The Road through Hell-For-Certain; Paved with Good Intentions
- Matthew Sparks
- 25 minutes ago
- 10 min read
The older I get, the more I appreciate the expression “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” It is a bit of a sobering thought. However, especially in times of crisis, I think it is important to keep in mind a mantra that encourages us to act more thoughtfully and intentionally. Picking up where the last blog left off, I’m going to document the second round of flood relief in Leslie County after the snow fell, framed around reflections on hard lessons learned after responses to the 2022 and 2025 floods. To put a positive spin on the saying about a “road to hell,” however, I believe we need a “road through hell” here. Because hell does not have to be the endpoint—it is not too late for us to sit back, reflect, take stock of everything, and be proactive toward longer term systemic change—even if it feels like the house is burning down around you.
Up the Creek Without a Paddle: Mapping Inequality of Place in Leslie County’s Flood

During the bitter cold and snow-filled week following the first round of flood relief, there was very little that anyone could do on the ground despite our best efforts. We had set the stage as well as we could for those staying at home to be warm, while those in the deeply flooded areas of Confluence and Wilder Branch had already made other plans for lodging. I had attempted to raise some mutual aid funds and properly direct them towards building supplies and necessities, but that was really all the weather permitted me to do. I continued to plan for what I could do to help with recovery, while I, quite literally stuck at home with my hands tied, monitored a crisis unfold in Leslie County.
The Headwaters of the Middle Fork of the Kentucky River in Leslie County act as the “Confluence,” hence the area’s name, of several streams that create the river which flows north into Buckhorn Lake. This area is very remote and, as you might’ve imagined, it is often flood prone. Because of the heavy rains, the floodgates were closed at the lake, and the rainwater backed up for several consecutive days leaving many communities in the Confluence area isolated. This backflow meant that Confluence residents went without power and water for several days—if they could even access their homes at all because travel into and out of most areas seemed possible only by boats on submerged roads. Furthermore, the inability to assess damage in this area prevented the flooding in Leslie County from being declared an emergency by the state of Kentucky. Coupled with the ongoing lack of media coverage and public outcry, this flood event is generating much chatter in the county. While the floodgates were ultimately opened on Thursday following the flood, likely influenced by a house in the area burning down because the local Fire Department could not reach it—the water was draining far too slow.
On February 26th, I re-entered the flood relief coordination world quickly, helping to unload a truckload of supplies coordinated to be brought in by my comrade, Natasha Roberts, sponsored by Church of Christ Ministries out of Tennessee. “They totally understood the assignment,” Natasha said. Getting that truck unloaded, and the supplies out was truly a community effort. I made a couple of trips, and—as far as I knew—was about to call it a day and return to my LiKEN office.
However, a chance phone call from another old and dear friend of mine still in the county, changed that. I had not seen her in awhile, and she wanted to “get out” and do some flood relief while she had that afternoon free. “ At the suggestion of Natasha and some other members of our group—we agreed it would be best to try to get some food and water and basic supplies to the people still in the Confluence area, who were still mostly cut off from the rest of the county. To do so, we had to cross a long, twisting, turning, dare I say “treacherous,” route through the infamous likes of “Hell-For-Certain” and “Devil’s Jump Branch” to name a few.
Coming to Hell for High Water: Relief Not a Moment too Soon
The two neighboring communities are popular among lists and books of humorous or unusual place names in Kentucky, they are in fact real places in Leslie County , and one I’ve been more or less familiar with my entire life. There is nothing particularly hellish about either place, both are quite beautiful, even if they are often known for remoteness. After all, they are roads used to offroad ATV, and getting to Wilder Branch, where we were going, via that route was essentially taking the most backwoodsy scenic route possible to arrive there. We did not exactly know what we were getting into, or if we could even get in; however, this was in part a reconnaissance mission. We loaded up the truck and set off.

