HOT SPRINGS, N.C. – Connor Goss watched in disbelief as the disaster unfolded 20 feet below him.

Churning, muddy waters rushed down the streets, invaded homes, and battered businesses. A dumpster floated past, followed by couches and even propane tanks.

The floods, triggered by Hurricane Helene, crashed into businesses along Bridge Street, creating significant, muddy waves. Inside the Iron Horse Station inn, water flooded the hotel’s ground-level restaurant, toppling chairs and climbing the stairs to where Goss and four others—two adults and two toddlers, aged 2 and 4—waited for rescue.

At just 26 years old, Goss was astonished by how rapidly everything had transpired. Earlier that day, on Friday, September 27, he had walked to Spring Creek. Although the water level was rising, it remained within its banks. Just an hour later, it spilled over the road and flooded the inn’s parking lot, sneaking into the hotel like a thief—first as a trickle, then as a steady stream, and finally a torrent.

Across Andrews Avenue, now transformed into a raging river, Goss spotted a rescue raft attempting to reach the hotel. The raft was secured by a rope to a bulldozer, but despite the rescuers’ efforts, the current pulled them downstream. Firefighters repeatedly had to drag them back to safety.

Even if the raft succeeded, the thought of climbing out of a second-story window with a torrent raging below was terrifying.

Panic began to well up inside him. “I am freaking out,” he thought.

Meanwhile, rescuers were studying the floodwaters and strategizing their next attempt.

Steep canyons and unprecedented rainfall

The floods across the Southeast, caused by Hurricane Helene, marked the storm as one of the deadliest natural disasters in the United States in nearly twenty years. As of Tuesday, at least 227 lives have been lost due to the storm, with North Carolina suffering the most casualties at 99. Fatalities were also reported in South Carolina (49), Georgia (33), Florida (27), Tennessee (17), and Virginia (2).

The flooding and landslides entrapped residents and devastated significant portions of towns. In East Tennessee, over 50 patients and staff were airlifted from the Unicoi County Hospital rooftop after it was inundated with rising waters during the storm. Nearby, seven workers at a plastics factory in Erwin attempted to escape the floods by climbing onto a semi-truck, only to be swept away by the current, resulting in at least two fatalities among them.

Western North Carolina bore the brunt of the devastation. Its dramatic landscapes, featuring high mountains, steep canyons, valleys, and rivers, created a funneling effect, channeling floodwaters into unsuspecting communities, explained Corey Davis, North Carolina’s assistant climatologist.

Spruce Pine, a town located about an hour northeast of Asheville, recorded over 24 inches of rainfall during the three-day storm. Nearby, Busick experienced 31 inches. This deluge poured down the mountainsides and into swollen rivers and landslides.

The French Broad River is a unique river in the U.S. that flows northward, starting from its source near Rosman, North Carolina, through the Appalachian Mountains and into Tennessee. It attracts visitors from all over the globe with its Class III rapids and breathtaking mountain scenery.

However, during the floods, it overflowed with unprecedented rainfall, devastating communities as it wreaked havoc.

“There was really nothing to compare it to,” said Davis.

Climate change likely contributed to the situation. The rainfall was incessant and heavy, exceeding historical records. In both the South and Appalachian regions, the rainfall was approximately 10% heavier than normal, and rainfall totals were 40% to 70% more likely because

A recent report from the World Weather Attribution Group highlights the role of climate change in extreme weather events.

This led to devastating floods, landslides, and swift currents that took families by surprise, trapping some in their vehicles and homes. In Buncombe County, which includes Asheville, the storm has claimed 42 lives.

Further down, in Madison County, towns like Marshall, Mars Hill, and Hot Springs struggled with massive amounts of water and debris flowing from upstream. Being somewhat isolated, residents had to take care of themselves until help could reach them.

These remote areas in the North Carolina mountains faced significant challenges, not only in rescuing people but also in restoring utilities and rebuilding structures, which would become evident in the days that followed.

