http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5heieqmTrYWZZb5DWtXg0LrYvhuDgD937LNI00
I wondered when I saw the footage of Bolivar how they got that tractor onto the island. It's basically only accesable by water or air now. After reading this story, I now know.
Man stricken with loss when rescue never came
By ALLEN G. BREED – 1 hour ago
GILCHRIST, Texas (AP) — Shell-shocked, hungry and still reeling from the loss of a woman who'd clung to rafters with him against the full fury of Hurricane Ike, Bobby Anderson limped off ravaged Bolivar Peninsula in a pickup truck reclaimed from the gulf.
"I'm hoping they find her alive or well," a dazed Anderson said Monday night after emerging from the darkness across the debris-littered road that led past rows of beach houses scoured clean by the storm.
Anderson refused to identify the woman swept away before his eyes when Ike raked this barrier island Saturday, except to say she was the girlfriend of a former employee. But he showed no such restraint when it came to his bitterness over a rescue that never happened and post-storm help that never came.
"What assistance?" the 56-year-old home designer and builder said from the cab of his battered black Chevy. "I mean, there's helicopters landing there every day. They don't bring food OR water. I mean, you know, old Gov. Rick (Perry) dropped the ball on this one."
For the past three days, Anderson and about 20 others "scattered here, there and yonder" in the communities of Crystal Beach and Port Bolivar have been sharing food and comfort, holding fast to what remains of their lives.
Anderson said he had every intention of leaving after the National Weather Service warned that people who lived on the fragile chain of barrier islands along the Texas coast faced "certain death" from Ike's massive storm surge.
Despite all the coverage, Anderson said he and his friend were caught off guard. When they tried to leave Friday, they encountered waters up to 4 feet deep engulfing the road to Gilchrist.
They retreated to Crystal Beach, and Anderson said a friend told him he could call for a helicopter rescue. He said he made the first call at 1 p.m. and told the dispatcher where they were. "OK," the dispatcher responded. "We'll come and get you."
When help had not arrived by 2 p.m., Anderson called again and got the same response. At 3 p.m., the same.
Finally, at 3:30 p.m. the dispatcher told him: "It's too late. We're not flying anymore."
Anderson said he and his friend had gone to a building that was under construction "because we felt like it was a good place for a helicopter to land." When asked to describe their ordeal, he refused.
"I'd really rather not," he said.
When search and rescue teams finally arrived on the island, Anderson told them about his friend and asked them to search for her. But there were no reports of her — alive or dead.
Rescuers asked him to leave with them. He refused.
Miraculously, one of Anderson's three homes on the island survived the storm. Anderson said he didn't want to leave his valuable computer and drafting equipment unprotected.
During the next two days, he and others found refuge in wrecked homes, a school and even a Baptist church. They subsisted on whatever they found lying around: boiled shrimp from a freezer, uncooked hot dogs, leftover pizza and cashews.
Anderson lost two vehicles in the storm, but he thought he could get an old pickup running.
"We had to take the starter off and get all the seashells and sand and everything out of it, and basically rebuild it the best we could," he said. Fortunately, one holdout had a battery charger and another had a generator to power it.
As he worked on the truck, he said he watched as search teams broke into storage sheds and "hot-wired" whatever equipment they could find. He said a man came up to him and threatened to commandeer the truck.
"They said they had the authority from President Bush to do what they want to do, to take anything they needed to get the job done," he said. "I didn't think it was supposed to be like this."
Anderson said he was able to keep the truck by telling searchers it wouldn't run.
At dusk Monday, Anderson hopped in the truck and set out for the mainland. Around 9 p.m., he encountered a state wildlife official escorting a group of reporters through Gilchrist's ruins.
Aaron Reed, a spokesman for Texas Parks and Wildlife, had seen the tearful Anderson the day after the storm. He gave the grizzled, disheveled survivor a case of water Monday night and told him of a place on nearby High Island where fellow holdouts were grilling food.
Anderson was planning to spend the night there before making his way to Beaumont.
As he slurped a proffered plastic cup of mandarin oranges, Anderson gazed at the Stonehenge-like remains of a once gorgeous stilt home. He'd worked on some of these homes; he thought they could withstand a storm.
But, Anderson said, "this was an out-of-the-ordinary storm."