22.4 – The Flood of the Century

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm, continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.*

Marty awoke to the pounding of the rain. He checked the creek from his bed, and it was back to being nearly full. The ferocious torrent was now strangely familiar, as if sleeping next to raging rapids was normal. Large raindrops were thrumming on the skylight directly above his bed so rapidly that the water didn’t have time to wash away, and it started to leak. First one drop fell, and then another, and he hopped to the kitchen to get a bucket. He was becoming skilled at maneuvering with his awkward cast. Outside, the morning light revealed a huge mess of fallen redwood branches and needles all around the cabin. “Mike, wake up, we gotta check the yard.” Of course “we” was euphemistic, because there was no way Marty could hobble outside in this weather. Mike groaned and opened one red-rimmed eye, saw the plastic tub on the floor underneath his skylight, then got up and pulled on a rain slicker, going outside with Keno to do a damage check.

“No problems, but lots of branches everywhere,” he reported when he came back in, dripping water all over the floor. “The doors on the shed are closed.” Keno shook hugely, rotating his large body back and forth and spraying them with soggy doggie water.

There were five skylights in their little house, and they were all dripping now. It was getting to be as wet inside as it was outside. Through the front door, Marty could see the yard was a huge puddle as big as a swimming pool, being beat into a froth by the deluge. The air was a blur – as if the forest was out of focus – and he couldn’t see any space between the drops that came down all at once in sheer inundation. The walkway up to the driveway had turned into a gushing cascade, and was now a major tributary. Mike yanked open the back door to the kitchen, and the creek had a completely different energy. Rivulets were pouring into it from every direction, feeding the churning maelstrom that appeared to be flowing backwards on itself. The water was already at the top of its banks, and boiling over in some of the low spots. Keno whined anxiously, as if he really wanted to go for a walk… as far up the nearest hill as possible! Marty looked around for Krishna, but she had gotten out somehow, and was no doubt headed for high ground already.

Marge woke up later with her dog Skippy, and Susie joined them as they all peered anxiously out the windows and the back door, each wondering the same thing: when will it stop? The intense rainfall showed no sign of letting up, and relentlessly poured on top of the cabin as if it was built directly underneath Niagara Falls. This didn’t look good. Julie showed up with Scott and his bright yellow Jeep; with her dogs, of course. Her boyfriend was wearing fly fishing waders that struck Marty as overkill for the situation. They’d heard about the storms on the news, and decided to drive out early to check on the homestead. After seeing the family was all right, they sloshed down to the McAuliffes. Marge cooked breakfast for everyone on the camping stove, and by the time Mike and Susie did the dishes, the creek had overflowed its banks and invaded the yard. The front yard had become a growing lake of brown water that was swirling and eddying this way and that. The brave little cabin stood three feet above the tide, raised on its concrete foundation like a red-shingled castle built in the middle of a river. The grove of redwoods out back resembled a ring of columns rising from of a pool of coffee, as the water pushed its way toward the shed. Marty craned his neck out the back door to check the rocks they used for markers, and his hair was doused as if he’d put it under a running shower. The high water mark from previous years were completely submerged, and the creek splashed up against the concrete foundation like angry waves on a jetty.

The surging waters now had no boundaries, and channeled every which way through the trees around their house. The vacant “shipwreck” cabin across the creek was knee-deep in the flood already, and a piece of siding had been ripped off by the force of the current. The peaceful forest creek had grown up and become a river, and it rolled and rippled between the houses like a massive sea serpent in a hurry. This must be even worse upstream, Marty speculated, where the canyon was steeper and had no flat places for the water to relieve its built-up pressure. Already the main current was full of debris from people’s yards, such as firewood, sections of fence, lumber, paint cans, and furniture. Watching through the back door from about ten feet away, Marty observed a wooden chaise lounge being swept past at impressive speed, and he imagined a cartoon of someone sitting in it with a beer. Marge, Julie, and Susie were sensibly packing family mementos, clothes, and other items of importance into suitcases, in case they had to evacuate. Their providence relied on the fact that the property was situated at a spot where the creek bed widened, which made it possible for the water to spread out some, but they were ready for anything. It suddenly dawned on Marty that this must have happened before, because the elevated foundation was newer than the house itself. By noon, the cabin was surrounded by over a foot of water flowing downstream, and it was easy to imagine they were actually sailing upstream in a ship instead.

