I don't usually publish on Wednesdays. But today is a "hurricane" day (like our snow days as kids, a practice that may be forever over). So, I write this about Sally, and what has become a long week.
This time of year is replete with hurricane threats. Over many years, I have become accustomed to the variety of emotions that surround these events. There may be a corollary to the five stages of grief described by mental health professionals: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But the range of emotions are broader with hurricanes. Mostly, this is because we can see them coming. As much as I hate them, I am forced to admit that their notice may make for a better disaster than tornadoes, wildfires, and earthquakes (bargaining?).
Sally formed very close to Florida's southern end, just off Miami. On September 11, 2020, I became worried about its' potential when the probability of cyclone formation became high.
By then, it had been a long season already. We know instinctively in the tropics by the alphabet. The storms are given human names, with the first cyclone being an "A" (2020 was Arthur), and so on. Admittedly, the later in the list we get, the more subconscious expectation there is that the season is nearing an end.
Among hurricane survivors, we each have some storm or storms that define us. These become personal because of their impact on us. Mine will hopefully forever remain Floyd (from which I first evacuated), Ivan (which was devastating on me and my community), Katrina (which was too soon after and too close for comfort). There have been others that wrenched the heart, raised the blood pressure, and grayed the hair, but these are forever impressed upon my mind.
With the iteration of each "X" on the National Hurricane Center (www.NHC.noaa.gov) there is some level of anxiety in the southeast. We persistently wonder if that "X" will mature and if it is coming for dinner. I will forever remember a particular minister's sermon shortly after Ivan destroyed Pensacola in 2004. The gentleman questioned his own Christianity as he described praying for some new storm to please strike someone else. We do that (all of us do that). That may be the "denial" stage of grief from some perspectives, but it may also just be the "NIMBY" (not in my backyard) to which we all seem naturally prone.
See, before there can be stages of grief, there is usually time for hope. With some disasters, there is no time for hope as they arise without warning. I am persistently emotional when I see such events impact others. This year it has been wildfires that are most memorable, but tornadoes and earthquakes are in this category for me.
Predictable. Hurricanes are somewhat predictable. For example, when the NHC says that one of those yellow "X" is likely to develop, they are almost always right. So, we look at those probabilities and we find both hope and solace sometimes (low probabilities). The little yellow "X" in the figure above was never predicted to evolve and never did. It just moved along to the west ("nothing to see here folks").
But that red "X" was a high probability. We wondered whether it would be Sally or Teddy (there were two "high probabilities" on the same map simultaneously). But that one next to Miami evolved more rapidly, and Sally was born. Professionally, I am concerned about the expanse of Florida's coastline (1,350 miles, greater than any state's except Alaska). You see, the Florida OJCC has offices, but more importantly family spread all up and down that expanse of the coast. There is very little potential for a storm to strike Florida and not affect our staff, our attorneys, our adjusters, and our customers. Each potential "X" brings anxiety, and hope that the storm will go somewhere else.
I spent a few hours hoping Sally would be a non-event. An upside of formation so close to Florida was that it had little time to build and strengthen. Thus, it crossed down Miami way with rain and wind but was over reasonably rapidly. It then began a track across the Gulf and prayers were answered with the NHC prediction of a Louisiana strike. We get our hopes from "spaghetti" models that provide potential path descriptions. We celebrate when they do not include us personally. Sally's looked like this:
All those potentials, and they seem to suggest somewhere else but here. The official prediction on September 11 (last Friday) was that tropical storm Sally would land in Lake Pontchartrain on Tuesday. That was good news for everyone (storm not hurricane), and great news for everyone except southern Louisiana (which was hit two weeks prior by Laura) and southern Mississippi.
As I said, the NHC has gotten very good at predicting which storms will or will not develop. And, they are pretty good at predicting where storms will strike. But, there are many instances of missed calls. Hurricane Michael was predicted to make landfall as a minor (category one or two) storm in 2018. It built just offshore and came roaring in as a major Category Five. That one was right next door, unexpected, devastating, and will likewise be one of "my" storms forever.
