Almost every spring, cities along the Red River in North Dakota and Minnesota battle fast-rising waters as the winter snow melts into the north-flowing Red River. This year is no different, and in fact, it may be worse than most. This Sunday, the Red River is expected to crest in Fargo at 38 feet. I know this is keeping locals working feverishly, filling and laying over a million sandbags as a last line of defense against the rising waters.
It’s been four flood seasons since I lived in North Dakota and every year when news breaks of the rising river, I get nostalgic for my old home. I lived in Grand Forks during their last major flood in 2006 where the water crested at a stage height of almost 48 feet (usually measured from the bottom of the stream bed). Flood stage for the river is anything over 28 feet. My apartment was only about 100 feet from the infamous river. Across the street from my apartment was a huge cement memorial dedicated to historic flood levels. It’s a statue riddled with high-water marks.
Grand Forks is no stranger to floods. In 1997, the city experienced one of the worst floods in the history of the United States. The Red River crested at 54 feet and spurred the evacuation of over 50,000 residents. Paradoxically, the flood triggered a massive fire in downtown Grand Forks, engulfing the city center. The entire downtown section was destroyed. When I moved to Grand Forks to work as a local news reporter, almost 10 years after this disaster, the city was still rebuilding from the destruction.
During my first spring as a television news reporter at KVLY/KXJB, my entire team’s focus was to cover the rising Red. I’d never experienced anything like it. Coming from Annapolis, Md., I had seen small floods, but nothing like this. I spent at least a month straight covering the inundation and its direct aftermath. The days were so long, the water was inescapable, and the locals and volunteers who barricaded the cities with sandbags were amazing.
It was my job to tell their stories of long nights sandbagging to protect themselves from the river. I drove up and down North Dakota, to Minnesota, and flew over communities with the National Guard looking for signs of distress. I went out to farmsteads, randomly knocking on doors in search of stories. But, as a young, clumsy reporter, I think I did my part helping people find a little humor in the midst of such worry.
I generally had no idea what to do, or not do, in flooding situations. I remember trying to get the “money shot” of people building the sandbag barricade on land. Stupidly, I climbed out onto the sandbags surrounding the river with a 20-pound video camera in hand, and ending up slipping and falling into the water. Rookie mistake. Almost every day I ended up wet, muddy, or with my news car stuck in mud and water. At least I made everyone laugh.
Because I was so inexperienced with floods, I wanted to help out as much as possible. Although I helped locals bag and barricade in the community, my efforts were nothing compared to the droves of volunteers. I've never been so impressed by such a rallying spirit in the midst of a game of chicken with nature. Sandbagging is a bit of a hurry-up-and-wait game: sandbag the city and wait for the water to rise. But these efforts are hardly futile. Without the efforts of those volunteers, those communities would have been totally submerged.
In fact, I partly credit the 2006 North Dakota flood as helping me land my current job at the Discovery Channel. I actually interviewed for my Discovery job sitting in my parked news car, waiting for my 6:00 p.m. live shot, on the banks of the Red River.
Rarely do I miss the day-to-day of covering local, breaking news. But, it's times like this I do. Now, I can follow my friend's flood coverage on www.kvlytv11.com (check them out, they're awesome), but it still makes me wish I was there to help out with the sandbagging efforts, or at least to make people laugh.
Images: Justin Lunski via City-data.com
Tags: Anthropology, Floods
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