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FRANCES, The Mountain Storm of the Century-by Barry McAlister, an eyewitness account of the flooding of Linville Falls Visitor Center copyright, the Blue Ridge Parkway Foundation
We apprehensively listened to storm reports as hurricane Frances moved across Florida, thru Lakeland (where I was born), Tampa , then into the Gulf of Mexico. In the Gulf she was downgraded to a Tropical Storm and turned to the north.
Frances limped into Appalachee Bay (south of Tallahassee) with surprisingly little rain and soon became a tropical depression. Sunday at Linville was unexpectedly sunny and warm. I spent half the day lounging with a couple of school teachers from a nearby town.
Tuesday brought drizzle, rain at times, and was occasionally breezy, but the full effects of Frances would not be felt until that night. In the evening the rain increased and there were a few gusts, but nothing over 30 mph. A persistent annoyance was apples falling on Maybellene's “head”. By the time I retired the tropical rain had begun. As Maybellene rocked in the gusty wind I awoke a few times and listened to the thrashing rain. This was certainly what I'd call an incessant “frog strangler”. Even though I was raised in Florida I don't recall such a continuous deluge of rain. Later I heard estimates of 25 inches of rain in that 12 hour period! Although I couldn't find any other leaks, around 6 am I noticed water dripping in my ear. I got up and found the thundering sound of the rain replaced by a breeze in the trees and a faint sound that sounded like rushing water. Maybellene, Sammie and I were safely on a hill, but much of the campground was along the banks of the Linville River . First light gradually revealed that the lower part of the campground was inundated by a orange torrent of water. An ominous sign was a dead Great Blue Heron up the path from the flooded amphitheater. Now it was time to see the falls and explore the mountains for exciting video. During the nite I repeatedly told myself, “Barry, do not do anything stupid today. Do not drive off in deep water.” I repeated – “I will not take any chances today, I ain't as young and indestructable as I used to be. You recall how you sunk Linda's truck in hurricane Opal.” Sammie and I headed toward Linville Falls and were surprised that we couldn't even drive to the visitor center. A deluge of water was rushing down Dugger's Creek, across the road and into the parking lot, now a ‘lake'. As I stepped out there was a loud crash as a tree tumbled into the creek and raced toward the river. I was determined to get to the falls, even if I had to climb over the mountain. So (with camera safely in a plastic bag) I headed up the mountainside. Climbing over, under and through rhododendron bushes is almost as difficult as mangroves. I scrambled higher and higher, panting like an “ole hound”. I could hear the roar of the falls on Dugger's Creek, assumed the bridge was submerged, so I was intent on climbing above the creek. However I was drawn to the thunderous sound, so made my way to the creek for a “look see”, and discovered the rampaging stream had not quite covered the bridge. The “trail” continued as a flowing stream of rain water. At the visitor's center I was shocked to see it almost submerged by the river. The water was almost to the roof line, but what was most interesting was that the front of the building was like the bow of a boat. From front to back, this ‘bow wave' dropped more than a foot. The previous Monday afternoon I'd been here, talking with the attendant and bought some post cards. Guess I should have purchased more cards and some books, because they are now history, under 8 feet of water. We had talked about how the river had flooded last Thursday, but it never crossed our minds that the river could actually flood the visitor's center. He also told me they had just purchased a state-of-the-art computerized cash register. On up the mountain, a creek thundered across the trail. This wasn't going to stop me. I had hoped to keep my feet dry, but this wasn't going to be the day. Crossed several “creeks” of rain water; waded innumerable “lakes; slogged thru mud bogs and neared the Plunge Basin Overlook. Before arriving, the sound of the falls was deafening. Having preparing myself to somehow be disappointed in the view, I descended the steps, now cascading with water. Safely perched on the overlook I was astounded by the power and violence of the falls, blasting itself from the canyon walls. From the gorge below, a surge of water filled about 125 feet on the rock face. I'd expected the falls to be surging from the rock face, but not the maelstrom before me. The majestic power held me in awe. I was mesmerized. Now I could easily see how canyons are formed and rocks pulverized by the force of water. As I watched, this frenzied orange water heaved up higher than the falls, to a height of 150 feet! I was spellbound, watching the soaring water reach for the heavens. Occasionally trees would only briefly be exposed before disappearing into this cataclysm of water. And the sound, as if you were under a speeding train or behind a 747 taking off. I've read that waterfalls produce a field of negative ions resulting in exhilaration, as during a thunderstorm. I can attest to this phenomenon. This experience was truly exhilarating and greatly surpassed my expectation. It's fascinating to consider that I may very well be the only living human to have witnessed Linville Falls in this violent condition. After a time I hiked over and down into the gorge where I hoped to view the falls from a different angle, but the river washed over the trial. Slogging my way to this point, I was somewhat concerned about the waves frequently surging over the trail. To my right was the canyon wall, to my left a river “out of control”. I'd been backpacking into Linville Gorge for the past 30 years and never had seen the river as anything but a clear