Emily, don't be a bitch ...

As I write, Mother Nature is giving birth to what could be the first hurricane of the season, hurricane Emily. No abortions, no way of stopping it, nothing anyone can do but watch and wait to see if Emily will pay them a visit and leave them homeless, destitute or dead.
Having spent a good part of my life in the tropics in what is know as the hurricane belt, I have been through my share of tropical storms and hurricanes both ashore and afloat. The worst was hurricane Luis, a category 5 monster that devastated the island of St. Maarten, sinking or throwing ashore almost 1200 boats in the process. The two photos were taken during and after hurricane Luis. I rode out the storm at anchor … well, actually, seven anchors and a massive mooring.

At the end of the storm, which lasted two days, our boat was about the only one left in the war zone of Simpson Bay Lagoon that wasn’t damaged, and to this day I don’t know why. I had boats sink under and around me. Astern, a dozen yachts, some upside down, littered the shore and many were beyond the beach and amongst the trees.
I spent a good part of the next couple of weeks diving in the toxic brew of the lagoon, blindly feeling my way through the wrecks, salvaging what I could for friends whose homes and dreams were lost, some without trace. That exercise left me with a serious respiratory infection that has bothered me on and off to this day.
I remember friends hugging and sobbing on the beach, some not only lost their boats and everything they owned but eventually saw their marriages and relationships end in ruin. Looting was rampant until the Dutch military arrived with their helicopter gunships. Armed soldiers enforced a curfew. There was no water or electricity. People found God, others kicked him into touch.

Throughout the worst 48-hours of the storm, when the wind reached 155pmh, I was monitoring the VHF radio and heard some remarkable things. I heard someone on a ship, aground and battered by giant waves, ask the police for assistance. A police woman replied: “We are all too frightened to leave the station. God be with you.” Then the radio went dead or she turned it off. There was incredible humor, too. One skipper spoke calmly as his boat was driven onto the concrete dock outside a local bar and receive this from another yacht: “Order us a packet of fags and a bottle of rum, we’re right behind you.”
One thing I will never forget is the power unleashed by the storm and thinking, even then, how wonderful, nay beautiful, it all was.
Before air and water mixed and made it impossible to breathe, I would crawl along the deck to the bow wearing my mask and snorkel, check the warps and then shuffle back to the cockpit again. Eventually, the return journey was made backwards because it was two dangerous to turn around. On my final jaunt, I was blown out like a flag and that put paid to that.
If you are reading this and you live in the hurricane belt, then stay safe. If you live elsewhere, please wait a few days before naming your daughter, Emily.