As floodwaters consumed roads and changed the landscape, state and federal authorities monitored the situation from command centers, unable to access many rural areas.

The local communities had to rely on themselves.

Thursday, Sept. 26

As Hurricane Helene developed and intensified over the Gulf of Mexico, Mitch Hampton, 54, was paying close attention.

A seasoned river guide and co-owner of French Broad Adventures, which offers tours along the French Broad River, Hampton consistently monitors weather conditions to anticipate cancellations for his business. As the deputy chief of the Walnut Community Volunteer Fire Department, located about 26 miles north of Asheville, he also assessed whether the storm posed a risk to his area.

His fire department operated the only raft rescue and recovery team in Madison County, which has around 21,000 residents spread across mountain and river communities. Hampton often paddled his raft searching for missing individuals who either fell from boats or capsized in their kayaks, alongside responding to emergencies like car accidents and heart attacks.

Typically, Gulf storms don’t threaten the mountainous regions of Western North Carolina, but this time, Helene seemed different. Hampton regularly checked his weather apps, monitoring the storm’s growth and trajectory aimed directly at them.

On Thursday, Sept. 26, Hampton double-checked his gear — rafts, water rescue vests, helmets, and flip lines. He and fellow firefighters visited low-lying areas near the French Broad to alert residents about the approaching storm.

Overall, he felt adequately prepared.

“If the water rises to the railroad tracks, we can manage that,” he stated. “But if it surpasses that level, it’s uncertain. You really don’t know what actions to take.”

As Helene approached the shore, the National Weather Service office in Greer, South Carolina, which provides forecasts for western North Carolina, began issuing urgent alerts. During the days prior, a stalled cold front had already dropped significant rainfall on the mountains. The already wet terrain and swollen rivers were set to face more rain from Helene.

In a webinar on Tuesday, Sept. 24, meteorologist Clay Chaney warned officials about potential “worst-case scenarios.” The next day, he issued an alert: “*URGENT MESSAGE* This will be one of the most significant weather events in this region in modern history,” likening the anticipated floods to those of 1916, which overwhelmed towns and caused over 80 fatalities in Buncombe County.

As Helene’s outer bands struck the Appalachian region, the French Broad River started to swell. At 4 p.m. Wednesday, Sept. 25, the river level in Asheville was at 2.31 feet, flowing at a typical rate of 2,130 cubic feet per second. Just 24 hours later, it surged to 10 feet and 23,400 cubic feet per second.

And it kept rising.

Sheltering at the Iron Horse

In Hot Springs, a town of 520 residents located at the junction of Spring Creek and the French Broad River, Connor Goss focused on canceling hotel bookings at the Iron Horse Station and processing refunds. With the storm on its way, the hotel ceased operations.

Hot Springs, situated 35 miles north of Asheville, has attracted visitors since the 1800s, drawn by its natural hot springs and stunning views of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Today, tourists can experience the Class III rapids of the nearby French Broad and explore various quirky shops like the Artisun Gallery and Café and Big Pillow Brewery along Bridge Street. As a popular stop on the Appalachian Trail, hikers often visit Hot Springs for a meal or a drink at Spring Creek Tavern.

“It’s like Mayberry meets the Twilight Zone,” described Amanda Arnett, 49, co-owner of Spring Creek Tavern, capturing the town’s unique charm. “Everyone is just a little quirky.”

Goss moved to Hot Springs seeking stability. After a childhood spent moving from place to place — Myrtle Beach, Louisville, Austin — and attending several colleges, he longed for a community where he could truly belong. Hot Springs provided just that.

Having visited Hot Springs since his teenage years, Goss was well acquainted with the town. His parents had purchased the Iron Horse Station six years earlier, a historic hotel on Bridge Street featuring lofty ceilings, wooden floors, and 15 rooms above a restaurant and tavern. Goss relocated to Hot Springs to work as the innkeeper, enjoying the town’s refreshing air and natural beauty, while his parents resided a few miles away in a small home on a hillside.