My mind’s distracted and diffused.
My thoughts are many miles away.
They lie with you when you’re asleep,
Kiss you when you start your day.*

Marty couldn’t get his mind off Michelle, as he imagined rescuing her from a flood. Meanwhile, Mike and Scott were outside, tying the propane tank to a stout fir tree so it didn’t float away. They had just seen one hurtling down the rapids faster than a torpedo, bubbling and hissing as it passed off the starboard bow. Big Billy had advised Scott it would also be prudent to disconnect the tank and shut off the gas to avoid damage. Then they helped Julie and Susie take the suitcases up to the driveway, packing essentials into Marge’s camper shell in case everyone had to leave suddenly. By the time they returned, the water had covered the front deck and was about half way up the foundation! Scott’s waders now seemed to be very practical, indeed. Mike’s jeans were soaked to the waist, and he tossed them in a bucket to get a fresh pair. The massive downpour showed no sign of letting up, and they existed in a liquid world where water was in motion above, around, and inside them. A few minutes later, a submerged hot tub tumbled ominously past the back door, followed by what appeared to be a section of someone’s deck. Two more propane tanks hissed past, giving the impression their ship was under attack by a submarine. Suddenly, Susie called from the main room, “Mom! There’s a fire truck in the driveway!”

It was true – there were red lights flashing through the fogged-up windows. She opened the front door to see men in helmets and yellow slickers waving frantically and yelling loudly, “Get out of the house now! You are in immediate danger!” Well, that certainly got everyone’s attention! They snapped out of the hypnotic effects of watching the creek, and decided it was time to abandon ship. Everyone grabbed a few last things and made for the door. The house was now surrounded by almost three feet of rushing water. The space between the stoop and the steps up to the driveway was a ten-foot wide stream in flood. The roaring sound of water in motion filled the air with grinding tension. Scott threw a rope across to a fireman with a ridiculously bushy mustache, who tied it to a tree, and he waded halfway in so the women could come across, carrying Skippy. Keno was pulling on his leash and whining, wanting to jump in the water and follow them, and Mike had to tie him to the doorknob. From the top step, Marty could see there was going to be a problem for him. He was using crutches with a full leg cast, on which he was not supposed to bear any weight. In his mind’s eye he imagined making a stretcher out of his crutches, and the firemen carrying him across…

Just then Scott pointed, and as if conjured up by a magic spell, their picnic table was floating towards them from the campsite! He scrambled onto the deck, where the water wasn’t so deep, and when the table floated by in the middle of the channel the fireman stopped it, and Scott simply stepped on top, holding it in position with a couple of inches of water flowing over it. “Come on!” the bushy mustache yelled, and more firemen were coming down to see if they could help. Mike untied Keno and led him across the table, which served as a submerged bridge across the stream. Marty hopped down a step, placed his crutches on the invisible picnic table and pole-vaulted across, slipping on the other side and falling into the fireman with the crazy facial hair. Two firemen put their arms under Marty’s legs like a chair, and they carried him up to the driveway, while trying to avoid the cascade of water pouring down the slope. They loaded him into the cab of the Apollo, and left to move their fire truck.

The flat parking area had the surreal character of a muddy tropical river from Apocalypse Now, with several vehicles mired in the muck up to their hubs. Little Billy was there with his 4-wheel-drive truck, and reported that their bridge was underwater, and they’d all evacuated over the dirt road already. He and Gilly had come back for a few more things, including a box of food and a case of beer. Susie rode in the jeep with Julie and Scott, while Mike drove the Apollo with Marty and Keno, and Marge followed in her Toyota with Skippy. Marty’s leg was hurting something fierce, and he hoped he hadn’t reinjured it getting away from the house. Looking down at the Rusty Bucket Ranch completely surrounded by a still-rising flood, they all had a feeling of finality – as if leaving a sinking ship they would never see again. Marty thought of all his drawings, records, and books down there, and wondered if they would be lost forever.

