In rural Appalachia, where landslides have damaged the terrain and relentless rains have flooded valleys, the destruction from Helene is extensive, and recovery is taking a long time. These difficulties highlight the need for future storm protection.
MEAT CAMP, N.C. — Carolyn and Clifford Coffee live fewer than 10 miles from Boone, a popular mountain town in North Carolina with scenic views and a college nearby, nestled between a creek and steep hills.
The route to their home, a two-lane road that winds past fields of corn and cattle farms, has now been marred by washed-out pavement, destroyed bridges, downed power lines, and damaged houses.
Carolyn, 77, and Clifford, 80, have called this place home for four decades. Clifford constructed their residence by connecting two trailers. However, the heavy rain from Hurricane Helene, which triggered deadly landslides and flooding, filled Carolyn with fear. “We simply prayed to God,” she shared.
While their house remained intact, access to aid in these remote mountainous regions has been problematic. Many areas are without electricity, water, or cell service. Rebuilding or enhancing safety against floods and landslides is likely to be a lengthy process.
“I wish to move,” she expressed, glancing at her husband. “He doesn’t want to.”
Days following Hurricane Helene, which brought up to 30 inches of rain in some North Carolina regions and resulted in at least 160 fatalities across the Southeast, residents of Boone are busy removing flood damage from homes and infrastructure. Power and cell service have been restored, and many businesses are operational again.
However, the more isolated regions of Watauga County and surrounding areas, where landslides have marred the Appalachian hills and torrents of rain have devastated narrow valleys, witnessed even greater destruction to roads, residences, and utilities. Around 200 county roads were still blocked. Rescue teams had to traverse on foot and horseback to reach some homes.
The same conditions that wreaked havoc during the storm are contributing to a slower and more challenging recovery, according to officials, volunteers, and residents alike.
“There are just so many hollers,” noted Chris Blanton, leading a Baptist volunteer recovery initiative around Boone this week. “It’s likely to take years, not months, to return to normalcy.”
The aftermath of Helene in these remote mountain areas has sparked renewed attention towards long-term prevention measures, especially in light of predicted increases in extreme weather events due to climate change, remarked Antonia Sebastian, an assistant professor at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill who focuses on climate and flood risks.
Storm creates demand for aid
Lindsey Miller arrived at a church drive-through feeding center in Boone recently, expressing gratitude to the volunteers providing her with Styrofoam containers filled with hot dogs and green beans.
Miller, who lives on a hillside near Todd, north of Boone, with her autistic son and baby, suffered damage to her gravel driveway, roads, and power lines due to the storm.
While she can still reach her fast food job, there was no electricity, cell service, or water available on Tuesday. Nearby locals carried buckets of river water for toilets. Neighbors pooled food and supplies.
Her neighbor and mother are uninsured. She advised her mother to take precautions for future incidents, saying, “You really need insurance.”
William Holt, the Emergency Services Director for Watauga County, stated that the county received over 2,000 emergency calls on the first day following the storm. Two individuals lost their lives in landslides, and several dozen are utilizing shelters at the university while others are staying with family or friends. Many local hotels are only allowing reservations from locals or storm recovery personnel.
Assistance has poured in from various volunteer groups, water rescue teams, the National Guard, power companies, tree services, and the Red Cross. Officials are working on establishing additional sites for distributing water, hot meals, showers, restrooms, and charging stations for cell phones.
Holt described the storm as “the worst natural disaster in modern history” for his county.
In an interview, he remarked that the recovery efforts would be hindered by both the region’s rugged terrain and the spread-out nature of homes, many of which are situated along creeks that became raging rivers.
“This isn’t something that will be resolved overnight,” he remarked.
Boone Recovers as Remote Area Prepares for an Extended Recovery Process
On Tuesday in Boone, restaurant employees were busy clearing mud from floors and parking lots. In one neighborhood, a street lined with flooded homes was covered in mud while volunteers assisted families in need. Officials reported that around 200 buildings had been declared unsafe.
Holt expressed concerns that the aftermath of the storm could negatively affect the local economy, impacting everyone from small business owners to those dependent on tourism. For now, officials are urging tourists to stay away to facilitate recovery efforts.
Further from the town center, residents were cleaning out their homes and placing damaged mattresses and belongings on the curb. Some locals and crews were working to temporarily fix washed-out parts of the road along Meat Camp Creek to make them passable.
Roy Dobyns Jr., a Baptist pastor from Boone who resides outside the town, noted that the disaster has affected people’s mental health and has led to long-term difficulties for those waiting weeks for power or repairs.
“All the bridges and roads were destroyed, making access difficult. A five-minute drive now takes an hour,” he explained.
Once local needs have been addressed, Sebastian suggested that long-term solutions for mountainous regions will be necessary. She highlighted that the state has a good foundation due to its past experiences with hurricanes on the coast, but the unique challenges of remote mountain communities complicate matters.
Experts indicate that implementing protective measures for residents—such as better drainage systems and additional support for financially and health-vulnerable individuals—can be expensive and face numerous obstacles.
In Meat Camp, a community believed to be named for the historical dressing of game by hunters, Clifford enjoyed a tea-and-orange juice blend on his porch while chickens roamed in the yard for his grandchildren. Nearby was a branch he used to prop up a fallen power line, with wires scattered around.
In his eighties, Clifford continues to mow several lawns. When he mentioned sometimes having trouble finishing the job, Carolyn quickly defended him. “You do well,” she insisted, claiming that he could still outwork someone half his age.
If they could afford to leave, Clifford, unlike his wife, would prefer to stay. Even if he had known in advance how severe the storm would be, he thinks he would have opted to remain in their home nestled among the beautiful mountains. His wife noted that he managed to navigate the damaged roads to reach church the day after the storm.
However, she fears that another strong storm may wash away the hillside or isolate them again: “If you need to see a doctor, you can’t,” she lamented. “You can’t reach anybody.”
The decision on whether to stay in a location that may be deemed too hazardous in the aftermath of Helene is a complicated discussion that many may face in the coming months, according to Holt.
