Helene was the worst storm to slam the Carolinas in a generation. Here's how it unfolded.

The southern Appalachians once were as tall as the Rockies and Alps, but the weathering forces of time softened the land into what it is today: a rumpled quilt of peaks and valleys, green in summer and tinted orange and yellow in the fall. Shrouded often in fog, these mountains are a Goldilocks rain forest, not too hot, not too cold.

Because of this, the gentle range has long been a haven for artists, for Carolinians in the flatlands seeking refuge from heat and hurricanes, for people across the country looking for safer places to live amid escalating climate risks.

The storm’s spinning mass of vapor decimated Florida’s Gulf with 140 mph winds when it came ashore and marched inland. Its spiraling arms, 420 miles wide at points, met those old peaks. Cooler air over the mountains turned them into catch basins. Staggering amounts of rain fell. Water coursed down the mountains’ folds. Streams suddenly became rivers, rivers became lakes, and, in a matter of days, this refuge for so many became a killing zone.

Near Asheville, western North Carolina’s largest city, two grandparents and their 7-year-old grandson were on a roof waiting to be rescued when the building collapsed into the roiling brown Swannanoa. In Marshall, an elderly man clung to a tree until the rising waters of the French Broad swept him away.

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