Photographers Recall the Hurricane Helene Scenes They’ll Never Forget

The Washington Post

16:52 JST, October 11, 2024

As Florida braces for Hurricane Milton, a Category 5 system set to make landfall by Wednesday, stories from Hurricane Helene’s aftermath are still unfolding.

Helene has become one of the deadliest hurricanes in the United States, since the emergence of modern weather forecasting. More than 200 people have died in six states as a result of the storm, whose flooding, wind and storm surge inundated communities from the southeast to the southern Appalachians. Many remain unaccounted for.

The mountainous region of western North Carolina was one of the hardest-hit areas. Entire towns lie in ruins. Roads are washed out. Many residents still have no power or cell signals or running water, even as a wave of aid flowed in over recent days.

The moment Helene’s impact became apparent, photographers fanned across the western part of the state to chronicle the storm’s impact. We asked six photographers from The Washington Post and other news outlets to share photos, some of which haven’t been published before, and stories of scenes that will stay with them well after their assignment ends.

Here are their accounts, edited for clarity.

– – –

Boone, N.C.

I arrived in Boone late Thursday, Sept. 26, before the brunt of the storm, and set out amid heavy rain and moderate winds at first light Friday morning. After photographing flooded sections of town, I received a tip from a source that water rescues were taking place on the northeast outskirts of Boone. Those can be pretty dramatic, so I started making my way to an address my contact had provided. I never made it that far.

On a section of the local highway leading to where water rescues were sighted, I saw a sight that struck me: Water was flowing in a torrent over the road, churning with debris underneath. Some vehicles were trying and succeeding in driving through it, though lurching along with stomach-churning effect.

Viewing the scene from a distance through a telephoto lens revealed something shocking: There were people wading out into the torrent trying to remove debris that had been washed onto the submerged road.

I threw on a poncho and went out into the pouring rain.

I saw the water rising up above one person’s knees and splashing with force against him; if he slipped, who knows where the waters would have taken him. But he kept at it and even directed traffic when he felt he had cleared enough for more cars, mostly large 4×4 trucks with high clearance.

Of course, a smaller sedan, the red one seen in the photograph, had to try it, too. It didn’t make it far, and perhaps started floating, because this fearless Samaritan quickly walked back out into the torrent and began pushing down on the hood. Not being enough, he launched himself fully onto the front of the car, pushing it down with his weight while the driver managed to reverse out of the waters.

It may look like he’s holding on for dear life, but it was the driver and occupants getting the rescue.

I wish I could have talked to him, but the pouring rain, flying foliage and gusty conditions didn’t allow for it. The only words I exchanged with him was my warning that he could perish doing what he was doing, to which he shrugged and went back out into the water.

– Jonathan Drake for Reuters, from Boone

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Marshall, N.C.

Downtown Marshall is – was – a quaint American main street. It was home to a cafe, auto shop, church, brewery and other local businesses.

I’ve covered hurricanes in Florida, Texas and the coast of North Carolina. If there’s one word to describe the destruction of Helene in Marshall, it would be “mud.” That’s what struck me as so distinct about Helene’s aftermath in this area; mud and sludge and dirt coated and filled absolutely everything.

I parked my car near a police barricade and walked into town. I am 6-foot-5, and I had slop splashing up my calves. It smelled exactly how it looks like it would. I regretted not wearing a mask.

There was something of a “Blitz Spirit” in downtown Marshall.

While the outlook was bleak, in this part of town business owners, families and residents were ready to set things right. The coffee shop owner rejoiced over finding a few branded mugs intact.

The brewery owner took a shovel to the mud around his building, while his son pulled out furniture. Eventually he sat down, just to look around.

The auto shop owner’s friends were on a quest to find and collect car parts that had washed away. One friend kept exclaiming, “I almost got him!” while digging in a large puddle. This confused me until he turned around with a large fish in his hand. I had to laugh. “Are you saving a fish?”

Ezra Penland, 18, answered, “Yes, of course!” and tossed the rescued fish back into the river.

There was a sense of people looking out for each other – and even looking out for me. A man cutting distant power lines called to me to look out, while balancing a cigarette from his mouth. Though sad about their town and businesses, they were all grateful for their lives.

