Of the bridges that remained, all were covered with log jams. These towered over the roadway, some four stories high or more. Trees and twisted metal, over a hundred yards across. They were attacked by an army of volunteers from both sides of the river. Construction workers, farmers, linemen, and landscapers, county workers, and factory employees, the backbone of America. They came with trucks, saws, and heavy equipment. They did not wait for authorization. They did not stop. These volunteers were in a war against time itself. Clean water was cut off, and these bridges would bring it back.

At the same time, coordinated efforts under the direction of county emergency management were moving rapidly. Police became logisticians on the ground, fire and rescue worked with volunteers to locate missing and reach the isolated with aid. Linemen attacked thousands of breaks and began the push to bring power back to those isolated on the opposite side of the river, wedged now between impassible mountains and a ravine of destruction. The water departments and utility districts assessed the damage. The freshwater intake systems at the old pump house were gone.  What remained was unusable. They leaned into the torturous process of clearing access, running fresh pipe, and installing pumps, that would bring clean water back to the thousands across the area. They did not stop. Mandated rotations and reprieves had to be implemented to literally prevent these brave responders from falling due to sheer exhaustion. For some, it would be over a month working around the clock. The appreciation and gratitude owed to all these brave souls cannot be measured. It cannot be adequately expressed in words.