Upon his arrival, Goss made it a point to hike daily to Lover’s Leap, a rocky ledge offering stunning mountain views. However, he found comfort in simply remaining in one place.

“It provided me with a sense of stability after being without it for such a long time,” Goss explained, “which was something I truly needed.”

On the Thursday prior to the flooding, after canceling his bookings, Goss wandered around town and noticed residents preparing for the storm by stacking sandbags in front of their homes. Later that day, Jordan Mundell, the hotel’s kitchen manager, moved with his family into the Iron Horse. His family, including his wife Hailie, and their children, Levi, aged 4, and River, aged 2, had been living on River Road near the French Broad River, which often floods. To be cautious, they opted for two connecting rooms at the Iron Horse.

A hiker named Dede, 67, who was trekking along the Appalachian Trail, also checked into the Iron Horse after hearing weather warnings.

That evening, Mundell prepared chicken alfredo for everyone and shared a few beers. At his father’s suggestion, Goss relocated his car to higher ground. His father offered him a place to stay that night.

Goss politely refused.

“I think I’ll be fine here,” he told his father. “What harm could a few inches of water on the street do?”

‘Prayer warrior’

On Thursday, September 26, the sizable training room at the Madison County Sheriff’s Office was buzzing with activity, as it served as the area’s main emergency command center. Deputies were coming and going, while emergency management workers monitored laptops for updates on the storm and Hurricane Helene’s trajectory.

Coy Phillips, the chief deputy, reviewed the storm’s path before driving around the county to check on elderly residents and deliver food and water to the shelter set up at the local high school.

At 40 years old, Phillips was familiar with the area, having grown up nearby. The storm alerts and urgent flash flood warnings alarmed him, especially regarding low-lying areas like Marshall, which were bound to experience severe flooding that night.

Worried for his daughters, aged 12 and 17, and his fiancée who would be at home alone during the storm, as well as his older sister, Michelle Quintero, 49, who also worked at the sheriff’s office, Phillips felt a mixture of concern and duty. Growing up, Quintero had a nurturing role in his life, often helping with his daughters’ needs as he managed being a single dad. He admired her strength and ability to brighten any room, along with her talent for offering prayers during challenging times.

“She’s a true prayer warrior,” he said. “She could pray a blue sky through a stormy day.”

On that Thursday night, Phillips tirelessly checked on the shelter and responded to calls from residents still looking to evacuate. He made a trip to Hot Springs, aware it was a vulnerable area prone to flooding.

The rain was light, but in the early hours, Spring Creek seemed calm while the town remained tranquil. Phillips returned to the command center.

Then the winds started to escalate.

Friday, September 27

A loud alert from the Unication emergency pager woke Mitch Hampton at 6:30 a.m. on Friday, September 27.

His wife Korey, who partnered with him in both their river guide business and the fire department, was immediately alert. He called the station and learned the rivers had overflowed, and there was a need for rescue in Marshall. Mitch and Korey quickly donned their gear and set off in their truck with the raft secured on top.

As they drove closer, they saw the streets of Marshall engulfed in water, with rising levels around vehicles and fences. They launched the raft to reach a house on Island Road. Gale-force winds lashed the surface of the water, and trees fell around them. With the floodwaters rising dangerously, five individuals now required evacuation. They called for an additional raft to ensure everyone’s safety.

The water kept climbing, something Hampton had not witnessed in his three decades of experience on the French Broad River. Turning to Korey, he remarked, “This isn’t going to be the last rescue we’ll be doing today.”

His radio beeped with another request: A body needed to be recovered from Gabriel Creek in nearby Mars Hill, marking one of the first fatalities in western North Carolina. As they reached the site, conditions had deteriorated, with howling winds and heavy rain buffeting them. Trees cracked and fell as they worked.

