In the wake of Hurricane Helen, Mountain Island Lake has been transformed into a chaotic water highway. Boathouses, boats, docks, and all manner of floating property have been swept from their moorings, drifting downriver in a sad parade of lost treasures. As the winds calmed, however, another storm brewed—one of opportunistic thieves eager to capitalize on this watery windfall.

For those of us living on the lake, it’s been a whirlwind of emotions and action. I’ve seen boat docks and kayaks float by, pieces of people’s lives adrift on the water. My cove, typically a peaceful haven, has become a temporary home to all sorts of debris, and I’ve made it my mission to recover and protect whatever washes up—always with the hope of returning it to its rightful owner.

My boat ramp, thankfully, held strong. Tied securely, it stayed put amidst the chaos. But not everyone has been so fortunate. Docks, boats, and equipment worth thousands have been unmoored, some never to be seen again. Yet, it’s not just Mother Nature we’re fighting—it’s the people who see this tragedy as an opportunity to line their pockets.

Last night, I had a run-in with some of these opportunists. After securing a few docks that had floated into my cove—knowing full well they belonged to my neighbors—I tied them to my land, as anyone would. But around midnight, I noticed a few strangers sneaking up, trying to claim the docks for themselves. These poachers, armed with greed, hoped to disappear into the darkness with someone else’s property.

I wasn’t having it.

With my lights blaring and my phone in hand, I started recording them. “If that’s not your dock,” I told them, “you’re being recorded.” One of them had the nerve to threaten me for filming, but I wasn’t about to back down. As far as I’m concerned, they can kiss my ass.

Now, you should know, around here on the lake, we have a silent code. We look out for each other. Whether it’s saving a neighbor’s boat or watching their house while they’re away, we live by an unspoken agreement of trust and protection. So when I see something floating down that belongs to someone I know—or even someone I don’t—I take it in and secure it. I expect the same from my neighbors. That’s how we survive out here.

The docks these people were after? They cost a fortune. And I wasn’t about to let some lowlifes take what isn’t theirs. They may think they can strip it down, dismantle it for parts, but we all know these things can be traced. And I’m not afraid to go to war to protect what’s right—whether it’s mine or not.

It’s been a crazy few days, to say the least. Hurricane Helen may have passed, but the battle for what remains continues. As the lake community fights to recover, we’re also fighting to protect what’s ours—and what belongs to our neighbors. We stand united, ready to defend what floats into our lives.

These docks, boats, and boathouses? They aren’t just property. They’re pieces of our lives, tied to memories, hard work, and the spirit of community. And as long as I’m here, I’ll fight to protect them—just as I hope someone would do for me.