Facing Irene #6, Final Report

Boy, is it hot. Been outside, picking up debris, hot and sweaty. Yuck. Blue sky, gentle breeze, river is calm, not even any chop. Water level has gone back down to near normal levels.

Went to bed last night around 10:30. Still had power, wind was a steady, maybe 25 kts out of the north, raining lightly, worst is over.

Well, maybe not. Power went off at midnight. It woke me up; the wind was howling, perhaps the strongest we've had. No idea of speed, but it was making a weird, loud noise.

Big deal, just another hurricane, made sure mom had her flashlight, and went back to bed. I mean, what can you do, right? No power, dark as a coal mine, and it's very nasty outside. Bed is the best place to be. No brainer.

The morning light revealed virtually no real damage, just the normal litter after a heavy storm.

This was the source of our power problem. The Northern Neck Power Cooperative had a truck here this morning, and by 10AM we had juice.

Raymond and I got to work quickly on the lawn litter. Raymond is a local handyman extraordinaire; practically everyone on the Northern Neck wants to hire him. Before long, Broad Reach was looking pretty ship-shape once again.

Oh! Almost forgot the dock. It had a little visible damage, and probably some damage not apparent. I think the deck needs to be re-anchored to the pilings, but other than that, it seemed to escape with most of its timbers intact.

And floating peacefully at anchor, right where it is supposed to be, is the barge I had feared might wind up on our beach.

My brother, Louie, in Norfolk is likewise ok, and has but little damage. The waters in his neighborhood exceeded the mark set by Isabelle. They came within one inch of doing some real damage, but no closer.

My nephew and his wife, Jake and Atoosa, who live within a frog's croak of the Dismal Swamp, likewise escaped significant damage, and as a plus, Jake believes that the deluge of rain (we got about 11 inches, according to the rain gauge) may have finally put out the Dismal Swamp fire that has been burning within a mile of their home.

Another nephew and his wife, Adam and Melissa, live farther up the Chesapeake Bay. They spent the night sleeping in an interior hallway that leads to the basement; apparently it was pretty wild and wooly, but they, too, escaped damage.

For me, it was completely unplanned but entirely appropriate that this little Irene series followed my post on gratitude. The Lord is good, even in the midst of disaster, even when everything turns belly-up. His plans for His elect are always good, even if we can't always understand or perceive the goodness. That's where faith in a real and living God, a real Person, governs our understanding.

But I am thankful He spared my loved ones.

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, My God, in whom I trust!” For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper, And from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with His pinions, And under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark. You will not be afraid of the terror by night, Or of the arrow that flies by day; Of the pestilence that stalks in darkness, Or of the destruction that lays waste at noon.  Psalm 91:1-6 (NASB)

Reporting from Broad Reach, on a bright, sunny, Sunday afternoon.

Facing Irene #4

Well, that was dumb. Just went outside in a rainsuit, but was wearing my sneakers instead of wading shoes. They'll be wet for a while.

Had to explain to Rosie, about an hour ago, why she could not go outside to play.

Then realized that she's probably not going to, ah, do her duty unless someone goes outside with her. She has no interest in going out into the mini-maelstrom by herself. So, I suited up, as mentioned, and went out with her.

The tide should now be ebbing, so it looks like the dock survived assault #1.

The water is pretty high, and coming onto the road, but this might be the worst of it for Bertrand.

Funny who you run into in the middle of a hurricane. County building inspector, Steve Daum, drove up, and I introduced myself. We started talking about my dad, and he mentioned that he and dad put their heads together and figured that his dad taught my dad to fly in Pensacola, during the war.

Faithful mop-dog followed me to the dock. Not sure if she attended to her, ah, business, but sure hope so. Mighty wet out here, and I'd kinda like to keep the wet, um, out here, if you get my drift.

Okay now for the vital statistics: winds out of the NE at 30kts, gusting to 36. I expect some of the gusts are actually stronger. Constant rain. No electrical storm activity that I can detect so far. Lights still flickering significantly. A few limbs down so far, but nothing notable. Lighting is sort of a perma-twilight. Interesting. Northern Neck may have missed the worst of this: we'll see.

Facing Irene #3

10 AM Update.

Winds are now easily 30kts, with higher gusts. Thankfully they are coming from the ENE, which means that they are not coming, unblocked, straight up from the Chesapeake. Rain is coming in squalls, which means visibility goes from several miles (over the water), to an impenatrable wall of mist, visibility down to a few hundred yards.

I made the mistake of letting Rosy, mom's dog, out for a bit. Rosy is very affectionate, very excited, and, well, very all-over-you. Nothing like having a wet, handle-less mop throwing herself at you. Got a towel and dried her off.

