Katrina and the Cajun Navy - 7 Years Later (Pt. 2)

This is the third installment on this topic.

To read from the beginning please go to posts beginning 9/20/12.

          

Just after noon on Tuesday August 30, 2005, the mobilization of equipment and people was complete.  Each Cajun bateau was equipped with an ax, a sledgehammer, a chain saw, rope and ample fuel.The modest group of five or six vehicles from Sulphur, Louisiana, a few miles west of Lake Charles, headed east on Interstate 10 and converged upon reinforcements 40 miles later in the Wal-Mart parking lot in Jennings, LA.




After the Interstate highway system had re-located and re-centered the growth of communities from downtown Main Streets to exits along interstates and freeway loops, Wal-Mart built on those exits and mushroomed retail spending away from Mom & Pop to the benefit of its multi-national corporate behemoth.  They did so by drawing on the local communities, as well as dragging high volumes of interstate travelers into small towns they would have otherwise passed through without noticing.  On this day, instead of meeting downtown at the local hardware store or diner, it was logical and most convenient to meet in the parking lot at the interstate exit.

  

           
Over the previous 20 or 30 years Wal-Mart Corporation had lured small towns, like unsuspecting tax revenue addicts and shopaholics, sometimes kicking and screaming, out of the era of Mom & Pop downtown businesses into the era of all-inclusive box stores. There was ample room for all the vehicles,boats and the convocation of their occupants, along with the availability of whatever supplies might be needed (at Wal-Mart prices that drove Mom & Pop mad) all with  easy on and off access.

The gathering of men (and Sara), pickup trucks and boats looked like the beginning of a southwest Louisiana weekend duck hunt or fishing trip among a band of brothers.  Contrary to routine or tradition for such a trip though, the beer, whiskey and guns were (for the most part) left behind.  Primarily, we expected that such items could thwart our entire mission if discovered by those in charge at our point of entry.  Otherwise, it is likely that alcohol and firearms, both very personal to many of our group, would have been packed as staple items for an overnight trip.   None of these guys expected that the guns would have been unusual or that any liquor would have impaired their performance. 



It turns out later that some of the small amounts of  "contraband" that made it into the personal belongings of some of our crew, in fact made it past security and served to appropriately reassure us at times when confidence might otherwise have been tested.  I will not attempt to detail here when it was the liquor or when it was the guns that provided needed "reinforcement" of confidence.  Suffice it to say that, circumstances dictated that.

While our troops mingled with their reinforcements, a local Jennings Daily News reporter captured the group on film, adding to the air of camaraderie and adventure of this burgeoning quest with an unknown future.  Anxious to arrive and get to the task, more than 20 vehicles, 18 boats, 34 men and Sara moved along the interstate at 65 mph, then 68, then 70, 72, 75, 78 and 80.

We had us a convoy!!  

Having been spellbound and frustrated by the stories of people dying in the hot air trapped between rising waters and sturdy roofs of attics in homes they had slept in peacefully the night before, we were all anxious to wet the hulls of our craft and hear whirring of their outboard motors. 

         


















No time to waste!  Only an hour and a half from Baton Rouge, the state capital and purported center of governmental influence in the state of Louisiana, we began coordinating our entry into New Orleans using cell phones to call or text anyone we thought might be in charge or have influence.  Just over 2 hours from New Orleans we still had no idea whether we were even going to be able to enter the  city.

As we approached Baton Rouge, one plan we considered was to gather with our connected governmental-bureaucrat friends in the center of the city, about an hour west of New Orleans.  There we would await instructions from the Department of Wildlife & Fisheries on how to proceed to any designated areas of need.  This would take us miles off the beaten path of I-10 and would surely delay our trip a few hours, if not in fact overnight.  Pragmatic (impatient) as we were, we concluded that red tape would be a waste of time and we opted to forge ahead on the interstate until somebody tried to stop us.

Besides being lowland and below sea level, the entire city of New Orleans is surrounded by water, even without a hurricane.  Relatively speaking, cutting off access to the metropolitan area is not a monumental task because access is achievable by only 10-15 routes, most of them bridges.  With a few of these routes under hurricane storm surge and remnant flooding, law enforcement can secure the city fairly readily. 

To the north lies Lake Pontchartrain across which runs the 24 mile Causeway Bridge, once touted as  longest bridge in the world.  To the east is Lake Borgne and the Gulf of Mexico.   Depending on where you are in town, the Mississippi River is to the east, south or west.  In fact, what is known as the west bank of the river is, in fact, located east and southeast of downtown New Orleans and the French Quarter.   From the west, the twin concrete strips that are the elevated 11 mile spans of Interstate 10 comprise the primary access from the town of LaPlace to the city over the Bonnet Carre' spillway and the southwestern edge of Lake Pontchartrain.

          

The spillway is probably 100 square miles and is a combination of natural swamp and man-made flood relief for the occasional diversion of the spring-swollen Mississippi River into the Pontchartrain, then allowing its excess to flow into Lake Borgne and then the Gulf.

