Most Floridians really expect the
hurricane season to be over as we approach Halloween, but memories are often
short. Back in 2005, Hurricane Wilma made landfall in South Florida on Oct 19,
and many in Broward County were caught by surprise when a Category 2 hurricane
slipped in from the Everglades and devastated the infrastructure. After just
four hours the storm passed, and astounded homeowners walked out into
neighborhoods that looked like a war zone. The ubiquitous cement roof tiles
which cover nearly every house had broken loose and flown like shrapnel, wreaking
havoc on windows, glass doors and cars foolishly left outside. Flooded
neighborhood streets were sealed off by fallen trees. Every street sign and stop
sign had blown away. And then the sun broke through to reveal total chaos.
More than 30,000 power poles were
snapped off and left most streets looking like a giant game of pick-up sticks. Many
neighborhoods were without power for ten days. No gasoline was available
because the service stations had no power to operate their pumps. That didn’t
stop hundreds of thousands of motorists from flocking to the roads and creating
the biggest traffic jams in recent history; almost every traffic light blew down
and rude drivers refused to yield the right of way, until every intersection
was so gridlocked that people just abandoned their cars and walked home. Ground
transportation came to a halt. Trains stopped running. All the airports closed
and the only air traffic was the helicopters, not FEMA or the National
Guard…news helicopters. And they weren’t dropping relief supplies like in the
aftermath of Katrina, but were shooting film for the evening news somewhere.
Predatory vendors filled rental
trucks with generators, ice, and cans of gasoline from upstate, and set up shop
in the parking lots of shopping centers. Grocery stores kept their doors locked
and millions of dollars of perishable food was just allowed to rot. Most
landline and cell phones were out of service. Cable television and internet
service stopped. People had to listen to their car radios for news. The public
water supply powered by backup diesel pumps continued, but many native
Floridans warned newcomers that the water should be boiled before drinking.
There was no police presence, but we could hear the continuous sound of distant
sirens. When the sun set, without streetlights it was absolutely dark, and looters
began to arrive. Some of us were ready.
In my novel, Boca Chita. Prepare.
Escape. Survive., I detail the steps I went
through to prepare for just such an emergency and how I managed to make our family
home safe and secure during this natural disaster. Preparedness is a process
not an event! As soon as the storm had passed, I released my overhead garage
door from its automatic opener and slid it up. Next, I carried my little 2kW
Honda suitcase generator outside, fueled it up from my cache of five-gallon
cans of gasoline, and fired it up. Within fifteen minutes I had my
refrigerator, icemaker, fans, and lights operable. I wheeled my propane gas
barbeque to the front driveway and made a pot of coffee on the side burner. I
shut off the water service to the house and attached a garden hose to the drain
on the water heater so that I’d have access to 40 gallons of fresh water. I
borrowed a brand-new chainsaw from a clueless neighbor, and began clearing away
the branches that blocked my driveway.
Shell-shocked neighbors began to
gather to watch me. Many just sat in lawn-chairs in their driveways waiting for
the insurance adjusters. Some were amazed I could open the garage door without
power and get my Jeep out. Soon I had my little generator up and working. I
used my 4-wheel drive Jeep and a chain to start moving the trees blocking the
street, and my portable VHF radio like a cell phone to hail others on Channel
16. That night, a circle of neighbors sat in their lawn chairs in my driveway,
illuminated by my portable floodlights while I cooked their rapidly defrosting
frozen meats on my grill. We talked about what to do next.
The next morning I drove down to
the marina in Key Biscayne where I kept my trawler to find total devastation!
Twenty-eight of the sailboats in the mooring field had broken loose and were
driven by the hurricane into our boats berthed on the floating docks. Of the
twelve boats, ranging from 40-50 feet in the outside slips where I was docked,
only four, including my trawler, were still afloat. The marina was nearly
destroyed; floating docks capsized pulling many boats down with them as the
tide surge swept in. I credited my trawler’s survival to 10% luck and 90%
preparedness. My 1 ½" nylon “storm
lines” were instrumental in holding my boat in place and my carefully placed
fenders cushioned it from the concrete pilings. I talk at length in my book Boca
Chita about why only the prepared will
survive.
As I write this, Hurricane Sandy,
now being billed by the frenzied media as the “Frankenstorm” is just off the
coast and storm bands are whipping through the marina with winds sustained at
fifty mph; the eye is right offshore now. Twelve- to fourteen-foot breakers are
pounding the beaches, but I’m safe in my current bugout location. I’m one of
the few liveaboards in the marina and am watching the damage being inflicted by
this storm on boaters who have left their Bimini tops up, tied their million
dollar yachts with 5/8" line, and
skimped on placing fenders. Inflatable launches are dangling and plastic steps
and buckets are sailing by in the storm-lashed seas. When the power goes out,
I’ll fire up my diesel generator and settle in with a good book.
These natural disasters are only
a test for what is inevitably going to happen. Are you prepared?
Lance