In the Shadow of a Hurricane

First, let me assure you that I'm not writing this from the roof of my apartment building, feet dangling in the raging flood waters. Floyd left the heavy stuff for the Carolinas and New Jersey. By the time it got here, it had been downgraded to a tropical storm. We got a couple of days of steady rain, but the thirsty plants and trees soaked just about all of it up before it could do much damage.

Although we escaped the wrath of Floyd, we did get to engage in a bit of the watch and wait hysteria that accompanies just about any of the potentially threatening storms that jell during hurricane season. It's been a number of years since a hurricane has been predicted to hit this far up the coast, and Floyd was never a threat as far as the weather service was concerned. So we watched, secure in the knowledge that we weren't going to get pounded, but unsure what the rain and wind might bring. And, fortunately, evacuation was never even considered. The most visible sign that something out of the ordinary was in store was the exodus of boats from the harbor. From sun up to sundown, the beep, beep, beep of the rigs backing down the boat ramp to haul out another boat permeated the air. I don't know what it costs boat owners for these rush jobs, but I'm sure they must pay a premium - after all, there isn't time to pull out all of the boats, so you must either have to know somebody, or you must be willing to pay the price.

Statistically, the experts say that it is just a matter of time before Maine gets in the way of a major hurricane. I guess it's sort of like the inevitably of San Francisco getting wacked by an earthquake. However, the odds of a hurricane making it this far up the Atlantic and packing much of a punch are quite small. Hurricanes feed on warm water. As they work their way north, the water, of course, gets colder. What may start out as a level 4 or 5 hurricane in the Carribean will end up as a level 1 at best by the time it gets to Maine. And even if it does happen to follow a path that skirts the rest of the east coast and bears down on Maine, there is always this troublesome little spit of land that just happens to sit directly in the way - it's called Cape Cod. Hurricanes also weaken as they hit land, so even if one happens to survive the cold waters, Cape Cod inevitably weakens it further.

Now I know it's pretty stupid to complain about the fact that the potential for a natural disaster of significant magnitude is limited in these parts, but it's difficult not to get caught up in the excitement generated by hurricane watches and warnings, and you can't help but feel a little disappointment when the predicted "disaster" drifts out to sea or pulls up short. It's the same type of disappointment that comes when a "for sure" blizzard fizzles out.

In those rare instances when it appears that a hurricane is, indeed, going to pick on us, we collectively engage in some rather peculiar behavior. Probably the most peculiar, in my opion, is the taping of windows. This is when seemingly intelligent humans deplete every hardware store around of their stock of masking tape and apply it in a uniform fashion on every window in the house or building, primarily in the shape of an "X" reaching from window corner to window corner. Supposedly, this precaution is supposed to prevent shards of glass from spraying everywhere when the high winds blow out the windows. Fortunately, we have no proof of whether or not this actually works. All I do know is that it's nearly impossible to get the tape residue off the window after the winds and rain are but a memory. I joined the hoard in this strange ritual the first time I faced a hurricane threat, but after spending far too much time scraping goo from the windows afterwards, I decided that I would take my chances on flying shards of glass rather than put up with the tape clean-up again.

Another ritual of hurricane preparedness is an almost maniacal stocking up on food and supplies. Batteries and candles are precious commodities, and long, long lines at the supermarket are de rigueur. I am always amazed at the amount of food people end up buying - it's as if they feel they need enough to get them through the coming winter.

Then, of course, there is the requisite media hype. Impending doom is trumpeted from every TV station, with each meteoroligist trying to outdo the others with splashy graphics and seemingly endless replays of satellite animations of the tracking of the hurricane. After the first dozen times or so of watching this media circus, one just wishes the dang thing would hit and move on so that the newscasters would have something else to talk about.

We escaped relatively unscathed this time, although a couple was swept out to sea while watching the storm surge break over the rocks at Schoodic Point. All is calm here for the time being. But there are still a few months to go in this hurricane season, so who knows - you'd better get your masking tape before it's all gone.