The body was ensnared in branches and debris, a situation known as a “strainer” in rescue terms, within the dangerously swollen creek. Mitch, tethered with a rope to his life vest, entered the rushing waters downstream of the body in case it dislodged from the debris.

During his approach, he stepped on submerged barbed wire, requiring him to free his leg. He managed to retrieve the body, bringing it to the bank and handing it over to the arriving ambulance.

His Motorola radio buzzed again: A family was stranded on the roof of their house that was now floating downstream in Mars Hill. Mitch, Korey, and his brother Jim, who had joined the rescue team, gathered their equipment once more.

“My Wife and Kids … Are Inside That Building!”

Goss awoke to a call from his father around 7 a.m., who asked him to check on nearby Spring Creek and send photos. He quickly dressed and stepped outside. A crowd had gathered to watch as the creek rose steadily, carrying along tree trunks, branches, and various debris under one of its bridges. He sent pictures to his dad.

When he returned to the Iron Horse Station, he noticed the parking lot next door was flooding, with water already reaching the floorboards of Mundell’s Ford F-150. He dashed upstairs and knocked urgently on Mundell’s door.

“Your cars are submerged!” he exclaimed to Mundell.

Mundell quickly threw on some shorts and a T-shirt and raced downstairs to save the truck. Water was overflowing the parking lot and beginning to stream down Andrews Avenue, which provided a second entry point to the Iron Horse. He managed to move both his truck and his wife’s SUV to safety. However, upon returning, he saw that water was pushing against the Iron Horse’s door on Andrews Avenue.

Goss attempted to open the door from inside, but a surge of water rushed in. He quickly slammed it shut.

“Go around!” he shouted to Mundell.

Mundell waded through water that reached his waist and looked around the corner toward Bridge Street, which resembled a torrent. Waves battered local businesses, and white smoke billowed from propane tanks. He realized that gaining entry to the inn was impossible and retreated to higher ground near the railroad tracks, where residents and first responders were congregating.

In front of the Iron Horse, Andrews Avenue had transformed into a swift river carrying branches, tree trunks, a refrigerator, and a dumpster. A dreadful thought struck Mundell: he was stuck outside while his family was still inside. And the water was still rising.

“My wife and kids and two others are in that building!” he pleaded with a nearby firefighter.

The firefighter radioed for assistance.

“It Just Went Absolutely Insane”

Inside the Madison County Sheriff’s Office, a chaotic scene unfolded as calls from distressed residents flooded in. Fallen trees blocked highways, trapping families, while entire neighborhoods were submerged. Deputies and firefighters rushed to respond.

Coy Phillips climbed into his truck, braving the rain and winds to assist firefighters in clearing road obstructions and evacuating residents to safety. His handheld radio crackled with new emergency calls.

“The wind’s intensity kept increasing,” Phillips recounted. “It just went completely crazy.”

On the phone, Quintero, who lived nearby in Yancey County, advised her younger brother to stay safe while she prepared to contribute at the Madison County jail, despite being off work that day.

Phillips instructed her to drive carefully as conditions were worsening rapidly. Quintero expressed her concern for their community.

“I just hope we all come out safe,” she said.

Quintero prayed for everyone and expressed love for Phillips before hanging up.

Leaving her home on Upper Browns Creek Road in Yancey County, Quintero faced flooding that had already overtaken her front yard. She opted for the backyard in a bid to reach her car.

Before long, floodwaters encircled her. She found refuge on a small hill, holding onto a tree stump as the water surged around her. Her neighbor, Chris Robinson, attempted to toss her a rope, but a powerful wave knocked her into the water, tangling her legs with hidden fencing below.

Robinson dove in after her, trying to free her legs when a tree crashed down on both of them, forcing them underwater.

Robinson surfaced, but Quintero remained submerged.

Jagged Debris and a Rescue Attempt Gone Awry

Mitch Hampton and his team arrived at the swollen creek in Mars Hill and prepared their raft for rescue efforts. Somewhere in the raging waters, a family had climbed onto their roof as the floodwaters invaded their home.

