This is from a friend, John Conover, who lives in Terrebone Parish in Louisiana. I’ll be creating a page with a collection of his posts regarding both Hurricane Rita and Hurricane Katrina later today.
On Saturday, as the rain passed, leaving winds blowing a constant 35
knots, my brother and I left Raceland to see how close to my work we could
get. This was primarily a birding trip, since past storms had given me an
idea that the road to work would be impassable in the marshes. Not 5 miles
from home, the wife called to tell me that she was in touch with one of the
grounds managers. The roads were closed at least 15 miles north of work;
one of the higher-ups was accessing work by boat. The day before, the same
guy waded through the storm surge water roughly 3 miles to our facility to
check on the status.
We decided to keep driving, hoping to get to a ship channel and see if we
could pick up pelagic species like sooty and bridled terns as they
reoriented following the storm.
Houma, a town approximately 30 miles north of work, has an interesting
geological pattern of at least three significant bayous running south
spread out like fingers going to the southwest, south, and southeast in
Terrebonne Parish. There are four highways following these fingers; 2
following the southeastern bayou that runs through Chauvin, the town
immediately to the north of work. One of these highways is joined by a
road just out of Houma connecting this highway with the southern highway
going to a town called Dulac.
We drive on the southeastern highway that connects to the Dulac highway.
At the road that connects the two highways, we noticed cop cars with lights
flashing. This connecting road was closed. As we passed, I glanced up the
road and saw that it ended roughly 1/8 mile from my spot. There appeared
to be a lake in the way.
We stopped ½ mile down the road and noticed many seagulls and terns
dropping out of sight behind some houses (in this area, most houses are
along the highways bordering the bayous—it’s the highest land next to the
streams) in a field bordered by sugar cane. The lake apparently extended
to the south behind these houses.
Driving further south, I noticed that this new lake kept extending
towards the highway just behind the houses along the road. We pulled over
a few times, awestruck by the former cattle pasture turned into water
extending to the west and disappearing in trees on the horizon. Cattle
were bunched up on 15-yard strips of dry land against the fences bordering
the back yards of the houses. At the edge of the water, tens of thousands
of white ibis, herons, and egrets were gathered.
We continued on a couple more miles. At a bridge connecting the two
southeastern highways, a cop car was stationed. Another road closed. We
were about 25 miles north of work. Turning to the east, we connected to
the last chance south and headed down the highway. About 7 miles south,
the road was closed again. Another lake; this time, to the east, and from
past experience, beginning in the community to the south of this highway
called Montegut.
Here’s the story: these communities, long standing and dry for most of
their histories, are feeling the one-two punch from coastal erosion and
sinking land. Storm levees 4-5 feet high, ones that historically did
admirable work as hurricane levees, even though they aren’t hurricane
levees, could not keep the storm surge back from waters generated by a
category 5 storm at sea over 200 miles to the west. The surge topped
levees in Terrebonne parish from the southwest AND southeast, sending in 4-
5 feet of water. Most houses in this zone are built on stilts.
Unfortunately, the water rose above the @2 foot height common in these
inland communities.
Montegut was to be expected. Hurricane Isadore breached the storm levees
three years ago, sending 6 feet of water that sat, stagnated, and then
mixed with human sewage as storage tanks and wastewater treatment areas
were inundated. The next year, storm surge from Lilli, a hurricane that
passed 150 miles to the west, breached the levees in areas where only
temporary fixes were put in place. This storm, although about 230 miles to
the west, topped the levees again, creating a new set of problems for this
community, among others.
Dulac and suburbs to the south of Houma weren’t to be expected. This is
the first time I have heard of these communities getting completely soaked
from floodwaters. A block here or there, sure. Low lying spots are
common. But a whole community? A large housing area?
Locals are having a hard time coming to grips with the disappearing
landscape and its effects on their livelihoods and future, indeed, the
future of their culture. They are stuck in an area where they can only re-
sell their houses to others in the community (who would buy here after
hearing of this?), or watch their homes become inundated every time a storm
hits to the west of here. Meanwhile, the marshes erode further, barrier
islands disappear little by little, and the ground sinks another ½ inch a
year in some spots.
My wife and I drove to work yesterday. The town of Chauvin, about 10
miles to the north of work, had significant flooding for the second time
anyone can recall (Andrew being the first). The town got 3 feet of water
from topped levees directly behind the town to the west. Salt water
covered the main roads through town. We drove about two miles in water 1.5
feet high. Everywhere, people were pulling soggy carpets, ruined
furniture, and children’s toys out of houses where water was only then
beginning to recede.
We made it to work, where storm water got about 4 feet high. Dead marsh
grass was bunched, herded into clumps by tropical storm winds. A layer of
sticky, stinky mud was everywhere on the grounds. We did our business and
got out, back to higher ground.
I heard that Terrebonne Parish has yet to be declared a disaster area. I
can’t imagine why.
(Jaycon)
