Road Closed – Day 1027

Near Stover Mill – Photo: L. Weikel

Road Closed

I managed to get to my usual spot on the Tohickon today. I’d been precluded yesterday by a “road closed” sign, which I’d assumed was erected because water continued to overflow the creek’s banks making the cartway impassable.

Apparently that was not technically the case.

Well, I suppose that could’ve been true yesterday; certainly from what I found at the spot where I usually sit and write. But there was more to the story.

Unstoppable

There’s something deceptive about the nature of water. It seems so pliant somehow. You know: it flows and goes aroundthings. But you know what? Water is incredibly powerful and persistent. Yeah; it may choose to go around things if given the opportunity. It’ll yield.

But block it entirely? Stand in its way? All bets are off. It will get where it is going. It can be relentless and unmerciful in its determination to proceed toward its destination.

As you can guess, it was that unrelenting determination that created the situation causing the ‘road closed’ sign to remain in the middle of the road today. (Yes, I went around the sign. Carefully.) The fact that I saw a local pickup approach me from the other way indicated I’d probably be able to get through.

I’ll admit, though. I was shocked that my sweet, sweet Tohickon had ripped up the road’s macadam and hurled the massive chunks into the guardrails. But there it was.

Astoundingly Deep

I navigated the crater and got myself to the place beside the creek where I most often sit. I drove very slowly along the road that  parallels the Tohickon. The roadbed was mud covered and littered with piles of small stones and larger rocks. Massive branches of trees and actual logs were strewn haphazardly on both sides of the swollen, still-raging tributary.

Across the road from the creek, dead fish dangled from limbs of uprooted trees that hadn’t been there before the storm.

It took me a moment to realize just how much the Tohickon had risen in the storm and its aftermath. But there it was, beside the uprooted bushes. A leafless skeleton of a tree stood like a sentinel beside the roiling water. Flood detritus (leaves, grasses, and some trash) continued to cling to this pole, leaving evidence not only of how swiftly it had been carried but also how high the water had reached.

I felt my stomach lurch. The evidence reached well over 7’ above the creek’s current surface. I stood in front of the tree for comparison. It was hard to comprehend both how much water had to have been barreling through where I stood and how quickly it had come and gone. For some reason, it seemed especially difficult to convey with my photos just how astoundingly deep, wide (and wild) my creek had become during the storm.

But there was the proof.

Do not underestimate the relentless power of water.

(T-84)