{mosimage}Within a few hours, though, Tropical Depression Nine gathered strength and form. By 5 p.m. the U.S. National Hurricane Center added a new moniker: Tropical Storm Ike.
Ike’s power ebbed and flowed for a couple of days. By midmorning Tuesday, Ike was beginning to form more of a convex shape, flexing its meteorological muscles. On Wednesday morning, spy satellites reported that Ike was showing off what causes shivers of fear among those who dwell in hurricane regions: a distinct eye.
Later that afternoon, Ike received its degree: No longer Tropical Storm Ike, it was Hurricane Ike. Within three hours of the change, Ike was like Popeye on steroid-laced spinach. With wind speeds of 115 miles per hour, the blast was now a major hurricane. By early Thursday, those winds topped out at 145 mph, making Ike the ruling potentate of hurricanes thus far in the 2008 season.
{mosimage}Blasting up the Atlantic, Ike toured through the Turks and Caicos islands on Sunday, and set a course for Cuba. Ike battered Cuba from Sunday evening until Monday morning, and then roared on into the Gulf of Mexico, “fueling up” on the warm gulf currents. Lollygagging its way across the Gulf, Ike teased U.S. residents who tried to guess just where the big blowhard would make landfall. By Thursday, September 11, it was pretty clear that Ike had its sights set on the Texas Gulf Coast.
Certain Death
In Galveston, a low-lying island community on the gulf, officials had already decided not to take chances. By late Wednesday, the city manager announced that while officials tried hard, “not to pull the ‘mandatory’ trigger,” they had decided to do just that. Galveston residents were ordered to pack up and leave town.
Underscoring the need to evacuate, on Thursday at 8:19 p.m. Galvestonians received a no-nonsense warning from the National Weather Service: “All neighborhoods and possibly entire coastal communities will be inundated during the period of the peak storm tide. Persons not heeding evacuation orders in single family one- or two-story homes will face certain death.” Up the river in Houston, the country’s fourth largest city, mandatory evacuation orders went out to some neighborhoods thought to be in danger.
The unthinkable task of picking and choosing what to take and what to leave behind fell with flat certainty on those heeding the evacuation order. Adding to the misery came the uncertainty of where to flee to. For those with recreational vehicles, the situation was perhaps easier, knowing that at least the family would have a known roof over their heads, even if where they might settle the rig still wasn’t clear.
A Call for Accommodations
The state of Texas has mixed blessings. While lying in the hurricane track, the Lone Star state is blessed with plenty of recreational land. The state government’s Parks and Wildlife Department (TPWD) oversees campgrounds and wildlife areas. Even before Galveston residents were ordered out, the agency was bringing its resources online to help with whatever Ike’s outcome might be. By noon on Wednesday the 10th, both Galveston Island and Lake Texana state parks had been ordered to evacuate. Water was already splashing up onto some park roads in Galveston. Other parks in the system that might be endangered by the hurricane had been put on standby evacuation orders.
The TPWD ordered over 200 of its game wardens to deploy or be ready to deploy to help with hurricane efforts. A “strike team” was set to roll to the area. The team, made up of game wardens, radio communications experts and technicians, and a complement of support equipment including air boats, was prepared to be self-sufficient for up to five days in the field.
{mosimage}Meanwhile, state parks out of harm’s way were set up to receive evacuees. The Governor’s Office directed that those with tents and RVs could stay in parks at no charge. Those who wanted accommodations in cabins or state-owned screen tents were to be given discounts on fees.
Elsewhere, private sector RV parks took up the torch. Members of TACO, the Texas Association of Campground Owners, began receiving hurricane evacuees. “We believe current evacuees will need to remain in RV parks and campgrounds for periods beyond this weekend, and parks will offer them extended stay discounts,” said Brian Schaeffer, TACO’s CEO.
Events began to move quickly as Ike continued its trudge across the gulf. By Friday noon, 32 parks in the state system were closed down. Over 1,000 evacuees had taken up the state on its free offer. Authorities had ordered up more Texas park rangers into strike teams. At 4 that afternoon, the seawall at Galveston was over-topped by Ike-generated waves. Within two hours, much of the downtown area was under water.
High Emotion
On Saturday morning at 2:10, Hurricane Ike officially arrived in Texas. The results were devastating, much of Galveston wiped out, and windows in Houston skyscrapers blown out. Still, the evacuees were marching their way out of the danger zone.
By noon, 36 state parks were playing host to 4,000 RVers and tenters taking shelter from the storm. At Garner State Park alone over 1,600 people flooded in, about half of them from Houston. Others headed for the hills, taking to the Texas Hill Country, betting that Ike would leave them untouched. By later that afternoon, the system reported nearly 5,000 being cared for, with the count of involved parks up to 45.