Well, as you may have guessed, the NHC was wrong about our friend Sally. She slowed in recent days. At some points, her forward progress was only two miles per hour, her pace glacial, and our hopes diminished. As her predicted track shifted from Lake Pontchartrain to the east, little by little, we saw potential for impact in Florida. At first, we saw there could be significant rain, then we saw the prediction that post-landfall she would loop to the east, north of us filling rivers and streams.
By Monday, they thought this would be a Mobile, Alabama problem. Pensacola remained "in the cone," that is the large white outline that represents possibilities as opposed to the dark line that represents probability. Note that nothing in the predictions represents actuality, it is all prediction.
But by Tuesday, we were aware that those little eastward adjustments in the predicted track had put Pensacola right in the path once again. And all day Tuesday, a little voice in my head kept reminding me of Winnie the Pooh. See Pooh too was once in a great flood: "the rain, rain, rain, came down, down, down, in rushing, rising rivulets, Pooh too was caught and so he though, I must rescue my supper." Yes, I recall that without looking it up. Not sure why.
So, in the last moments, there was little time to prepare. The OJCC closed its offices in Pensacola and Panama City on Tuesday (following the decisions of the local courts). And still, we waited for Sally to get on with it. She crept, she crawled, and she dawdled. And. we waited. The path shifted and Pensacola was too close to the prediction for comfort. We tried to order out on Tuesday evening and found almost everything (including fast food closed). You know you may be in trouble when fast food closes.
As an aside, there is a new bridge under construction in Pensacola. They have been working on it for years now. The bay is persistently festooned with barges and cranes as they drive piles, mount "trophy" pieces, lay steel, and pour concrete. Each time weather has threatened, those cranes/barges all get accumulated and consolidated and tied down for the duration. On Tuesday morning as I drove to work (yes, I know we were closed), one of those barges broke free and struck the bridge. The bridge is now closed and will remain so until inspected (at least Thursday). Access from my little suburb to Pensacola is now (temporarily) a 45-50 minute commute.
It is now 02:00 on Wednesday. The NHC shows Sally as a Hurricane about 40 miles to the east and still traveling to the northeast at a mere two miles per hour. They predict it will make it to Alabama (about 40 miles north of Pensacola) by around 7:00 tonight. As she creeps across us, that "rain, rain, rain" (cannot get Pooh out of my head) will remain a concern. Throughout my drafting of these thoughts, the rain has swirled outside and the wind has howled. And, remember I am miles away from the real event.
As dawn comes, we will each assess the outcome. Some will lose much (perhaps everything) and many will lose at least some (I have one tree down at this point). But, we will all come to the end of the five stages, and gain acceptance. We will all return to the ease and tranquility that was a mere pandemic (sarcasm). We will return to work and our other normal activities. But, in the meantime, I am heading out now to get in my steps for the day. Sure, it's a hurricane, but that does not mean sitting around on the couch.
Wherever you are today, be well and safe. However slowly, Sally too shall pass.
Updated 091720 03:30 -
Sally brought a significant impact to Pensacola. It has been heartwarming to hear from so many of you in the last 20 hours. Wednesday we awoke to hear that a construction crane had fallen during the storm and destroyed a section of the bridge that connects Pensacola and Gulf Breeze. They estimate a 30-60-day repair time. Most area bridges are closed Thursday for inspections (and likely to keep traffic flow down as officials struggle to maintain public safety in an environment of downed trees, powerlines, and spirits.
The flooding was a major focus of national news and prognosticators. They were not disappointed as water was very high for hours. There was significant flooding in various areas, including the downtown where the Pensacola OJCC office is located. That facility is closed through Friday. We will do our best to get your hearings and other matters back to the fore as soon as practical. Reports support that the Office in Panama City should re-open on Friday. There was significant flooding even there, approximately 90 miles east of the storm center.
In all, as with any hurricane, there will be a long road home for many. The destruction that these bring is difficult to imagine. Capturing the human element on film is also elusive. Know that it is devastating to be hit by any such cyclone, regardless of name or strength. The human spirit prevails, however. Pride and humility swell when we experience the spirit of community and cooperation that follows.
