“Flood watch” or “river watch” has a different meaning to those who live on the river than it does to everyone else.
In the newspapers, it’s an official-sounding term, sort of like forest-fire alert, as in monitoring the situation. Down on the river, though, the “watch” is exactly what it says — sitting and watching the river, mostly as a source of curiosity and entertainment.
The object is to see what floats by — snags, beaver huts, livestock, that kind of thing — and to speculate about when it will crest. River watching requires at least two people to be effective. It’s even better when there’s a neighbourhood party, but as long as there are a few cold ones in the ice chest, it’s all good.
A typical river-watch conversation might go something like this:
“Yep, she’s comin’ up all right, Mother.”
“Sure is, Father.”
“Could get as high as ’48.”
“Doubt it, Father, but could hit ’72.”
“Think she’ll peak tomorrow?”
“Nope, maybe Monday.”
“Whoa! Is that a house comin’?”
“Could be the McTavishes’; they sit pretty low.”
“Probably just their barn, but it’s movin’ along pretty good.”
As important as sitting and looking at the river is to the people who live on it, the media are more choosy. The “flood watch” becomes of interest to them mostly when there’s an actual flood, such as what’s going on with the Nechako in Prince George right now. Up until then, it’s regarded as something of a non-event.