few hours later, it was still raining hard and i called Steve. He was wondering how much rain we’d had and if it was coming in the garage. I donned my raincoat, took an umbrella and went out to the garage. There was a small puddle coming in, nothing to worry about. On the way back in, I took a picture of the rain gauge - 4-½”! A quick calculation told me that the rain was coming at about 1 inch per hour. This time I emptied the gauge. I called Steve back to answer his questions and he wanted to know how high the river was. It’s hard to see the river at night, so I took a flashlight to the back deck and tried to see it, but couldn't, the light didn't reach that far. I could hear it, however, and it was flowing fast. I went inside and turned on the news. Channel 7 was covering the rain as breaking news since Boulder was flooding. They showed video of flooded streets and underpasses along with boulder Creek which was out of its bank in spots.

Late that night I lay in bed glued to the TV while I listened to the rain continuing to pelt the roof. I began texting my son, Scott, who lives in Boulder with his wife. He was worried about all the rain. The grassy area in his condo complex behind his unit was a lake and he had just used some scrap metal to extend his downspouts to get the water away from the building. He didn't want water to come in and ruin his new floors. We texted back and forth, each telling the other what we were experiencing. I told him about the loudness of the river. It was then that I noticed a new noise - a knocking, the sound of rocks being hit together. I told Scott I heard boulders tumbling down the river. He was incredulous. At about 1am I turned off the TV because the electricity was flickering and went out again with the flashlight and this time the flashlight beam picked up white water on the river. It looked like it was about 30 feet across. During spring runoff it was only about 15 feet at the most. That’s when I began feeling a knot in my stomach.

Back in bed, I dozed off, but was awakened at 2am by a call from Scott, “Mom, the dam in Pinewood broke!” I was so groggy, “What?” He repeated, “The dam in Pinewood broke, I just heard it on Twitter!” “What do I do?” “Get out of the house. Drive to higher ground!” I threw a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt on over my night shirt, grabbed my purse and called Roma and Captain, next-door. They didn't answer, so I left a message on their machine, “My son just told me the dam in Pinewood broke. Get out of your house!” I ran to the garage and left. I drove up. Our little Colorado mountain neighborhood, called Pinewood Springs is in a little valley, along the little Thompson river. To get to our house, we go down the valley and over a one-lane bridge before turning onto our little cul-de-sac. But the main road, Kiowa, continues, winding away from the river until it dead-ends up on the side of the mountain. I drove up that direction way past the point of safety, but the adrenaline made me keep going. I stopped when I came to the neighborhood firemen who were out warning people, “If you want to get out, you should leave now.” That didn’t seem to mesh with the info that the dam had broken, so I asked about that. I was told the dam was fine, but there were unconfirmed rumors that the Big Elk Meadows dam had broken a few miles upriver. They said it was safe to return home, but to be watchful the rising river.

As I returned, I pointed my headlights at the bridge and saw water splashing over. Captain and Roma were getting into their truck and I passed on the info from the firemen. They had just received a reverse 911 call warning of flash flooding. I told them I wanted to leave and was going to drive to Boulder. Captain told me to consider that I’d have to drive over a flooded bridge and down the canyon in a blinding rain in the pitch-dark. He said, “Don’t go!” I had to agaree. I joined them in their truck and we drove up again so that they could talk to the firemen and look at the river. We decided that we’d trust the firemen and returned to our street. They invited me in, but sleep was impossible now. We tried to watch the flood coverage on TV, but the electricity was flickering again, so we had to turn it off.

At 4am another reverse 911 call came in, this time warning that the Big Elk Meadow dam had broken and to expect a surge in the river. Captain, Roma and I again got in the truck. This time we parked up the hill and watched the river with the headlights. The rain was easing as we dozed and watched. At about 5:30 there was no change in the river and the rain had stopped, so we drove home.

I tried to sleep, but was merely able to close my eyes, not my mind. I couldn't tune out the noises, the roar of the rushing water, the crashing boulders, and the new sound of breaking timber. I tried to imagine what I’d see when the sun came up. I watched the clock waiting for dawn, until the clock blinked and stayed black. The electricity was out.

