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PREPARED: Zach Williams, 9, and his mother , Toni Carroll stop at a Homer, Alaska, market for essentials Jan. 13, the day ash fell. (Al Grillo / AP) |
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HOMER, Alaska — It is, in the world of volcanoes, one of the little guys — a bump on the sea, a molehill among mountains. Some days, Mt. Augustine barely peeks above the mist that settles across Cook Inlet in south central Alaska.
Residents of this fishing town 70 miles to the east have been keeping an eye on the volcano, which woke up Jan. 11 and dusted the inlet with ash. The mountain has been erupting intermittently ever since. It is the focus of attention for the region and the talk of the town for Homer, the nearest community of any size.
The most serious talk involves the threat of a tsunami. Outside of scientific circles, tsunamis were rarely discussed during previous eruptions of Augustine, the last in 1986. This time around, it seems, everyone is talking about killer waves.
"I don't remember this happening before. It's on peoples' minds: 'Tsunami!' " says Lee Post, 50, who has lived through previous Augustine eruptions.
Concerns began last month at two community meetings where state and federal emergency managers laid out the scenario for an Augustine-caused tsunami. The probability was low, they said, but damage to Homer — if it happened — could be catastrophic.
The warnings prompted questions, and generated discussions in cafes and classrooms and on call-in radio programs. Soon after, a pickup truck with a handwritten sign on a window — "The Big Wave is Near" — was seen chugging through town. Officials ordered new disaster sirens, and the Fire Department put together a pamphlet mapping out evacuation routes to be distributed to townspeople and visitors.
Anxieties hit a peak Monday when a drill by the National Weather Service accidentally triggered an automated tsunami warning. The news media issued bulletins, and residents flooded emergency centers with calls. It took several frantic hours for officials to calm the region's nerves.
Today, much of Homer (pop. 4,000) is trying to determine how much of the tsunami threat is real and how much a figment of a twitchy, hyper-vigilant bureaucracy.
The issue has raised other questions: Do repeated warnings stir up unnecessary fear? When does precaution cross the line into paranoia? Is hysteria among a few an unavoidable consequence of informing the many?
Post, co-owner of the Homer Bookstore for 27 years, recalls a woman who rushed in last month, grabbing books and "hurrying to warn some friends that a tsunami was coming." Post asked where her friends lived.
The woman told him East End Road.
"East End Road is at 1,200 feet" above sea level, he says now with sarcasm. "Yes, if there's a wave that big coming to Homer, we're all in trouble."
Like Post, many in town say the tsunami warnings are overwrought, but they acknowledge the mood of the times.
They concede that hyper-alertness to disaster is a reality in the post-Sept. 11, post-Asian tsunami, post-Hurricane Katrina world. Thanks to the Internet and 24-hour cable news, mass destruction by powerful forces has become more vivid and more real than ever to millions of people, including those in remote areas of the frozen north.
Jan O'Meara, a local teacher and writer who has self-published a book on Mt. Augustine, says small volcanoes have been among the most deadly in history. Krakatoa, an island volcano in Indonesia, rose only 2,640 feet above sea level, but its 1883 eruption generated a tsunami that killed 36,000 people.
Says O'Meara: "There is the potential for Augustine to do something truly terrible."
One of Homer's claims to fame is that a person could get in a car in New York City and drive all the way here, the westernmost point of the U.S. highway system. Pavement gives way to beach and water, and to an unobstructed view of the Kenai Mountains — so otherworldly white they appear blue in the morning and pink at sunset.
The town is populated by fishermen and freethinkers, loggers and artists — many of them refugees from big cities. Another 5,000 to 6,000 people live beyond the town limits.
On the beach one morning, ice floes carrying raucous crowds of sea otters drifted past. One held more than 30 otters, happily slipping on and off the ice, floating west, in the direction of Mt. Augustine.