– Jabin Botsford of The Washington Post, from Marshall

– – –

Swannanoa, N.C.

This is Anita Crowder outside of what is left of her childhood and father’s home. He passed away a few weeks before the hurricane. For me, this photo conveys the weariness we feel during difficult moments in life. That feeling of defeat. That feeling that there’s nothing we can do. A reminder that life has its tough moments.

After I introduced myself to her, Anita allowed me to enter the chaos. And I was immediately struck by seeing what Helene had left behind – a waterline as tall as me, and I’m 6 feet tall.

The force and amount of water had lifted the heaviest furniture and appliances from one room to another. It’s hard to believe that water could create such destruction.

As I continued to cover the story, I would overhear conversations between people throughout the community expressing concern that there are still hundreds and hundreds of deceased people yet to be found.

– Marvin Joseph of The Washington Post, from Swannanoa

– – –

Bills Creek, N.C.

What has struck me most about covering Hurricane Helene is the remarkable way these communities have come together to help each other. Across the region, people have been donating supplies, and volunteers have stepped up to offer support.

In Bills Creek, local business Ridgeline Heating and Cooling has transformed into a relief hub where community members are coordinating search-and-rescue efforts, preparing hot meals and organizing supplies to distribute to their neighbors.

Ridgeline has also become a crucial communication point. After the hurricane, Ivanka Trump flew Starlink devices in by helicopter, making it one of the few places with reliable internet. Volunteers from across the United States have also set up camp behind Ridgeline, including cooking trailers from Mississippi, Louisiana and Georgia, providing meals for those in need. Each morning they gather to pray for those most effected and for one another.

– Allison Joyce for AFP, from Wilmington

– – –

Swannanoa

I was in Black Mountain, N.C., a few days back, and I saw a tractor trailer that looked like it had been washed off the road and landed down an embankment. Folks had discovered that the truck was carrying bottled water. So people opened up the back and started handing out cases of bottled water to anyone who would pull over on the side of the road to pick it up. Seeing these cases of bottled water coming out of a tractor trailer was pretty dystopian.

People need to understand that people are out here hurting and that they need help. It’s going to be a long road ahead. From my perspective, we’re just coming out of a sprint, but there’s a marathon ahead to recover from this. It’s probably going to be years for a lot of communities.

I’ve seen some pretty tremendous acts of kindness, people giving whatever they can. I have a home on the side of this mountain in Cherokee. I was largely spared. My neighbor up the road, I think after about the fifth day of being here, she had electricity and had me come in and take a hot shower and do a little laundry. And it’s just those kinds of things.

– Travis Long of the Raleigh (N.C.) News and Observer, from Swannanoa

– – –

Marion, N.C.

It was Friday, Sept. 27, and I had just begun to peek outside in my neighborhood in Morganton, an hour east of Asheville, N.C., at the damage that was left behind.

Marion was as far as I could go from the east.

There were no gas stations open, no restaurants, no hot coffee. The interstate was closed. I pulled into Marion and wandered up the Catawba River to find a home halfway underwater. Charles Wyatt and his wife were on disability and were rescued from the rising water. He couldn’t afford flood insurance. I stood beside him and listened in somber reverence.

The next day I traveled back to Marion with another journalist. We found a back road, only to find it was covered in trees and washed out down to one partial lane. I noticed white fabric hanging from the trees and among the piles of brush. It made me think of ghosts, of those who we’ve lost and haven’t been able to find.

Later that week I spent two days in Ashe County, where I reunited with some friends who were organizing recovery efforts. I rode out into the county with volunteers delivering goods to families who were stranded on washed-out roads. We stopped at the home of an elderly lady. No one was home. She had been evacuated. Her dishrags still hung up to dry on the porch. Her wood stacked in anticipation for winter. I wonder when she will be able to return home with her family.

Will they be able to afford to fix the foundation that was washed away by what used to be a small creek? I think about all these little stories of folks who were just getting by and how difficult it will be to make up from such loss. How many people are out there that I don’t know their name or what they need? Will they ever be seen or heard as the weeks or months pass? Will we as a community, as a region or a state be able to answer their cry for help?

– Jesse Barber for The Washington Post, from Marion