Just as they were about to embark, Hampton received a warning from Fire Chief Josh Lewis over the radio.

“Don’t go out yet,” Lewis cautioned. A bridge had collapsed downstream, leaving sharp debris scattered in the river. Hampton’s raft lacked a motor, making it vulnerable to being swept into unseen dangers. The chief deemed it too risky to proceed.

Hampton and his team reevaluated their plan and ultimately decided to cancel the rescue, opting to await the next call for assistance.

By noon on Friday, the storm still pounded the area with wind and rain, and cellphone service failed, rendering their navigation apps useless. They navigated the debris-choked roads as best they could, searching for familiar landmarks.

A new emergency call came through: people were trapped at the Iron Horse Station in Hot Springs. They hurried off to respond.

“Like a Scene Out of the Titanic”

Water continuously poured into the dining area of the Iron Horse. Goss noticed it seeping around his sneakers.

Across western North Carolina, houses and buildings were collapsing as floodwaters rose, shattering frames or pushing whole structures off their foundations. In Asheville, a 39-year-old woman and The intense floods had devastated the home of a 7-year-old boy and his grandparents, who were desperately seeking refuge on their roof. Tragically, the powerful waters swept them away, including the boy’s 73-year-old grandparents.

Just a short distance from Iron Horse, the raging floods demolished the southeastern corner of the Spring Creek Tavern on Bridge Street, revealing its stairway. The outdoor deck crumbled under the force.

While the majority of Hot Springs was experiencing flooding from Spring Creek, the nearby French Broad River was also rising to alarming levels. Starting at a typical height of 3 feet and a flow of 1,790 cubic feet per second on Wednesday, it surged to nearly 17 feet by noon on Friday, reaching a staggering rate of 81,000 cubic feet per second.

Within mere hours, the river level would exceed 20 feet, with a flow rate of 101,000 cubic feet per second; this is comparable to the water flow over Niagara Falls during peak season and about ten times stronger than the challenging Class IV rapids of the Colorado River at the Grand Canyon, which are known as some of the toughest in the U.S.

“The volume of water is astonishing,” remarked Kevin Colburn from American Whitewater, a nonprofit that monitors river conditions and rapids.

No one knew how long the Iron Horse could endure the relentless force of the water surging through it—a thought Goss preferred to avoid.

As water inundated the restaurant, he and Hailie Mundell hurried to the kitchen to gather supplies to take upstairs: a hotplate, hamburger patties, mashed potatoes, and dates.

“It felt like a scene from the Titanic,” Goss recalled. “We were grabbing as much food as possible.”

Meanwhile, Karen Howard-Goss, just a few miles from town, was anxious about her son.

“Connor, please be careful!!” she texted. “I love you so much!”

“Thanks, Mom!” he replied. “I will definitely be careful. Love you too!”

Eddy Hopping and a Rescue Effort

Shortly after 1 p.m., Hampton and his team arrived at the railroad tracks opposite the Iron Horse.

Mundell, relieved to see the rescuers, pointed out the building and suggested that they walk upstream along the railroad tracks to launch their rescue from there. As the clouds parted, sunlight broke through for the first time in two days, illuminating an eerily calm sky above the furious floodwaters below.

At a point upstream from the inn, Hampton secured a rope to a railroad tie, threaded it through a pulley attached to a bulldozer, and secured the other end to their raft. Firefighters on the bank were ready to pull them back once they had saved the evacuees. He placed a 24-foot ladder on the raft meant to reach the second floor window.

Hampton, his wife Korey, his brother Jim, and another volunteer began paddling into the swift current. However, as soon as they set off, they snagged debris with the rope, causing the raft to veer off course.

They attempted again, but once more they were pulled away from the hotel.

Inside, five residents huddled in Room 201 and opened the window to see the rescuers struggling to reach them.

Until then, Goss had remained composed. The idea of the building collapsing hadn’t been a consistent worry. But as he observed the ladder and rescuers, thoughts of stepping out the window into the raging water surged, and he felt his heart race.