Emotions, understandably, ran high. At Garner, park superintendent Rick Meyers recalls, “A lot of people tried to pay us like they usually do when they checked in, and when we said it’s on us, no charge, they just broke down and cried. A lot of these folks were just emotionally frazzled.”
At first, evacuees were calling to make reservations. Then people started showing up without reservations. By late Thursday, the slow trickle had become an evacuee convoy.
“Some of them came with trailers, either U-Haul rentals or just flat beds with tarps, loaded with personal belongings like TVs, sofas, couches, tables and chairs,” Meyers recalls. “It looked like in flood-prone areas they just loaded everything on their trailers.”
Thursday night, the park office stayed open until 11 p.m., checking people in, and park peace officers were out past midnight helping people get settled and checking the crowded campgrounds. The park staff bent the rule limiting each campsite to eight persons so evacuee families could stay together, allowing up to 12 people per site.
At the campgrounds Friday night, news broadcasts on generator-driven TVs crackled through the normally quiet air. Park visitors watched along with millions of people around the world as weathercasters described Ike’s size and power. Anxious faces waited to see whether their homes would be flooded by the predicted record storm surge.
Still, the Sun Shines
{mosimage}By Monday, Ike had blown itself north and out of Texas to plague other parts of the U.S. with winds and heavy rainfall. Texas had taken all it wanted—and then some.
Damage reports flowed in to headquarters: Two of the Gulf Coast parks, Galveston and Sea Rim, were in the words of park staff, “catastrophic.” At Galveston, park structures—what few remained—were heavily damaged. Ike appeared to have even tried to suck the beach itself back into the sea. At Sea Rim, all buildings were declared a total loss. Other state parks throughout the region took serious hits (see accompanying sidebar).
While the toll on park facilities was visible, the damage to evacuees was beneath the surface. At Garner State Park, Superintendent Meyers reported, “We had one family that requested to stay several weeks. Typically we don’t host evacuees that long, but we found out her house was totally gone; she was from the Galveston area. So of the ones that are still here, a lot of them can’t go home. They’re watching the news and they know if their neighborhood still has no power or water, there’s no point.”
Reports from other parks sheltering evacuees took on a similar emotional note. Among those gathered at Bastrop State Park were seven members of the Pavlu clan from Angleton. Wayne and Vicki Pavlu came in an RV with their son Kevin and his wife, Hannah, daughter, Tammy, and grandkids, Cooper and Konner. Along with them came four dogs and the family’s blind pet rooster named Rooster. The setting is pretty, the weather fine, the park staff gracious and helpful, but many evacuees describe an undertone of anxiety to their experience.
“The park’s been great, but overall it’s been stressful, horrible,” said Tammy Pavlu, a 24-year-old insurance agent. “You don’t know what you’re going to come back to. You don’t know what to pack because space is limited, but you don’t know how long you’re going to live out of your car. We’re anxious to go home.”
Still, for thousands of Texans, state parks provided a welcome respite. Hundreds of miles away, emergency workers and law enforcement officers were clearing debris and conducting search and rescue through flooded streets without electrical power or running water. Eventually, evacuees from those areas would have to go back and pick up the pieces. But not that Sunday, not for those at places like Garner.
“The sun is shining here,” Meyers said on Sunday afternoon. “Folks are in the river swimming and inner tubing. They’ve had a pretty rough ride, with more to come, but at least they’re getting to enjoy themselves while they’re here.”
Russ and Tiña De Maris are authors of RV Boondocking Basics—A Guide to Living Without Hookups, which covers a full range of dry camping topics. They also provide great resources in their book, Camp Hosting USA—Your Guide to State Park Volunteering. Visit www.icanrv.com for more information.
Ike’s Damage Toll
Texas State Park officials have released this list of damage to their facilities:
Galveston and Sea Rim: total losses.
Lake Livingston, Martin Dies, Jr., San Jacinto Battleground and Battleship Texas Historic Site, Huntsville, Daingerfield, Martin Creek Lake, and Mission Tejas: varies from downed trees to wind and flood damage.
Brazos Bend, Sheldon Lake, Village Creek and Caddo Lake: moderate damage. Parks that escaped with light damage include Goose Island, Mustang Island, Stephen F. Austin, Fanthorp Inn, Washington on the Brazos, Fairfield Lake, Tyler and Atlanta.
As of early October, privately owned TACO member campgrounds had reported damage ranging from light to moderate. However, a TACO spokesman said some parks had not been heard from. While power and phone service outages could be blocking communication, the spokesman added, “Some just don’t exist anymore.”
Nikki is a writer and editor for Do It Yourself RV, RV LIFE, and Camper Report. She is based on the Oregon Coast and has traveled all over the Pacific Northwest.
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