The Big River Rising

When the river broke its banks after five days of heavy rain, few people were ready for its destructive power.

- Robert Sanchez

TIM BRADY WAKES AT 5 A.M. in his home in Big Thompson Canyon, 64 kilometres northwest of Denver, Colorado, USA.

Today, 12 September 2013, is Tim and his wife Pam’s 21st anniversary. Pam’s up early, too, and the two jokingly congratulate each other on sticking it out this long. Pam’s a customer service representative for First National Bank, roughly 19 kilometres away in Loveland.

Tim, 51, thin, with a thick, blond moustache and tattoos on his upper arms, works on a crew for the city’s street department and is an assistant chief with the Big Thompson Canyon Volunteer Fire Department.

Tim looks out the kitchen window. Five days of clouds and heavy rain. “This sucks,” he mutters.

The phone rings. It’s the fire department chief. Rockslide. Big boulders. No one’s going far today. Tim pulls on his rubber boots and grabs a coat, a department radio and the keys to his pickup, and asks Pam if she wants to come along.

RAIN SPLASHES ONTO the truck’s windshield as Tim and Pam swoop down the muddy trail that leads onto US 34 [a United States highway that runs east–west]. Shredded leaves are everywhere; mud and small rocks and pieces of tree limbs are scattered on the rain-slicked asphalt. Along the highway, on the right, lies Cedar Cove, a collection of 12 or so houses and cottages. Down an embankment and through a thicket of trees, Pam can see the Big Thompson River transforming. Typically, it snakes through Cedar Cove; now another smaller stream hooks its way around the neighbourhood. The overflowing river pushes against an embankment that holds up the highway.