Tom the waterman is out laying anchors for his work-barge. I don't think he trusts the dock. Small wonder, since the dock was obliterated by Isabelle. As you can see, the water is already almost up to the deck of the dock. Not quite yet high tide (approx 11 AM). This is Whitehouse Creek.

Out on the Corrotoman, white caps cover the water. It's beautiful, but I would not want to be in it.

Here at Broad Reach, I have a ring-side seat. Lights are flickering already, but the power is still on. Right now, we have it pretty easy. More to come.

Facing Irene, #2

At 8:40, its windy, guessing 20-25 kts out of NE, raining (not heavily), wind is carrying lots of mist, whitecaps on the water, but not solid. Visibility across the river, probably 500 yards.

Time for breakfast, more in a few minutes. . .

Facing Irene #1

Hurricane Irene is barreling up the coast, threatening my mom, my brother, two of my nephews and their families, my niece. Okay, lets just say that Irene is a family affair. We’re all praying she won’t be a home wrecker.

Doris and I rode out Hurricane Isabelle (September, 2003) with mom and dad, and the destruction was significant, so I decided to come to Broad Reach to help her through Irene’s visit. Thank you BFC Board for allowing me to go on short notice; thank you, Pastor Robb, for preaching and handling Sunday School on such short notice.

I’ll be posting frequent updates to my blog (until we lose power) with the latest news from Broad Reach.

Let’s start with the drive. Twelve looong hours. It started clear.





As I headed east, it was clouding up

It was a long drive, but it wound up being a radio feast. Today I listened to:

• Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade (awesome stuff!)
• strait-laced Christian music
• Beethoven’s Eight Symphony
• A bunch of country and western music
• An Adrian Rogers sermon
• a bunch of country and western Christian music
• A James MacDonald sermon
• And the absolute best bluegrass pickin, grinnin, and fiddlin you ever wrapped your ears around. Found this great station around Richmond. I’ve got to find out who was playing that banjo – unbelieveable. Take me home, country road!

As I got into Virginia, I began passing bucket trucks, usually in pairs. Looked like someone was pre-positioning repair stuff for the electric grid.

Relax - what you're seeing here is not a bad case of tailgating; he's towing that red car. Guess that sometimes linemen need to drive somewhere without taking the bucket truck with 'em.

Finally got to the Northern Neck. By this time I was listening to that incredible Richmond station, and deciding that I absolutely had to find out the name of that album they were playing. Good thing no one was in the car with me, as I was yee-hawing through the Virginia country side.

This is deer country, by the way. Listen, we don't have a deer population in Darke County. Here on the Northern Neck they are as thick as mosquitos. Sometime I'll have to tell you the story of Ginger the Deer. But you'd never believe me, so, maybe not. She rides in cars and has the run of someone's house here on the Northern Neck. . . . told you wouldn't believe me! It's true, though. They haven't taught Ginger how to drive yet, however. And that's the truth, too. If you visit and see a good sized doe sporting a red ribbon around her neck, that's Ginger. By all means, don't shoot her. You'd have half the county after you.

I'll bet Ginger's gonna be wearing a life-preserver tomorrow.

So what does all this have to do with a hurricane? Oh, absolutely nothing. Today was a travel day. Tomorrow is when the serious stuff starts.

Finally, my GPS tells me I have arrived. Since Doris is in Iowa (shooting a wedding), the GPS has to tell me. By the way, this road runs right into the creek. Pretty exciting drive, late at night, if you don't watch the signs. Notice the GPS is encouraging me to turn left. Now.

Mom and Rosie are waiting. By the way, she cooked a terrific steak for dinner. Delicious. You can just sign me up for all the future hurricanes.

The house looks out on the confluence of the Rappahannock and Corrotoman rivers, just 8 miles from the Chesapeake Bay. See the tip of the yellow push-pin.

It is a straight-shot due south-east to the bay: when the wind comes from that direction, nothing stops it.

Anchored about six miles off is this barge. I hope it's not sitting in the front yard tomorrow night.

It's 11:30 PM now and overcast. I can hear the surf on the beach. We've got a steady 12kt breeze (estimated) coming out of the east. The air is hot, wet, and heavy; a perfect fuel for cyclonic circulation.

The Emergency Mgmt people were out earlier tonight at the point just across the little creek (see the picture above the barge), ordering an evacuation. The land and road on that point is very low. We're high enough here to be safe from the high-tide plus storm surge, coming in conjunction tomorrow night. High enough, that is, unless God forgets His promise to Noah. Not likely.

Pray for Louie - his house is like, 5 feet out of the evacuation zone in Norfolk. That's too close for comfort. Most of his yard, including his wood shop, are in the evacuation zone. That zone is based on elevation above mean sea level. When Isabelle came through, his street was under water.

Next post - tomorrow morning.