Brad Johns and his dad Wayne, and their friend John Utesch, helped save lives during Hurricane Katrina and planned to do the same in Houston as part of a volunteer rescue force, paying their own way.
The challenge was immense. Tropical storm Harvey was breaking records for rain and flooding, a once-in-a-thousand-year event by some measures. Countless people were trapped and tens of thousands were displaced.
“You gotta do something,” said Wayne, 71, a retired oil worker. His son Brad, 39, who works in home improvement, agreed. “It seems like the thing to do.” Utesch, 64, a furniture restorer, nodded. “If it was us, we’d appreciate the help.”
They had a ski boat, a skiff and a canoe plus fuel, food, water and an app, HoustonHarveyRescue.com, which pinpointed people in need. It showed dozens of locations in Cypress, an inundated northern suburb. “Hopefully we can do some good,” said Brad.
Television footage has shown dramatic rescues: people plucked from rooftops, vehicles and foaming torrents, heroism and survival, played out again and again. But for the three Louisianians, part of the so-called Cajun navy, there was just the messy, confusing, unpredictable dynamics of catastrophe in a sprawling city.
The app, for starters, did not work well. Locations which seemed close turned out to be far. Or the people needing rescuing turned out to have already been rescued.
The three criss-crossed waterlogged highways and byways seeking a place to launch a mission.
Dozens of other vehicles towing dinghies, kayaks, airboats, jet skis and motorised fishing boats were doing the same thing. Their drivers stopped at gas stations and parking lots to confer in the rain, exchanging tips and rumours, before resuming the quest.
During one stop the Johns and Utesch acquired a local guide, Karl Juergen, a semi-retired electrical worker, who offered to navigate.
They found an emergency response command post – a fire station bristling with military vehicles – only to receive apologetic shrugs. The uniforms didn’t know where to send them.
An hour later the would-be rescuers joined a convoy which splashed to a halt on North Eldridge Parkway. The road ahead was waist-high in water, beyond it marooned housing estates.
Finally, action.
Except for one problem. Boats had already gone up there and returned empty. Residents didn’t want to leave despite warnings the water would rise another 1.2 metres (4ft).
The Louisianians hesitated. Launch, or try elsewhere? “I’ve got a real winning personality,” grinned Brad. “I’ll persuade them to leave.”
Wayne and Juergen stayed behind to move the trucks to higher ground while Brad piloted the skiff and Utesch the canoe, skimming through brown, fast-flowing murk. Traffic hydrants could be glimpsed below.
Brad rehearsed his spiel: “We’ve come all the way from Louisiana to help you, man.”
Utesch planned a blunter pitch: get out before it was too late.
They turned into an estate called Twin Lakes: big, fancy houses in mock Tudor and plantation styles. A privileged place to live but for the floodwaters lapping through doorways.
The boatmen glided in silence up Tropicana Drive. Some homes still had electricity – the lights were on – but nothing stirred. Some residents had fled before the storm and those that remained were hunkered down. They had no interest in greeting waterborne visitors, let alone hitching a ride.
Utesch moored at a porch on a cul-de-sac called Sweet Surrender Court and called out. An elderly woman opened the door a crack and politely shooed him away. When he said the water would rise another 4ft she considered this a moment, then shut the door.
“They don’t believe us. They just don’t want to come out,” said Utesch, shaking his head.
On Summer Snow Drive Brad encountered a middle-aged couple standing in their garage, monitoring the water level. They too declined help, saying they had moved all essentials to their second floor.
The would-be rescuers were crestfallen.
“We ain’t doing no damn good right here,” said Utesch. Brad wondered if the homeowners suspected they were looters.
They passed other boaters with similar experiences. The few homeowners who were evacuating from this corner of Houston preferred to do so in the back of huge trucks.
Back on the highway the two men found Wayne and Juergen and loaded their boats back on to the pickup. “Well, we tried,” said Brad, dejected. “The effort and desire were there, the results weren’t,” said Utesch.
The three visitors, 380 miles (611km) from home, had planned on eating cold sandwiches and sleeping in their trucks. Juergen, born and bred Texan, insisted they dine and stay at his home. “It would be my privilege to host you.”
The radio spoke of the need for blood donations. Brad perked up. “I’ll do that tonight. I’ll feel like I did something.”
