Hurricane Helene: One Year Later

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One year ago today—September 27, 2024—Hurricane Helene moved up from the Gulf of Mexico, swept across the Southeast, and struck Western North Carolina. Its impact was massive—its destruction, unprecedented.

by Thomas (K4SWL)

We’d been following weather reports in advance, expecting heavy rain, localized flooding, and some winds. That’s not unusual here—we often see the remnants of hurricanes and tropical storms. But Helene was different.

The night before landfall, my family and I huddled in our living room, the safest space in our house. Honestly, I thought we were being overly cautious. By 5 a.m., the storm proved me wrong. Rain and winds were so strong we couldn’t sleep.

Our power had already been out for hours, but thanks to our recently installed solar and battery backup, our home was still lit while the winds howled outside.

We could hear trees cracking and falling all around us. One after another, century-old giants toppled—several onto our property, damaging our car, our house, and our small vacation rental. Had the storm come a few weeks later, when the leaves had dropped, those trees might have held. Instead, they acted like sails in the wind.

The sounds of breaking wood and crashing trees are still etched in our memories.

When the storm passed, destruction was everywhere. Our road and driveway were blocked by downed trees far too large for one person to clear. Communications were cut—no 911, no cell service, no Internet. Many in town lost water as reservoirs were severely damaged.

Neighbors checked on neighbors. We gathered information about medicines, needs, and safety. Our small community of 18–20 households worked together, clearing trees and opening paths long before emergency services could reach us. Every chainsaw cut was made with extra caution because we knew immediate rescue was impossible. Again, even our 911 service was down.

Two days later, I biked into town with a neighbor to find medicine for one of our elderly friends. Parts of the ride looked untouched, but others were devastating—entire neighborhoods swept into the river. Tears came without warning.

In that moment, I realized how fortunate we had been compared to so many others.

What happened next was remarkable. Our community pulled together in a way I’ve never experienced before. Everyone opened their homes and their hearts.

Our solar-powered home became a resource center where neighbors could recharge devices, use Wi-Fi calling, and connect with loved ones. It was, in a way, a little Internet café in the middle of chaos. But it wasn’t just us—every household offered what they could. That spirit of cooperation has remained strong even a year later.

Outside help also came quickly. FEMA did a commendable job and our experience was overwhelmingly positive. Their support, combined with nonprofits, the National Guard, churches, and volunteers, was humbling to witness. For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be on the receiving end of relief.

As I wrote during the storm, amateur radio became our family’s superpower. With phones and Internet down, our radios connected us to net control and our local EOC via the N2GE (Mount Mitchell) repeater. We passed traffic, performed wellness checks, and stayed in touch with neighbors using community simplex frequencies and Handy Talkies I distributed to unlicensed members of our community. By definition, this was a communications emergency, so no license was required. Those HTs kept us connected and better organized.

One of us was always at the radio while the others worked outside. Having multiple licensed operators in the family made this possible, and it made all the difference. For over a week, ham radio was our only reliable link to the outside world.

A year on, the recovery continues. We’re still clearing debris, still removing dangerous trees, and still seeing reminders of Helene every time we step outside. Thanks to FEMA funds our community applied for and received last year, our private road is being completely repaired. The state-maintained road has also been restored and, while not perfect—still no guardrails—we’re grateful to once again have a safe, usable road and bridge.

Life has largely resumed. My daughters are at college/university, our routines have returned, and on the surface things seem normal. But the scars remain, both on the land and in memory.

Most people we know who went through Helene are now on edge whenever storms bring strong winds—including your author. At the time of this writing, many of us are watching the tropics closely, as some guidance points to potential impacts in the Carolinas again. We hope this doesn’t materialize—but you can bet all of us are paying attention.

I want to thank all of you who followed my journal entries during the storm and its aftermath, and especially those who sent encouragement and even financial help. Your kindness not only supported us, but also rippled through our community.

This experience has turned me into a bit of a practical preparedness evangelist. I’ve taken detailed notes and will continue sharing what we learned—practical, low-cost steps that can make a huge difference in a disaster. Because if Helene taught me anything, it’s this: no one is immune to natural disasters. Even here in Western North Carolina—where weather is usually boring—we experienced a one in one thousand year weather event with Helene.

A year after Helene, I feel immense gratitude. Gratitude for my family’s safety, for my neighbors’ resilience, for the outpouring of support, and for the lessons learned.

Disasters can strip away normalcy in an instant. But they also reveal the strength of community and the resilience of the human spirit.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. And thank you for reminding me—every day—that even in the aftermath of destruction, hope, kindness, and connection always endure.

With gratitude,

Thomas (K4SWL)