SURVIVING HURRICANE LUIS

Maurice Sumner

(Maurice and Rosie Sumner wrote from St Maarten in the Dutch Antilles in early September after flying out to rejoin Christobel, their Halmatic 30. It is their second time in the Caribbean, following an `Atlantic circuit' aboard Christobel in 1991/92.)

On 1 September Rosie and I returned to St Maarten after a superb spring and summer in the UK. We are now sitting on board Christobel in the marina, and endlessly counting our blessings that she is still afloat and relatively undamaged after the passage of Hurricane Luis. All around the shores of Simpson Bay Lagoon are scores of wrecked and sunken boats, driven ashore or holed and sunk by collision with other boats. In the marina ten boats sank after collision or smashing themselves against the concrete pontoons, and one diver estimated that only 10 percent of the 1200 boats here are still afloat. The entire island is a disaster area with many homeless people, particularly from the shanty townships which have been flattened. Fortunately the death toll is relatively low at five so far.

Our planned return to the Caribbean coincided with numerous routine tropical storm warnings -- common at this time of year and closely monitored by the Miami Weather Centre. Most tropical disturbances do not develop into full storms and may take paths away from land where they disperse without threat. Occasionally one does develop into a hurricane and poses a severe and very dangerous threat to anything in its path. Hurricane Luis was one such storm and the first of this magnitude to hit St Maarten for thirty-five years.

By Sunday 3rd we all realised that we were directly in the path of a Grade 4 hurricane (they grade them from 1 to 5), with winds around its centre in excess of 140 knots. Imagine this whirling dervish, about 500 miles in diameter, approaching the Leeward Islands from the east at 12 knots. Some big motor cruisers fuelled up and headed south with all speed and I expect they got clear of the worst of the storm, but they ran the risk that the track of Luis would turn south also. Meanwhile on Sunday and Monday everyone set about securing their vessels with every line and anchor they had, and then went to the chandlers and bought some more. We spun a web around Christobel between two concrete finger pontoons and laid two large stern anchors and rope/chain to the bow. Local radio broadcasts offered advice to all citizens about hurricane preparation and the locations of refuge centres. It took on the atmosphere of a disaster movie with everyone preparing for Armageddon.

By Monday afternoon the storm centre was approaching Antigua 100 miles to the east. Having done all we could to secure Christobel we reluctantly decided to retreat to the relative sanctuary of the Baptist Church next to the marina with supplies for at least two nights. There was debate about whether it was safer to anchor in the lagoon or stay within the confines of the marina, a decision which proved fateful for those that chose the anchorage. So with rising winds sweeping the area and debris starting to litter the streets we settled down to a noisy night on the church floor in convivial company. Soon VHF reports started to come in of boats in deep trouble in the lagoon anchorage, colliding and dragging each other ashore to be pounded on the beach. Some families in the church with macho/stupid skippers still aboard fighting to save their boats/homes and then themselves raised the tension with the wind, and we wept with them as each new disaster was reported and they realised that they might have lost everything.

The full force of the storm hit on Tuesday, with 140 knot winds and visibility down to zero, the atmosphere saturated by water vapour from torrential rain and sea spume. We could occasionally glimpse the masts in the marina taking on crazy angles and trees bending over. A window in an adjoining room imploded with a shower of glass and rain. Roof tiles were crashing down into the street and rain percolated through every crack. We spent much of our time mopping up the water.

The timing of the passing of the eye of the storm kept being put back, indicating that the system had slowed down, but we were still on target for a bullseye in St Maarten. At about 8pm there appeared a lull in the wind and I ventured outside with another man to see how our boats were faring. The few hundred yards had to be covered in a series of dashes and crawls as gusts threatened to lift us bodily. I found Christobel afloat but with slack stern lines and trying to mount the pontoon at the bow. I thought the stern anchors had gone and could do no more than push her off, away from the concrete jetty, and then crawl despondently back to the church. A number of nearby boats had sunk in their berths and we felt that only a miracle could save her from destroying herself against the concrete.

We slept badly through a night of roaring noise and clamour as the eye passed and the wind rose again to new heights. More refugees sought shelter, and one American couple with a small son arrived in a distressed state after losing their boat in the anchorage and clambering ashore over other wrecks piled up on the beach. There they had sheltered behind a rusty crane for three hours being sandblasted by the 100+ knot winds.

At first light on Wednesday we could wait no longer to see if our boat had survived the night. In spite of torrential rain and very high winds we ran to see if she was still there or, like her near neighbour, with only her masts above the water. With overwhelming relief we saw that Christobel was still afloat, with just a nasty gash on her bow and her stern pushpit rail punched forward about 18 inches by a clash with the Frenchman next to us. We climbed aboard, tightened the slack in the stern lines, pumped some water from the bilges and she was okay. The wind had veered to the south with the passing of the eye and I think that it what saved her from the pounding against the concrete pontoon.

The aftermath of the storm on Wednesday consisted of southerly winds of up to 70 knots with some sunshine. What a scene of devastation confronted us as we crept out to look. In just the marina area trees had fallen on cars, fences were down and debris blocked the streets. At Snoopy Island in the lagoon we could see dozens of masts at crazy angles, all beached or sunken yachts. The emergency radio station told of major damage throughout the island, with many homeless from the shanties which had simply blown away. Before the storm the shanty towns were largely hidden by the bush foliage. Now the landscape had changed from green to brown with not a leaf surviving -- the countryside looked burnt. The shanties are revealed and look like a major aeroplane crash on the side of the hills, posing enormous problems of rehousing and/or the forceable repatriation of thousands of illegal immigrants from Haiti and the Dominican Republic, with the likelihood of civil unrest to follow. The large RAMS Superstore had collapsed, giving looters the opportunity of a lifetime, and the army are now guarding exposed places and a curfew has been imposed to protect vulnerable boats and property.

We had discussed at length the merit of staying with the boat in a hurricane and have concluded that on a scale of 1 to 10, the boat scores 1 and your life scores 10. Bitter though it may be to lose your boat you can probably get another one, but you only have one life. I detected the `Everest Syndrome' among some skippers who saw a hurricane as the ultimate challenge and wanted to experience it and come out on top. Well, very few did, and they put it down to good luck rather than good management in not being hit by loose boats much larger than their own. With an empty lagoon and good ground tackle you might well succeed, but this anchorage had hundred of boats in it, many of them charter yachts up to 50ft in length from the surrounding islands and up to the Virgins. They created the most havoc when dragging through the lagoon, taking many other boats with them to the rocky shore. Owners are now talking of suing the charter company for damages but I fear they are whistling in the wind. In the marina you also needed good luck not to have a runaway boat sit on you. Nowhere is safe in over 100 knots, and being aboard is unlikely to be very effective and is positively dangerous to your health.

As I write this, Hurricane Marilyn is reported over Guadeloupe, heading this way. It is graded 1 with winds over 80 knots. So here we go again -- and it's all voluntary and supposed to be fun!