“That really freaked me out,” he admitted.

Across the turbulent waters, Hampton decided to detach the rope from the raft and paddle to the building on his own—an uncertain choice. They had to navigate the motorless raft against a swift current like none he had previously experienced.

Getting caught in the current could mean being swept downstream towards Bridge Street, where the floods were already destroying buildings. Men stood along the bank, tightly gripping ropes, ready to hurl them to the rescuers if the raft lost control.

To reach the inn, the crew would need to use a technique known as “eddy hopping,” which involves maneuvering towards small eddies in the current where they could rest before proceeding to the next segment.

They paddled steadily, navigating eddies and moving closer to the building. Finally, one crew member managed to grab onto a conduit on the side of the inn while Hampton jumped into the chest-high water to secure the raft to a locked door. He leaned the ladder on the wall.

“Please Don’t Drop Them!”

Korey ascended the ladder with five life vests in hand, entering Room 201. She instructed the residents to put on the vests and explained they would evacuate in an adult-child alternating pattern. Goss, clearly shaken, stepped forward.

“I have to admit: I’m really scared to go down that ladder,” he said.

Korey smiled reassuringly. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

Goss went first. Hampton climbed up next, carefully holding River as he descended the ladder.

Mundell watched from the bank as Hampton balanced River in one arm while gripping the ladder with the other. His heart raced with anxiety.

“Please don’t drop them!” Mundell shouted over the sound of the flood, emotion breaking through his voice. He then shouted to River: “Just be good! Let them help you!”

After what felt like an eternity, Hampton successfully placed River into the raft. Next up was Dede, a hiker traversing the Appalachian Trail, followed by Levi, and finally Hailie made her descent.

The team paddled vigorously until they reached the bank. Mundell embraced every family member before heading off to meet a friend who would take them to Tennessee.

Goss sent a text to his parents, letting them know he was alright, then made his way to a friend’s house located on higher ground.

Mitch reattached the raft to his truck, lacking the time to change out of his wet clothes. More calls were coming through on the radio.

More individuals required assistance.

‘It’s Michelle’

Coy Phillips dedicated his Friday morning to assisting locals with evacuations and collaborated with firefighters on their calls. In the afternoon, he and his supervisor, Sheriff Buddy Harwood, navigated through the storm’s impact in Phillips’ truck, observing the destruction. Marshall was taking the bulk of the storm’s force.

Phillips hadn’t been in touch with his sister since their morning conversation, but he pushed aside any unsettling thoughts regarding her safety. Keeping busy aided in alleviating his concerns.

By late afternoon, Phillips and the sheriff drove to a bridge over the French Broad River, just south of Marshall. Residents had positioned themselves there to assess the damage downstream, some capturing the devastation on their smartphones.

As Phillips and Harwood were instructing individuals to vacate the bridge for safety reasons, their two-way radios buzzed with Yancey County Sheriff Shane Hilliard’s request to meet at the Madison County Sheriff’s Office.

Phillips instinctively understood the significance: it was customary to summon a deputy to the station following a family tragedy. The unsettling thought surfaced that something had befallen his sister but Phillips struggled to accept it.

Harwood voiced what was looming in Phillips’ mind: “It’s Michelle.”

They traveled the 3 miles to the sheriff’s office in silence.

Upon arrival, Hilliard was outside waiting and shared that they had found Phillips’ sister’s body near her home.

If Sheriff Hilliard shared any details about how Quintero passed, Phillips can’t recall. He sought to understand the least regarding his sister’s death − merely knowing she was one of the brightest parts of his life and now, shockingly, gone.

“She was one of those strings that kept everything so tight,” he said.

Phillips went into the office to convey the news to Quintero’s daughter, Ashlynn Quintero, who also served in the sheriff’s office. The pair sat together on the curb, embracing and weeping.

