December 11: it’s 6 am and completely dark – normal for this time of year. It’s 53 degrees, likely the high for the day. And unlike every other dark morning since September 28, it is dumping rain. It has been pouring much of the night. Like the fierce winds that have blown through a couple of times as fall transitioned to winter, I’m sure this hard rain beckons traumatic memories for some WNC residents. Reflexively, I check the online river gauge which looks like this:
But the front is almost through and I know the river will crest soon. It’s unlikely to even reach 1,000 cubic feet per second (to put it in perspective, 10,000 cfs is a minor flood, and initial estimates indicate that the South Toe hit 80,000 cfs on September 27.) Usually I would look forward to seeing the river full and rushing after a dry spell. Today I’m dreading it. Not because I’m afraid it’ll flood, but because it is likely to be a torrent of brown mud. It will be some time before this river, typically one of the cleanest in the state, runs clear after a good rain.
Previous (minor to moderate) floods that I’d experienced scoured the river bed, cleaning out accumulated silt. Helene’s waters certainly scoured the riverbed, but it also devoured most of the trees, shrubs and topsoil that lined the rivers and creeks. It caused hundreds of landslides in this valley alone. My own personal paradigm for what I long considered healthy and "natural" soil and water interaction in these mountains has been challenged. Normally our mostly intact mountain forest does an excellent job keeping run-off clean, and I can blame most river sediment on human disturbance: logging clearcuts, newly graded driveways, and freshly ploughed fields. But during this natural disaster the waterways, even in undisturbed roadless areas, have seen an abnormal influx of silt and sediment. It’s forced me into an ecological longview. Other events like this have certainly occurred over the past few thousand years, and there will undoubtedly be ecological effects on the waterways for years, perhaps decades. Hopefully, eventually, most aquatic species will recover – even those, like hellbenders, that depend on our clear mountain streams.
Beavers have already begun building silt-controlling dams. Other keystone species like sycamore and birch will re-grow over the coming years and anchor the riverbanks. As the most powerful keystone species of all in this ecosystem, we humans have an important role to play. Once we’ve cleared our own detritus from the river banks, we need to get our machines out of the waterway and let it heal. We can further stabilize streambanks by seeding and planting native plants. It will be a months-and-years long effort, and we should act now to captivate the generosity and spirit of volunteerism that is rampant. Our little South Toe Conservation Fund is transitioning into more of a conservation coalition and is doing this work. You can get involved by signing up on the mailing list (bottom of the website) or attending one of our events.
