Since that time, Keith has pondered, every year, what would happen if a category one hurricane hit us on a path right up the Bay. Hazel was our last category one hurricane to hit and that was way back before either one of us were born. Fifty-seven years ago, to be exact. A major storm like Hazel is supposed to hit us every thirty to fifty years so we figured we were on borrowed time.
On Friday, the day before the Big Storm, I went out on a mission to get sandbags and some other storm prep supplies. I couldn't find a sandbag within a fifty mile radius. To top it off, I couldn't find a decent flashlight nor batteries to operate the little ones we already have. Knowing Irene was going to blow in with a vengeance, we realized too late the importance of being prepared way before you even know what might hit you.
I managed to get twelve bags of sand and bought my own bags to make my own sandbags. On the night of the storm, I sandbagged the doors and had a few more ready to fight the water anywhere else it could find a way in. We also got everything - and I mean everything - off the first floor. The big things that we left behind were ready to be moved when the tides came pouring through. We were set as much as available supplies and our budget would allow.
Saturday came and Irene began knocking on our door. She brought heavy rains and breezes, a warning that she could be vicious and gentle at the same time. All we could do was wait. Our flood tides don't happen during the storm. They always come as the storm exits.
So we waited - and drank beer. The original forcast had the brunt of the storm coming after midnight, but on the five o'clock news, the forcasters upped the time for the strongest part of the storm to hit after eight pm. That was only three hours away, and while we had a deluge the entire day, the winds were only breezy. We've had stronger nor'easters.
Keith's pessimism began to show through. "Where's the hurricane? The trees are supposed to be bending back and forth and things are supposed to be flying through the air."
In Keith's defense, his pessimism wasn't without foundation. Three days earlier, as we drove to work, he mentioned that he had never experienced a category one hurricane and he wanted to experience one. His grandmother talked about how bad Hazel was in '54 and Irene was his chance to experience what his grandmother had told him. He added, "I've never experienced a tornado or an earthquake, either. I don't want to experience a tornado, but I'd like to see one. And I'd want to feel an earthquake. I can't imagine what one feels like."
"If you want to feel an earthquake, you have to go to California, and I ain't going to California. If Apryl [his daughter] moves to Ohio, you can visit her during tornado season, but I ain't going," I replied.
That afternoon, I ate my lunch under the pine tree on the hill behind where I work, then lay down to take a nap. As I dozed off, the ground felt like jello and I instantly sat up, startled. I rocked as if I were sitting on a bowl of jello, and the hill felt as if it were going to slide down. The sensation only lasted a few seconds, but by the time I gathered my senses, I sat there wondering if there was something physically wrong with me or if we had an earthquake. I lit up a smoke and then I heard someone yell, "We had an earthquake!"
I breathed a sigh of relief knowing there was nothing wrong with me. Then I remembered Keith and our conversation this morning and wondered if he felt the quake he caused. Yes, he caused it. He wanted a blizzard and we got two back-to-back blizzards. He wanted the spring to dry out so his flowers would grow, and we had no rain for two months, plunging us into a moderate drought. He wanted to feel an earthquake, and we got a 5.8 quake. Mother Nature listens to Keith, but, unfortunately, gives him more than he asks for.
I felt the quake he asked for. He didn't. He was in his work van and didn't feel a thing. He's still upset about that. All I can say is everyone east of the Mississippi should brace themselves for another - and much larger - quake, one that drivers will even feel.
Now here we were, three hours away from the height of a category one hurricane, and all we had were breezes and lots of rain. "I missed the earthquake and now we ain't going to get the hurricane," he lamented.
I pulled up the weather observations for Bishops Head. Winds were steady at 23 mph, gusting to near 40. We weren't even in tropical strength, yet. Maybe Keith was right.
About an hour later, I refreshed the stats, and winds were steady at 39 mph, with gusts just over 50. I woke Keith up. "It's coming, Keith. We're in tropical strength now and the peak is still two hours away. Grab some beer and let's go."
Keith got excited until he looked outside. "It doesn't look all that much more windy."
I packed our beer and explained, "We'll go out to the docks and see the full force. We're too protected here with all the trees."
We headed out to the mouth of Tedious Creek, where we go fishing and crabbing. Normally, Tedious Creek is calm with little ripples lapping the shore. During storms, it turns into a viscious flood machine. When the winds blow right, the water is forced up the creek, over the land, and, at least once a year, into our yard. Now, keep in mind, we don't live on Tedious Creek. Tedious Creek is a mile or two from us. So when it comes into our yard, you can imagine the volume of Bay water the wind has pushed up the creek to reach us. It doesn't even have to be a strong wind. A steady, persistent breeze from the right direction is all it takes. The Mother's Day storm of '08 testifies to that.
We got down to the docks and the wind howled. Waves crashed on the shore. For the first time that day, we felt we were in a tropical storm. The good news was the waves slammed against the east side banks of Tedious Creek instead of blowing straight up the creek.
"We're not going to get flooded, Keith. Look where the waves are going."
"You're sure?"
"With the tides around here, no, the tides do what they want, but what I'm seeing is a good sign. The waves are wrong and high tide is still a good six hours away." (It's only an 11-second shot, but you can view the peak of our storm as seen at the mouth of Tedious Creek following the rest of the story.)
As darkness crept in and our beer supply dwindled, we went home. There's only so much wind and repetive wave action one can watch before you realize you're running out of beer. As we left the docks, the winds seemed to get less harsh. By the time we got home (ten minutes later), there was no storm. It wasn't even raining.
I pulled up the radar and it showed the storm passing us. The stats showed the steady wind speed at 23 mph with gusts to almost forty. The storm was over, which meant the flood tides were coming. Keith, already dejected because he didn't get to exprience a category one hurricane, had fallen fast asleep on the sofa. I didn't expect much of anything, so I let him sleep and headed out on my own.
The exiting storm brought in a bit stronger winds, I'm sure, but nothing stronger than what we had seen all day. The tides, however, were coming in. On my short trip around the block, the block being about a square mile radious of country roads, the usual low-lying parts of the road had water coming across.
I got home and woke Keith up. "The tides are coming in. Let's go fo a ride."
You're expecting something exciting to happen here, huh? Sorry, no. The flood tide was nothing more than a full moon tide. The low spots of the roads flooded and that's about it. Irene turned out to be a non-event. Our sandbags not only didn't hold back flood waters, they didn't even get wet.
About five days later, the remnants of tropical storm Lee hit us. I can cut this story short. Yes, we had more rain, maybe an inch or two, but no winds and no flooding. Lee had no effect on us.
Ironically, between the two storms, people living in the high country had way more problems than we had. One thing we learned is that no matter how much rain falls, the marsh asorbs it all. It's the winds partnering with the tides that flood us. Irene and Lee proved that. Between the two storms within the same week, we had well over a foot of rain. We had no flooding. Last spring, we had a nor'easter that dropped about an inch of rain, but the winds brought in a tide that flooded our house.
Keith missed our earthquake and our category one hurricane. He'll get over it. According to the Mayans, the end of the world is a little over a year from now. He figures that December 2012 will bring a major earthquake, hurricane, tornado, and probably an asteroid. He's already planned his time off and started thinking about an end-of-the-world party. If Mother Nature really does listen to him, we're in for some wild events next year.
Irene's peak fury
© 2011
Mark Darien
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