A Difficult Choice

As the evening approached in Madison County, Mitch Hampton’s day was coming to an end. His radio summoned him for one last mission: a man was trapped atop a tree near Rollins Road in Marshall and needed rescue.

Hampton and his team hurried to the location, already familiar with the man in distress. Earlier in the day, they had overheard deputies urging Bruce Tipton, 75, to evacuate his trailer situated approximately 50 feet from the French Broad River. He declined.

Tipton, a Navy veteran, had relatives living nearby. The previous night, his family evacuated his sister from Rollins Road, said Annie Meadows, Tipton’s niece. They offered to assist him as well, but he chose to remain, she recounted.

As the floods worsened on Friday, his trailer, which rested on cinder blocks, was overwhelmed, forcing him into the river. He managed to cling to a tree, just out of sight of the ground. For hours, he called for help, and family members urged him to hold on.

When Hampton and his team arrived, they assessed the scene to determine how to reach Tipton. Hampton climbed up a shed and onto a neighbor’s roof for a better view.

The tree Tipton was hanging onto was about 75 feet from the shore, surrounded by turbulent floodwaters. Nearby, a telephone pole with loose wires and metal cladding was entangled.

There were no calm waters. It would be impossible to bring the raft close enough to aid Tipton. The challenge was not launching but stopping the raft once it was swept into the current, according to Hampton. Further downstream lay a dam blocked by cars, trees, and debris that could send them careening if they couldn’t halt.

Hampton took stock of the situation, drawing on his thirty years of paddling the French Broad to explore options to reach Tipton but found none. Family members, calling out for him to be saved, watched with worry as Hampton and his team deliberated and ultimately arrived at a profoundly difficult conclusion for the day: they couldn’t proceed with the launch.

Hampton informed the concerned family members that they would return at dawn to attempt a rescue.

“There was no way to control the raft’s momentum,” he explained. “You must secure your position before attempting a rescue.”

Tipton clung on for several more hours, intermittently calling out for aid, while family members encouraged him to hold on. Then, at 10:51 p.m. − a moment etched in the memories of witnesses − Tipton became limp and fell headfirst into the rushing waters.

“It was heart-wrenching,” stated Meadows, Tipton’s niece, who witnessed him fall. “The distress and horror everyone has faced will linger in people’s minds for an extended time, if not forever.”

This incident was equally traumatic for Hampton.

“This one weighs heavily on me,” he admitted. “Deep down, I knew I couldn’t intervene.”

After finishing their duties at the station, Hampton and Korey headed home. He took a shower and settled into bed alongside his dog, Maddie, a 15-year-old beagle-lab mix, and his wife. They wrapped their arms around each other until they fell asleep.

Saturday, Sept. 28

The day following the floods, the residents of Hot Springs stepped out of their damaged homes to an almost surreal landscape: buildings wrecked as if dynamite had been detonated inside; roads either twisted or entirely missing; heaps of debris piled against bridges and banks; a section of the Spring Creek Tavern was gone. The Spring Creek Hotel had lost two walls, and everything was coated in a thick layer of mud.

The first floor of the Iron Horse Station inn was stripped bare and covered in mud, yet the structure still stood strong.

Approximately 80% of businesses in Hot Springs were damaged to a degree that rendered them inoperable, according to Daniel Myers, a local alderman and volunteer firefighter. The floods in Madison County resulted in four fatalities.

On Saturday morning, residents and town officials convened at Sara Jo’s Station, a gas station and mini-mart further down Bridge Street, where they realized assistance was likely days away. They formed groups to prioritize the cleanup of essential local businesses, like Gentry’s Hardware, critical to the town’s recovery.

Residents prepared meals using donated food at an outdoor kitchen behind the Hot Springs Rafting Company. The community emptied non-functioning coolers and shared grilled items including hot dogs, ribs, and hamburgers. Breakfast featured eggs and country ham.