running mountain stream, gently making its way around and over rocks and boulders. During that time the rocks “controlled” the river, now the river was rampaging far above the (now insignificant) rocks. From a somewhat placid stream, the Linville was now, angry! I was soon awakened from my philosophical trance by waves washing over my feet. My imagination briefly saw a huge wave sucking me out into that ferocious river. Moving back down river I marveled at the tremendous standing waves as the river rushed down the mountain side, oblivious to my presence. This reminded me of the mightily Colorado , but I was brought into reality by surging waves again washing over my boots. The climb back out of the canyon was much more different than the passage down, complicated by the cascade of water streaming down the trail. Back at the visitor's center I was surprised to see the water had subsided more than a foot since 8 am . Then I slogged on and apprehensively crossed the bridge over Dugger Creek, up the trail a ways, then clambered through the forest back down to Sammie. At the campground host's RV, I talked with Terry Morris (the parkway ranger) and showed them the video I'd taken. My plan was to go to the Toe River , but needed to mail a package and purchase some blank video tapes in Boone. Sure wish I'd gone south to discover the Parkway washouts and flooding along the Toe River . We took the back roads to Boone, did some business and drove back through Newland to check my email. While in Newland I heard estimates of 20 inches of rain having fallen in Avery County . The library was closed, so we returned to the visitor's center. Now I could drive into the parking lot. Approached the visitor's center from the forest and took more video. The water was now only a foot and a half deep across the floor. The level had dropped about 6 feet in the past 5 hours. What really amazed me was the rushing river, just past the visitor's center. It appeared to be traveling at warp speed, with limbs and trees rushing past like a screaming banshee. I should have attempted to measure the speed, but it had to be at least 30 mph. I just had to see the bridge over the Linville River . My feet had been wet all morning, so I waded thru the visitor's center to the bridge. What a sight! Water was boiling up and over the bridge. Some of the aluminum railing had broken loose and all the railings were festooned with limbs, logs, and even a trailer tire and rim. It appeared the river had risen more than 3 feet over the bridge, which means the river flooded over 22 feet above the normal river height! Tentatively I crept out onto the bridge. It seemed sound, but shuttered when trees crashed into it. I imagined that if it gave way I'd “swim like hell” for the trees along shore, before the prospect of being ground into organic particles under the falls. At the far end of the bridge was a 5 foot muddy ditch where the tempest had taken with it the land. At the other end water gushed from broken water lines. The visitor's center was an absolute mess, door smashed (some hanging); mud everywhere; rock walls missing and amazingly the power was “on”. Not only that, but the hand dryers were running and gave off a disconcerting electrical odor. I tried to turn them off, but they were determined to self destruct. Down steam of the center the rhododendron bushes were shrouded by leaflets and trash. Then I heard a “phump” as the hand dryers expired. At this point Terry drove up. As I waded toward him, I entered an area where the water was almost waist deep. As we watched, the water rapidly subsided. We marveled at the force and speed of the rampaging river. Since pumps may be running and there was an electrical odor in the air I tried to find a master breaker to turn “off” the power. I planned to use a long stick, but the junction box was (probably fortunately) locked. After a bit, the water level dropped to a few inches, so Terry and I explored the visitor's center. As we stood by the book store, a huge log floated up and perched itself over the stone wall that had collapsed. Terry tried to unlock the door to the bookstore, but debris prevented the key from being inserted all the way. I drove back to camp and got some WD-40 to free the lock and understood that Terry was to return, but I didn't see him again. I made Terry and the camp hosts (Barger and Eleanor) a copy of the video I'd taken. I really wanted to have the video inside the book store, but ‘so be it'. Of course this stands as only one of many adventures, but this was unique in its exposure. A personal reward is that I am able to share this experience (via video tape) with hundreds (if not thousands) of people, including the Governor of North Carolina. For the past 30 years Linville Falls has been a very special to me, and for the rest of my life I'll be able to visually relive this remarkable experience. -- by Barry McAlister |
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By early September Maybellene (my motor home) and I were traveling along the Blue Ridge Parkway, near Boone, North Carolina. It was Labor Day weekend and the Linville Falls campground was filled.
I'd been talking with some folks from Wakulla County. Some lived at Shell Point (where I used to keep my sailboat), St. Marks, and a woman's father owned the Shell Island Fish Camp, on the Wakulla River. On Saturday, four RVs headed home to “protect” their property and one RV headed north, (to New England) to avoid the storm's path.
On Labor Day “Sammie” (my Suzuki Samurai) and I went exploring, first to revisit Beech Mountain, but it was shrouded in clouds, with a visibility of only a few feet. On into Tennessee (near Bristol ) the sky was clear and surprisingly warm. Returning to the Blue Ridge Mountains I found it clouded, and around Newland, beginning to lightly rain. Amazingly when I returned to the campground it was a “ghost town”. A couple from Polk County , Florida and I were the only remaining campers. 