The view from our rear deck
As soon as it was slightly light, I got up and looked out the window. Was the dim dawn light deceiving me? I went downstairs to the back deck to get a better view. Our property has 2 levels: our house is on the top level near the street, then a steep hill goes down about 20 feet and finally there is a flat area forested with old Ponderosas, cedars and willows for 40-50 feet before you get to the river at the back property line. We had used that lower flat area to sit and have campfires. I remember when we first brought Scott and Jenna to see the house, Jenna called the flat area flanking the river the 100-year floodplain. At the time I thought, “Really? Can’t be! Look at the size of the trees!” and put the comment in the back of my mind. But, today it was covered with rushing water. I guessed that the width of the river was 200 - 300 feet now, all the way from our hill to a rock wall on the opposite side that I never knew existed. I could see the low vegetation flattened under the rushing water and the tall trees standing in the water.

I started taking pictures, first from the deck, then as I walked closer to the water. As I was taking a picture, a loud crackling noise startled me. I saw, from what used to be the other side of the river, one of the tall ponderosas snap off at the bottom, fall into the water and float away. I scrambled up the hill and within a few seconds another tree, this one larger, did the same. I continued through Captain and Roma’s yard in a daze - this was beyond anything I could have imagined. Crescent Lake, once nestled calmly next to the river, was gone, now incorporated into the river.
watch closely to see a tree being broken off and swept downriver

I continued to the bridge. A few neighbors were gathered there, shaking their heads. The dirt road was being washed away on both end and the water was eroding the ground from around the pylons. A few people crossed on foot, all while neighbor Steve (three Steve's in a row on our street gets confusing - there's my Steve, Captain Steve, and neighbor Steve!) warned everyone the bridge was going to let loose soon. I heard later that it did break mid-morning. No one was on it, but we all realized we were now isolated from the rest of the neighborhood and from the highway. Neighbor Steve also said that it was likely that we would lose running water. I headed home and filled every container. He was right about that, too! My rain gauge held another 2-½” of rain since I had emptied it about 8 hours ago (about 5” had fallen overnight).
The bridge, the only way out of the neighborhood.
Notice the water streaming over the road on the left.
a neighbor's driveway

The Lake and river merged into one.

Remember this view...a house is behind the trees.

Neighbors on both sides of the "bridge"

The view from my deck Thursday afternoon

The view from my living room with
a log jam forming Thursday afternoon

I was concerned with communicating with people on the “outside.” They would be worried when they heard about this on the news. No electricity meant no internet and no cell phone extender, so I dug through a box in the garage until I found the old blue phone that we’d had for 30 years - the kind that plugs directly into the wall jack. Amazingly, it worked. A called Steve and tried to explain what had happened. He asked if the fire pit and Adirondack chairs were OK. I think I laughed a little as I answered, "no, they are long gone." He didn't understand the magnitude of the situation. That’s understandable, because I was in disbelief myself. I called my brother - I wouldn't be able to go to the hospital today. I cried after that call and asked Jesus to be there in my place. I called my parents and grown children and told them not to worry. I was safe.

After a bowl of cereal for breakfast, I laid down on the sofa. I was so tired, but the enormity of the situation hit me and I started to shake and my stomach knotted up. It took all I could do to keep my breakfast in. The phone rang. Steve was on the line, he had gotten a flight home and would arrive at DIA at 3pm. First a feeling of relief and then the realization that he wouldn't be able to get home hit me. I imagined he’d get to the other side of the bridge and we’d use hand signals to communicate.

Roma made a pot of soup on her grill and I ate lunch with them, just not much as my stomach was not settled yet. Roma was worried that she couldn't communicate with her family, so I invited her to use my phone. Sadly, the phone line was now dead. I learned that the lines were fed through a pipe on the bridge and when the bridge went so did the phone service. I vaguely remembered hiking one day and receiving a text message on the top of a ridge, so I knew there was spotty cell coverage nearby. Captain, Roma and I took another drive up Kiowa in the rain, this time hoping for a few bars to show up on our cell phones. And they did! Roma called her family and I reached Steve who had made it to Colorado, but was unable to come up the mountain because the highways were closed. He went to Scott and Jenna’s in Boulder instead. We invented a grand scheme in which neighbor Steve would walk out and escort Steve through the woods on foot. All I had to do was send along hiking boots, appropriate clothes and rain gear. I think it could have worked if he had been able to get to Pinewood.