Local residents then tackled the demanding job of clearing out businesses that were covered in mud and debris. David Wagner, co-owner of the Spring Creek Hotel, expressed the emotional toll, saying, “You’d work a bit and then cry a bit, work a bit and cry a bit. Everyone came together.”

Connor Goss walked down Bridge Street feeling dazed as he surveyed the destruction of businesses that once greeted him with warmth since his arrival. The town had broken windows everywhere, and thick mud was flowing down the street.

“It looked like a battle zone had unfolded here,” he remarked.

Shortly afterward, Goss left for Ohio to visit his grandmother, then traveled to Pennsylvania to be with his long-term girlfriend. He returned to Hot Springs to check on the recovery efforts but is uncertain how long he intends to stay.

The community that once provided him with stability was now in significant turmoil.

“I don’t know which businesses will reopen or remain closed,” he expressed sadly. “It’s devastating.”

A purple casket and makeshift graveside service

Coy Phillips had piles of debris to sift through and support available, but first, he had an urgent matter to address: the burial of his sister.

Without electricity, officials in nearby Burnsville informed him that they could not preserve Michelle Quintero’s body, necessitating a quick burial. Family members selected a sparkling purple casket that matched her Jeep, and a small group gathered at the local cemetery.

There was no viewing or means for distant relatives or friends to travel for the service. Some locals arranged for a front loader to dig the grave, and they held a small service attended by only a few, with no flowers brought.

In the following days, people approached Phillips at the gas station or grocery store, often in tears, offering sympathies and sharing how significant Quintero was to them. One former inmate and recovering addict even embraced Phillips while he filled his gas tank, sharing how his sister had assisted him during his incarceration and prayed for his rehabilitation.

“She genuinely influenced many lives,” Phillips reflected.

Shortly after the floods, while looking for flashlight batteries at home, Phillips found a book of daily affirmations his sister had given him five years prior.

In the front cover, she had written, “To my sweet lil brother … Please read daily as you confront challenges each and every day. There is a battle in the workplace, but the Good News is that our God is powerful and sovereign …”

Now, he keeps it with him at all times.

‘Water just has a special effect’

Drained both mentally and physically, Mitch Hampton had little time for rest. Two days post-flood, he and his team were back in the water, this time searching for victims.

Working alongside the sheriff’s office and the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigations, Hampton was called upon to use his raft to search the French Broad River for individuals swept away by the floods. He teamed up with Lisa Briggs, the director of the Emergency.

and the Disaster Management program at Western Carolina University, which is also recognized as a regional expert in training cadaver dogs.

For eight hours each day, Hampton, Briggs, and their dogs navigated the river, examining its tributaries and debris from the storm. Meanwhile, the cadaver dogs, stationed at the front of the raft, tracked scents. Within a week’s time, he and his team successfully recovered three out of the four individuals who had gone missing in Madison County.

In some instances, they had to secure the bodies to boats and paddle them to safer areas along the shore. In other cases, they transported the remains from heavily forested areas.

Despite the devastation and pain caused by the French Broad River, and the long road to recovery that lies ahead, Hampton expressed his continued love for the river—although it is now tempered with a deeper appreciation.

“Being able to float down a river, to interpret its features, and realizing you might be right or wrong is something that fulfills me. Water has a unique impact on me,” he remarked.

Although Hampton and his wife had planned to vacation in France this October, they decided to delay their trip. Their neighbors in Yancey County, who faced 11 fatalities, requested their assistance in searching for missing bodies there. Hampton and Korey quickly got ready and began combing through the flooded streams.

In total, 41 families across North Carolina were still awaiting news of their missing relatives.

How To Help

The Iron Horse Station inn has created a Venmo account to gather funds for rebuilding efforts.

The Walnut Community Volunteer Fire Department has established a PayPal account to collect donations for replacing search and rescue equipment that was damaged.

Jordan Mundell is also seeking to raise funds to move his family back to Hot Springs.

To contribute towards hurricane recovery efforts in North Carolina, please visit:www.nc.gov/donate.