After about an hour long drive, seeing the many sights taking a few photos, and catching up, we reached the “end of the road.” It was a surreal sight. In the School House Bottom, as its locally known, there now sits a church. The holler forks off to the left—and straight ahead, where there should be a continuation of Wilder Branch Road, there was nothing but water and broken off asphalt. The area was serene, but off. Abandoned boats littered the unnatural shore where people had come to get supplies, got picked up, and left them to be picked up. I learned later we were probably the first volunteers who had made it in—before that day, you could not even access the backwoods roads in. Now—we had to figure out where we can leave these things—and how we can get them to the people who surely needed them.
Fortunately, in the next holler over, we had a connection. My friend that I was riding with was a deputy. At the first house in the holler, lived another deputy who appeared to be home. I did not know him, but he was married to another long time friend of mine from grade school (Gotta love the Southeast Kentucky life!). They only needed some bleach and cleaning supplies—and would be home all day. They told us there was still an extreme need for water, with systems, pipes, and taps still out. We all agreed it was best to set the supplies on the paved area near the boat so that people coming and going could take as they needed and distribute. Our friends agreed to let people who may need it know, while supervising the goods from being taken by opportunistic people for their own reasons. We positioned the goods neatly and drove out of there back across the highway on four-wheeler ATVs. It was truly an adventure in becoming some of the very first people doing any sort of relief to get in there.
I document a lot of the relief on my Facebook for various reasons—especially related to donations and for showing people where their money is going. The evening after posting requests, I confirmed that our donations were received by folks in need and got to where they needed to go. This was— clearly one of the highest priority areas of the county, with even more trips needed back in there. It was also here, however, where we began encountering ethical and moral dilemmas related to flood relief.
In 2022, as in 2025, and probably forever, the question of equitable distribution of free goods and supplies should always be forefront in the mind of relief coordinators. It is not a straightforward question---poverty and deprivation existed prior to the flooding---are these people not also worthy to receive some of the donated goods? Should these goods be limited to only flood victims? How can the criteria of need be determined? These are questions that mutual aid organizers and volunteers must wrestle with daily in the course of their work.
We experienced it last time, in 2022, with large amounts of donated goods immediately being picked up and sold or pawned. A friend of mine even completely re-homed a woman who later ended up just trying to get as much money out of her as possible. Controlling this issue of assessing need requires careful care—people can do assessments, they can take people’s names and ID’s, contact information, they can write their names on donated goods. I think there is a fine line between gatekeeping who receives supplies and simply distributing them in abundance to anyone who asks—there is no easy answer to these questions, and I have yet to find a universal solution— otherwise, I would not be writing this. My approach to these issues are to gather information about them locally, assess and prioritize need, and then equitably distribute to different areas, as much as I can based on the info I have. This approach is not perfect, but it is what I can do until I have a better solution. As LiKEN Knowledge’s Community Engagement Coordinator for Leslie County and a lifelong member of this community, I not only felt empowered but also compelled to take on the difficult challenges of realizing a more equitable distribution of resources in a disaster situation. If I did not step up, who else would?
Help-for-Certain: Navigating the Ethical Dilemmas of Direct, Mutual Aid
The day after our trip through Hell-for-Certain, many people in the wider Huff Holler and Wilder Branch area reached out to me about things going on in that area related to flood relief which were perceived by them as being rather unscrupulous. I heard reports that a church group was claiming they had received no help at all from the county when they had, in fact, but were still reaching out to many organizations outside of the area for support. I had also heard that some individuals were amassing and distributing the goods as they saw fit in the community, and that there was even a group-chat dedicated to this. One woman, who I knew very well and was in need, told me she did not get any water from the several jugs that I had left because she had not had time to get them. I know that good intentions count for something, however, once again I had to re-evaluate how I can better ensure that I am actually doing the most good for this area amid these conflicting reports.
I would not have to wait long to have time to respond. Another friend of mine, Stephanie, an “expat-alachian,” (someone from the area but moved out-of-state), came in two days later with a load of goods wanting to get them to high-priority areas of need. Meeting the need and allocating it would be the easy part—the road was still completely flooded. However, we now had to figure out how to distribute the goods effectively. I explained the situation with the road flooding, arguing that we would need to once again go through the four-wheeler roads of Hell-for-Certain to my friend carefully. She, being a Leslie Countian, basically agreed with me. We loaded up, prepared for another trip back to Wilder Branch.
The ride over was fun with us sharing stories and memories, taking photos, we even encountered a man with a boat. I assumed he was either taking supplies or had been out of the county and was returning home. He asked us for directions to where the boats were coming in, and we agreed to lead him there. We got mixed up a little bit, but eventually, we arrived at the same location as yesterday. School House Bottom, where the road remained flooded out.

After some discussions with the man and his wife in the boat and seeing another group of younger people set out back down the road-turned-river, we learned they were living in Laurel County for two weeks, because they were able to reach their house in “Huff Holler” over in Wilder Branch. Still flooded out. They had no water, they were not even sure their car had not washed away, but as far as they knew, their house was still standing. These folks clearly needed some of the stuff we had brought, so after some discussion, we distributed some of the supplies (mostly water, cleaning equipment, and food) to them and left some more of it in the back of their truck bed so their neighbors could come and get it if needed. We then distributed the rest of the supplies, including water, to two other residents we knew—including the people from the previous trip and also a prominent local ex-sheriff who was helping coordinate relief efforts. On the way out, I also made sure to drop three jugs of water off at the house of my friend’s elderly mother. Was it perfect, no, but it was enough to make me feel like I had at least intentionally acted with good intentions, providing relief to people who had been flooded out of their homes for going on two weeks, to those who had not had water for two weeks, and to some of their neighbors.
A week on, the area is still not completely free of water, with many roads still inaccessible. However, this episode taught me a lot about mutual aid, and the moral and ethical dilemmas that arise in disaster relief, and most importantly how to provide direct aid without losing sight of long term institutional change to get self-sustaining systems of community support in place . A seed was planted for something new, and after these two trips to help for certain to provide direct, mutual aid, I made the decision to directly work with local leaders for some new support systems in the community. Namely, a tool library,but that will be the subject of another blog. For now, the marathon continues.
UPDATE August 11, 2025:
About a month after the flooding had began, the main county and state roads became accessible once again to Dryhill, Confluence, and Wilder Branch residents. The back road through Hell-for-Certain was no longer necessary to take to reach these areas, and the Army Corps of Engineers went to work quickly repairing the county park damaged by the flooding. However, the advocacy for these communities, and awareness for the damages caused by the decision to hold the floodwaters, continues to be led by former District Judge Renee Muncy. In the meantime, we continue to prepare for when the next flood comes.