When the Storm Hit the Tundra
In mid-October 2025, Typhoon Halong’s 70–90 mph winds slammed
into the flat, treeless Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, pushing Bering Sea water far
upriver and across the tundra. Fifty villages reported damage. The coastal
communities of Kipnuk and Kwigillingok were nearly entirely evacuated by the
U.S. Coast Guard and Alaska National Guard, and flown to Bethel—the only city
in the region with a runway long enough to accommodate C-17 military
transports.
Kipnuk after
Sadly, the typhoon occurred just one year after Kipnuk received a federal disaster declaration for catastrophic flooding in 2024.
Alaska’s military coordinated the largest airlift in state history, evacuating over 1,500 people. Homes floated off their foundations—some in Kipnuk were carried more than five miles upriver, many still occupied. Roofs were torn away. Boats, snow machines, and ATVs were scattered across the tundra. A barge crashed into Bethel’s only bridge, complicating the rescue of 250 residents who hadn’t evacuated in time. Coffins rose from saturated graves—some never recovered. Infrastructure crumbled: utility poles snapped, boardwalks splintered, and roads collapsed.
Even Bethel, 40 miles inland and home to 6,400 residents, saw significant flooding. Thirty people were displaced, but the most devastating impact was the loss of electricity. Without power, water pumps, sewer systems, and heating systems failed. Roughly 95% of homes lost heat, as most rely on electricity to ignite stove oil, run fuel pumps, and circulate warm air. Fortunately, temperatures hovered around 20°F. Had this occurred in mid-winter, the death toll could have been catastrophic, and infrastructure damage would have soared into the hundreds of millions.
A Voice in the Storm
Samuel Collyn Symmes, a USAF MARS member and Bethel resident,
was the only one of its radio operator within 500 miles. Though never
officially activated, he provided critical situation reports (SITREPs) to his
commander and fellow operators throughout the emergency.
Samuel Symmes
“Bethel became the central hub for evacuees,” Symmes explained. “Many were sheltered in the National Guard Armory alongside FEMA personnel. About 130 FEMA workers arrived within three days, and over 110 remained a month later.”
Fuel shortages in the villages became a top concern. A local fuel station was destroyed by debris, and emergency supplies had to be flown in—50-gallon drums at a time. The hospital had just two days of backup fuel; the juvenile adult and detention center had seven days for its emergency boilers, which provide heat and hot water. These needs are normally fulfilled using a waste heat system, just like your car radiator but the radiator is heating the building. However, in this case all generators fell silent as there were too many faults in the line causing damage to the one and only power source Bethel has.
The destruction reminded elders of a 1960s tragedy, when Bethel’s power plant burned down during a severe winter storm. Hospital patients reportedly froze to death. Since then, critical infrastructure has been built on slightly higher ground to reduce flood risk.
When the Phones Went Silent
Phone service failed as towers were damaged and backup batteries lasted only two hours. Generators failed, sparking public outcry—residents could have made cell-to-cell calls locally if power had been maintained. With fiber optic cables down and no cell service, residents turned to what has long connected the region: marine radio.
AM/FM stations failed. NOAA emergency alerts on VHF didn’t transmit. Cell phone alerts were useless. But radio operators stepped up.
Symmes’ communications held strong thanks to careful planning. “My house isn’t on a cement pad,” he said. “Most homes here shift 2–5 degrees a year due to glacial silt and freeze-thaw cycles. Mine is elevated 3.5 feet on pilings driven into bedrock, on high ground which stops the shifting.”
His antenna was mounted on the arctic entry roof—2.5 feet below the main roofline and shielded from prevailing winds. He also maintains a GMRS repeater, with phone patch and a Starlink patch antenna aimed northward across 30–40 miles of open tundra, ensuring minimal interference. The phone patch was very popular, even having local law enforcement and FEMA stop by to transmit messages on a guest router. All others were welcomed to use the guest rounter to send messages and VOIP calls to family to let them know they were alive.
Local hams, though few in number, joined the effort to relay
shelter locations. “We gathered info from every source and relayed it over HAM
radio to different parts of town to be transmitted by VHF marine radio so
people could ask questions, network, and get updates,” Symmes said. “Only two
residents in the disaster us used it, but there was traffic on the Alaska
Emergency Frequency—5.1675 MHz USB—available to all Alaskans.”
 |
| Western Alaska residents being airlifted to Anchorage on a Alaska National Guard C17 October 2025 |
Lessons from the Edge
Western Alaska has never had reliable cell service. Communities here have long relied on radio and that resilience paid off during Typhoon Halong. It’s not uncommon to walk into a house and see a Marine Radio hanging under the kitchen cupboards.
“Urban areas might not have the skills or equipment to communicate when the grid goes down,” Symmes noted. “Out here, we’ve had to be self-reliant for decades.”
He encourages others to prepare: “Build your plan. Add to your supplies over time. I can’t stress propane enough—it doesn’t go bad or need stabilizers. I keep enough for 30 days and 500Ah of battery storage. We were without power for 90 hours, but we stayed warm, cooked, ran water, and got updates from Nome’s AM station. VHF, UHF, and HF radio stayed strong and got the message out.”
Mrs. Alaska’s life in a fly-in only location in the bush of Alaska is depicted in a book available on Amazon:
Log Cabin Reflections. Lots of photos and self-effacing anecdotes organized by season.
No comments:
Post a Comment