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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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).
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The bridge, the only way out of the neighborhood.
Notice the water streaming over the road on the left. |
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| a neighbor's driveway |
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| The Lake and river merged into one. |
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| Remember this view...a house is behind the trees. |
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| Neighbors on both sides of the "bridge" |
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| The view from my deck Thursday afternoon |
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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.
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| Looking at my house from the newly formed sandbar |
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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.