The fresh water brown shrimp, crawfish, bass and bream (perch) as well as brackish/salt-water speckled trout, redfish, flounder and crabs become confused with their changing habitat when the waters of the river are unleashed like a torrent into the calm waters of the shallow brackish lake.  Fortunately, the fisheries cohabitate briefly then acclimate to maintain the lakes (which are technically bays and extensions of the Gulf) as wonderfully productive and readily-replenished sources of some of the best seafood in the world.

This elevated freeway from LaPlace across the Bonnet Carre' would be our access into the city and we were expecting that it would be fully secured.

         

“Surreal” became the word of the day, and ultimately of the trip.  Actually it became more of an overwhelming impression than a word, as not much was spoken during the last hour of our trek.  As the convoy moved away from Baton Rouge and toward New Orleans, other interstate traffic dropped off and then completely disappeared.  Like the characters in the old black and white movie, “The Day the Earth Stood Still” or other 60’s sci-fi flicks, our group appeared and authentically felt as if they could be the only remaining survivors on the face of the earth.  With only sketchy instructions from what political contacts we could muster, and no written documentation authorizing our entrance, we approached the law enforcement roadblock at the LaPlace exit of I-10, just a few miles from the New Orleans metropolitan area.

In the lead vehicle, I brought the convoy of boats and fired bellies of the crew to a halt.  The deadpan request of the uniformed  State Trooper, backed up by the incessant spray of blue flashing lights emanating from the roof of his parked vehicle and the somber stares of his backup personnel, were discouraging.
          “Where are you trying to go, sir?”

          The response:

          “We have 18 boats and 35 people to assist in New Orleans”.  Schooled, licensed and trained as an attorney at law, a Louisiana avocat, I anxiously and hopelessly  waited and mentally prepared possible responses to any objection the officer might present.  Instead of obstructions, the officer waived us through and said, 

“By all means, sir.  Good luck.”

As the convoy entered the elevated roadway across the spillway and along the edge of Lake Pontchartrain from LaPlace to Kenner, the emptiness and the calm of the scene hit me like the first viewing of corpse in a funeral home would.  Everything looked the same as it did when it was alive, but it lacked the indescribable vitality that defined what it really was.  The entry was missing the excitement and vigor one would expect during the approach to the City of New Orleans, a city of parties and fun and excitement...the City that Care Forgot.

OK.  It wasn't this bad...not here anyway

Instead of contemplating fun and excitement, everyone quietly sat, gawking out the windows in anticipation as if we were passengers in an old, rickety airplane on landing approach on an unfamiliar, deserted and damaged runway in a third world country under siege.





The road was devoid of other vehicles except those on the shoulders of the road, facing us and pointing in the wrong direction, apparently stalled during the four-lane contraflow evacuation of the City two days before.

Our convoy flew rapidly, unimpeded across the empty viaduct, into the edge of the western suburbs of the city that Hollywood, using both talented and attractive stars with bad accents (Dennis Quaid and Ellen Barkin), had branded in 1987 as the "Big Easy".    

          

Descending off of the elevated  spillway bridge and into the western suburb of Kenner, the interstate highway became like a dry, fragile ribbon floating on the surface of a rough-shod, newly-created lake.  Water to the left, and water to the right.

To the south we saw the flooded runway of the Louis Armstrong International Airport, known to me in my youth as Moisant Field.  It was a metropolitan international airport built in the woods four decades earlier, and it was now being pressed by surrounding urban/suburban sprawl blocked in on three sides by water, and on the fourth by city.

Our interstate route was unobstructed by traffic, but a near collision in the left-hand lane with a downed metal light pole, hidden in plain view across the left of three lanes of interstate awakened my senses and caused me to pull back on the caravan's accelerator to an aware and more cautious rate of speed.



The only bureaucratic, governmental guidance we had received via cell phone was to proceed to the Causeway Boulevard exit of I-10, a location on high ground west of the city which was being used as a staging area in the suburb of Metairie, just a couple of miles west of the city.  

Arrival at the Causeway Boulevard checkpoint initially provided encouragement, if not excitement akin to the proverbial convergence of the cavalry upon a hopeless situation.  The empty interstate met the the full cloverleaf exit   that blossomed with activity.  Law enforcement, emergency and rescue vehicles and personnel moved about the area, on and off of the highway.  Helicopters appeared to be coming and going from every direction.  At first glance, it presented an impressive, exciting and encouraging indication of an organized and finely tuned rescue operation assisting those in need.

We soon discovered that this initial impression was not a reality.  We struggled to discern which line of vehicles had priority before realizing that here were no lines or priorities.  It was not clear who, if anyone, was in charge.  After finding a line or flow of vehicles, and negotiating for an audience with someone.....whomever, we were shuffled off and told to move to another location, a few miles to the south and back to the west, to a checkpoint on Airline Drive.  The anticipated grand and productive entrance was rapidly morphing into inauspiciousness as dusk appeared to be only a few hours away.