The mountain is part of the Ring of Fire — a geologic arc that encircles the Pacific Ocean and includes three-quarters of the world's volcanoes. Alaska is home to more than 40 active volcanoes. On Monday, Cleveland Volcano in the Aleutian Islands also began belching ash clouds.
Residents of this fishing town 70 miles to the east have been keeping an eye on the volcano, which woke up Jan. 11 and dusted the inlet with ash. The mountain has been erupting intermittently ever since. It is the focus of attention for the region and the talk of the town for Homer, the nearest community of any size.
The most serious talk involves the threat of a tsunami. Outside of scientific circles, tsunamis were rarely discussed during previous eruptions of Augustine, the last in 1986. This time around, it seems, everyone is talking about killer waves.
"I don't remember this happening before. It's on peoples' minds: 'Tsunami!' " says Lee Post, 50, who has lived through previous Augustine eruptions.
Concerns began last month at two community meetings where state and federal emergency managers laid out the scenario for an Augustine-caused tsunami. The probability was low, they said, but damage to Homer — if it happened — could be catastrophic.
The warnings prompted questions, and generated discussions in cafes and classrooms and on call-in radio programs. Soon after, a pickup truck with a handwritten sign on a window — "The Big Wave is Near" — was seen chugging through town. Officials ordered new disaster sirens, and the Fire Department put together a pamphlet mapping out evacuation routes to be distributed to townspeople and visitors.
Anxieties hit a peak Monday when a drill by the National Weather Service accidentally triggered an automated tsunami warning. The news media issued bulletins, and residents flooded emergency centers with calls. It took several frantic hours for officials to calm the region's nerves.
Today, much of Homer (pop. 4,000) is trying to determine how much of the tsunami threat is real and how much a figment of a twitchy, hyper-vigilant bureaucracy.
The issue has raised other questions: Do repeated warnings stir up unnecessary fear? When does precaution cross the line into paranoia? Is hysteria among a few an unavoidable consequence of informing the many?
Post, co-owner of the Homer Bookstore for 27 years, recalls a woman who rushed in last month, grabbing books and "hurrying to warn some friends that a tsunami was coming." Post asked where her friends lived.
The woman told him East End Road.
"East End Road is at 1,200 feet" above sea level, he says now with sarcasm. "Yes, if there's a wave that big coming to Homer, we're all in trouble."
Like Post, many in town say the tsunami warnings are overwrought, but they acknowledge the mood of the times.
They concede that hyper-alertness to disaster is a reality in the post-Sept. 11, post-Asian tsunami, post-Hurricane Katrina world. Thanks to the Internet and 24-hour cable news, mass destruction by powerful forces has become more vivid and more real than ever to millions of people, including those in remote areas of the frozen north.
Jan O'Meara, a local teacher and writer who has self-published a book on Mt. Augustine, says small volcanoes have been among the most deadly in history. Krakatoa, an island volcano in Indonesia, rose only 2,640 feet above sea level, but its 1883 eruption generated a tsunami that killed 36,000 people.
Says O'Meara: "There is the potential for Augustine to do something truly terrible."
One of Homer's claims to fame is that a person could get in a car in New York City and drive all the way here, the westernmost point of the U.S. highway system. Pavement gives way to beach and water, and to an unobstructed view of the Kenai Mountains — so otherworldly white they appear blue in the morning and pink at sunset.
The town is populated by fishermen and freethinkers, loggers and artists — many of them refugees from big cities. Another 5,000 to 6,000 people live beyond the town limits.
On the beach one morning, ice floes carrying raucous crowds of sea otters drifted past. One held more than 30 otters, happily slipping on and off the ice, floating west, in the direction of Mt. Augustine.
The mountain is part of the Ring of Fire — a geologic arc that encircles the Pacific Ocean and includes three-quarters of the world's volcanoes. Alaska is home to more than 40 active volcanoes. On Monday, Cleveland Volcano in the Aleutian Islands also began belching ash clouds.
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