When we realized that I’d be alone for another night and the weather was turning really nasty again, Roma invited me to sleep in their spare room. That was a huge relief for me. I was dreading another lonely night full of those dreadful river noises, worrying if the house would be washed away. Since I had a gas stove that I could light with a match, I made grilled cheese sandwiches and brought them over for a light dinner. At 6pm we listened to the news on the radio and learned that another downpour was expected, so we decided to share the responsibility of staying awake to watch the river. Roma and I laid down first. I woke up once and heard the rain beating and the river roaring, but fell back asleep until dawn. They never woke me to take a shift. The river had risen - almost crested into their backyard, but they graciously watched while I slept. My rain gauge had overflowed in the night, so my record keeping was done. I just knew that we had an excess of 9-½” since Monday evening. Compare that to an average annual rainfall of 16” for our area.

Looking at my house from the newly formed sandbar
The neighbor's house that was
not visible on a previous picture
At home Friday morning, I found that the landscape in my backyard was drastically different again. A small log jam that I had noticed yesterday had grown into an island of logs, sand, boulder and debris. At the bottom of our hill was a growing sandbar. Many trees that had been standing in the rushing water the night before were now gone. Captain said he heard the snapping and breaking all night. The edges of the road where the bridge had been were eroded many feet back especially on the other side. People stood on both sides talking in hushed groups. We had watched the house whose driveway was near the bridge over the past 2 days. It had been nestled in a rock wall corner, hidden from the road by a thick grove of trees. Yesterday we watched the water go from flowing down the driveway to breaking down trees. Today the entire driveway and forest were gone - only river was left. The house sat there in plain view, askew and off its foundation. Its roof gaping where the porch had been ripped off.

As we stood there more neighbors congregated. We realized that we were the marooned on this island and asked each other how we were doing. The generosity was amazing. If someone needed something, a neighbor shared. I had a raw roast in the refrigerator that I knew wouldn't keep, so I put it in a pan on the stove and cooked it the way I had seen my grandmother do it years before. I figured it would be enough to feed Captain, Roma, neighbor Steve and Autumn (on the corner). While the roast simmered, I drove up the hill to call Steve. This time I couldn't get cell service from the car and had to walk to the top of a rock outcropping. He told me about the devastation in the surrounding towns. Lyons was being evacuated. Downtown Estes Park was flooded and all roads leading into it were closed except Trail Ridge Road through the national park. He also told me how my sister-in-law was doing after her surgery. I hung up and cried - so isolated.

By the time I returned home, the word had spread and about 20 people arrived for lunch with food and chairs. It was just what we needed - community! It was during lunch that I said I had a generator, but no gas. Several offered gas. I was able to run the freezer for a while. A Pinewood volunteer fireman arrived then. He was taking a census of who was there, who had emergency needs and who needed to leave if possible. I said I’d leave if the opportunity came. Most said they'd stay and wait it out. He also told us that highway 36, the only way into Pinewood Springs, was completely washed out in 2 places - one above us and one below - so getting out would have to be by foot or air.

During lunch the sun broke through the clouds - literally and figuratively. While I basked in the warmth, I also realized that this situation was not impossible, because of the people who came beside me. It also dawned on me that I needed to write down what I was experiencing so I found an old half-used notebook and started writing. With the exception of a break to go up the mountain to make one more cell phone connection with the outside world (Steve and mom) and another to find some candles when it got dark, I have been writing since 2pm. It is now 9pm and time for bed. As of now, it is not raining, but Steve told me more rain was in the weather report for tonight. I can hear the “Niagara Falls” roar of the water outside and I am missing Steve terribly. But, my house and my soul are calm. I am praising my God for safety, shelter, neighbors, food and for being my ever present help. What will tomorrow bring? I don’t know, but God will provide the strength.