And so you see, I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone, without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.*

There was a poem down there, too – one he’d been writing for Michelle – and it felt as if a part of his soul was sinking beneath the muddy water. The firemen said they’d have to lead them up to the store because the road was flooded, too. “It’s pretty bad,” the one who helped Marty wagged his mustache, “I don’t know what you people were thinking; sitting there with gas bombs floating by like that!” They mud-wrestled their truck into position to lead the ragged caravan over the sloppy, hungry road, and it’s a good thing they had a heavy plow in front of them because there were many small mudslides over which they had to drive. Scott’s jeep and the Apollo had no problem, but Marge’s little Toyota tilted and teetered precariously in places. From Marty’s passenger window, he could look down and see the powerful brown monster that used to be Papermill Creek, smashing into the banks below Bug Eye Bob’s cabin, and surging greedily downstream towards the McAuliffes’ place. They passed a huge fir trunk that had fallen across the road and was freshly sawed into three sections, obviously the work of the firemen, without whom they would have been trapped.

Down where the dirt road met Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, the creek was frothing over the concrete bridge and covered half the asphalt. The evacuation vehicles crawled towards the store, following the fire truck with its flashing red lights. Marty was soaked to the skin, and his cast was flexible and mushy. The colors from his cartoons had all blurred together, and his leg looked like a tie-dyed bratwurst. Keno shivered uncontrollably on the seat between him and Mike, who gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. They passed Seth’s house, where Mike had crashed his Stanger, and the water was up to the windows. There the creek swung wide onto the road, and they had to drive through a foot of rushing water to make it past. Around Deadman’s Curve the trees opened up and revealed a massive mudslide that had come down from the hills behind the church, flowing across the highway up to ten feet deep in places, carrying cars, trees, boats, and sections of a house down to the vacant lot next to the Old Viking, which was nearly up to its eaves in water. The bridge to Spring Road was completely swamped by a huge swath of chocolate milk surging downstream. Chas and Iggy lived up there, and if they hadn’t gotten out yet it appeared as though they’d be stuck for a while. A huge bulldozer had graded a path up and over the lowest part of the slide so vehicles could get across, but Marge’s Toyota got stuck and had to be pulled out by Scott’s winch.

There the fireman left them, and the one with the bushy mustache directed them to the emergency shelter at Lagunitas School, so the muddy little convoy of evacuees headed in that direction. Marty guessed the shelter would be crowded, because all along the road, which followed the raging creek now crashing through the trees, the houses were flooded and sagging. Every bridge was engulfed, cutting off the residents in the hills. He said a silent prayer that everyone was safe. His leg ached from his fall, and had lost the support of the soggy, gray cast, which was now uncomfortably hot because the truck’s heater was cranked up full blast. The insane downpour seemed to let up a little as they drove, but still washed across the road in sheets of rain, and windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the deluge. When they arrived at the school there were already many trucks – only a few cars – so they parked in the back and scrambled out to get their bearings, chattering with nervous tension and a sense of awe for what they’d been through.

“Did you see the Old Viking?”

“I wonder whose house got smashed by that mudslide!”

“Omigod, the Slodge was totally flooded!”

The dogs had to stay inside the trucks, and they weren’t happy about that at all! The parking lot was a chorus of panicked pooches howling and barking in terror. Inside the school gym it looked like a refugee camp – because that’s what it was! Marty saw Seth, Tony, and their dad, and was glad that they got out okay. Regretfully, he informed them about the condition of their house, and they just sat shaking their heads with stunned looks on their faces. Little Billy and Gilly were there, and the latter was in bare feet and his surfer’s wetsuit. Susie went to find Tillie and the rest of the McAuliffes. A team of paramedics was making the rounds, and they asked Marty about his leg. He said it was no big deal, but they insisted on cutting away the mushy, multicolored mass of plaster, exposing his white, withered-looking leg for the first time in two weeks. He thankfully gave it a vigorous scratch, accepting a Velcro splint from their ambulance. He was still wearing his old pants with the left leg cut off, and didn’t want to frighten anyone, so he put on the splint and wrapped it in a blanket. He was extremely uncomfortable. All the Valley folk were coming and going, discussing the homes and businesses that were flooded, and the impassable roads and bridges. Someone said there was a huge landslide in the park that had blocked the creek, causing it to back up. That made sense, Marty reasoned, remembering how quickly the water had risen around their house. A deputy made an announcement that all evacuees were supposed to stay calm and spend the night, and things would be better in the morning.

