On Hurricanes

Hurricanes are amazing things. At the moment, Hurricane Earl is thundering toward the Outer Banks of North Carolina as a Category 3 storm (hurricane ratings explained here). For a great many of us in America, especially those of us in the Midwest, we have no idea what a hurricane is really like; they're reduced to satellite images and pictures on the news. Powerful images, certainly, but lacking perspective. I got some first-hand perspective on hurricanes during my honeymoon in 1995, when Hurricane Erin hit Florida.

My new bride and I were spending a week in a condo on Indian Rocks Beach, south of Clearwater and west of St. Petersburg, enjoying our first-floor corner digs. We were literally right on the beach, the sand being 20 feet away from the balcony of our bedroom. (The sunsets, always beautiful on the Gulf of Mexico, are downright magical when you can enjoy them from a private balcony with a drink in your hand.) We were a bit troubled when we heard the news of the impending storm, but more over how much beach time we would lose rather than any real danger. Then the clouds came, and the wind, and the beginnings of the rain, and my attitude began to change.

The night before the brunt of the storm hit, I was sitting on the balcony watching the waves leap and crash onto the beach. The winds were howling and driving whitecaps along the waves. I had been to that area of the Gulf several times as a kid, as my grandfather had lived in St. Pete since I before I was born. I had never before (or since, in my few times back) seen waves that large on the Gulf. The sea was just downright angry, or certainly looked it to me; Erin was only a Category 1 hurricane, so I can still only imagine being in the face of a Category 5 storm. I got an idea of just how strong the winds were thanks to a pelican. Right next to the condo building, on the south side, is a small bird sanctuary. Not that pelicans need a sanctuary, as they're all over the place, but they find it a convenient place to relax, I guess. I was standing, leaning on the rail, and happened to look over toward the sanctuary just as a pelican tried to take off. He fluttered for a bit, gained about 10 feet of altitude, and then was slammed down to earth by a gust of wind. Literally. Like a hand reached out of the storm and said, "You ain't goin' nowhere!" The bird was airborne, then grounded, just like that. He must have gotten the hint, because he waddled in between some bushes and stayed there.

The next day was was of the more interesting days of my life. My grandfather had called in the morning, offering to have us at his house if the storm got too much on the beach. We said thanks, but declined, and decided, of all things, to go to a movie (it was raining, wasn't it? And the movie was The Net, with Sandra Bullock). Getting into, and out of, the theatre, was like a kid's game show on Nickelodeon. One minute, the sky was bright and clear; the next, it was raining so hard you literally could not see 10 feet in front of you. And that could change in a matter of seconds. I remember trying to time our way back to the car after the movie. We waited for about 15 minutes, watching the rain/shine cycle replay, and finally decided to make a dash for the car. We almost made it. We ran through a very light sprinkle, reached the car, and as I was fumbling with the keys, the sky opened up. My wife and I dove into the car and managed to shut the doors just as a blinding sheet of rain swept through. And I do mean sheet. From where we were parked, there was a space between us and the next car...and the rain hid that car from our view completely.

The wind and the rain kept up that attitude for the rest of the day, which wasn't all that bad, really, as it provided us with an opportunity to have a romantic dinner in. It also provided us with some extra memories of our honeymoon. But I could do without one if we ever spend an anniversary there.