"In all the years I've lived here, I've never seen anything like this."

"There is mud everywhere."

"Elders in the village say they remember floods in years past, but none as deadly and destructive as this one."

Those were the kinds of things people were saying after the flood on Kaua'i that swept through in the dark hours of the morning and took away homes and lives.

That was in December 1991. It was a flash flood, not the dam of a reservoir giving way, but there are many similarities between the two tragic events.

It had been raining on Kaua'i off and on for weeks and the soil was saturated with water. There was no warning of the wall of water that came rushing down the hillside into homes and cars and roadways. It was in the hours before daybreak. People couldn't see what was happening to get away. And when it was over, it was mud and fear and grief and trying to find someone to hold responsible for the destruction.

Four lives were lost as a result of that Anahola flood of 1991. One man was caught in a wave of water as he tried to save his family pets. Another had escaped to safety but went back to grab his guitar. A truck was washed off Kuhio highway and the driver was killed. The beloved director of the Kaua'i Museum, Ginger Alexander, was swept away in the floodwaters and clung to debris for hours before being rescued. She suffered hypothermia and died days later of a stroke.

The days after the loss were a tangle of questions, blame and regret. Why wasn't there advance warning? Can't there be alarms when the streams are running high and the rain is unrelenting? Who let these houses be built in the path of potential flooding? What about other streams and reservoirs on the island?

Most of those questions and others have not been answered, and the memory of the Anahola flood of December 1991 was eclipsed by the widespread damage of Hurricane Iniki less than a year later.

But even now, a decade after those deadly natural disasters, with the perspective of time and the documentation of photos and video, people are still saying they've never seen anything like what happened when Kaloko burst through its banks.

What has been learned?

The old-timers will tell you there's no match for the will of water. It goes where it wants, it takes what it takes. It will bring down mountains, uproot forests and break hearts. Perhaps the best we can do is to have a healthy measure of fear for its potential and watch where we put our roads and houses, where we travel and where we sleep.

Lee Cataluna's column runs Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at 535-8172 or lcataluna@honoluluadvertiser.com.