The rain tapered off to a “regular” storm as it got dark, but it still didn’t stop. Everyone’s adrenaline petered out as well, leaving the gym damp and sullen. Folks were worried about their homes, and some families were still missing pets. Scott and Little Billy had gone back in the Jeep to check on the situation, but the emergency crews wouldn’t let them though. They all had to wait until the next day, when the deputies announced the creek had receded enough to let most people return to their homes. Driving back through Lagunitas was like traversing a war zone, with damaged buildings everywhere, storm debris in the road, and filthy people picking through the muck and rubble. The McAuliffes went down to inspect their place, and the White family continued up over the hill on the hungry road, which was squishy with mud and barely passable. Marge left her Toyota at the foot of the road, not wanting to drive it over the small slides again. When they got to the driveway they feared the worst, because it resembled a tidal flat of mud at the mouth of a river. Amazingly, the Rusty Bucket Ranch was still intact! Julie and Scott scrambled down the washed out path excitedly, and trudged through several inches of slime onto the slippery deck. The raised foundation was coated with mud thicker than chocolate frosting, but the red-shingled house looked incredibly untouched! Apparently, the water rose just to floor level and miraculously receded, leaving only a brown puddle in a low spot next to the front door. The miscreant creek was back within its banks – but still running fast, loud, and full. The yard had the appearance of being completely covered in chocolate, though it was not at all appetizing. Nothing green remained at ground level, and most of the small trees and brush had been swept away.

Inside, the buckets under the skylights were overflowing, and a few things got soaked, but the interior was remarkably undamaged. The beer in the ice chests was still cold. They all popped a few cans, and sincerely thanked their lucky stars, and then the mood became somber as they reflected on all their neighbors who got flooded out. Marge and the gang went down to see if the McAuliffes needed any help, while Marty laid on the couch and rested his aching leg. They came back later and said the basement had been flooded (of course), but the bridge and Paula’s cabin appeared to be okay. Scott added that they were wisely not using the bridge just yet, until they could check for possible damage underneath. Then he and Mike went over to the China House to make sure Lucas and his boys had survived. Marty wondered how Michelle and his friends “over the hill” had fared. He checked the phone but it was dead.

Marge cooked a big meal, and mostly everyone slept that day, ignoring the dull throb of the creek that had receded to a “normal” level. Schools were closed all over Marin where the damage was widespread – especially in the Ross Valley. For example, San Anselmo Creek started in the Cascades part of Fairfax, flowed through the park near the Baxters’ house, continued past Drake (where Marty suspected a few portable classrooms had been flooded), and by the time it got to downtown San Anselmo it was reported to be a four-foot-deep river rushing right down the main street! Businesses were wiped out, many homes were destroyed, and one of the dams in the hills was damaged, but pronounced structurally sound. They called it “the flood of the century” on the radio, but their brave little cabin in the redwoods had somehow survived.

The only significant damage was the furnace under the house, which got thoroughly clogged with mud. Also, the shed took on about a foot of water, so that many old family mementos, clothes, books, photographs, and papers were ruined. Still, they considered themselves very lucky indeed, as reports came in on the radio of families who had lost everything. They had no dry firewood, no power, and no propane, but everyone bundled up resolutely against the damp chill; determined to stay in their home no matter what. Marty dozed off, dreaming of rescuing Michelle from her roof in a canoe, with both of his legs in casts…

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths, and I —
I know that I am like the rain
There, but for the grace of you, go I.*

*Lyrics from “Kathy’s Song, by Paul Simon