4/15/05 Survivin’ Ivan ...the
Mate's Perspective
It
was supposed to head north to Barbados and basically brush by
Grenada. After all, southern Grenada is at 12 degrees - well
below the “hurricane belt” and a necessary destination to
wait out the season according to most boat insurance policies.
On Monday, Sept. 6th, most of us sailors, (being a
cautious lot to begin with), got weather reports and faxes and
decided to batten down the hatches –just in case. We all joked
with each other how we were going to spend the next day undoing
all these unnecessary precautions. (The last hurricane to hit
Grenada was in 1955…Janet…for which I got endless grief!)
George and I rigged two 2,000lb. Mooring balls to our bow,
dropped our Delta anchor, tied 9 dock lines (11/2 inch thick) ,
took off all canvas , double wrapped the Genny, secured the
in-boom sail and boom, closed all sea cocks, tied the dinghy to
the concrete dock and attached our outboard to a rear stanchion.
Whew! Time for a Pusser’s painkiller and a chicken roti in
paradise!
We
hadn’t even lived aboard our Tayana 52’ cc ketch,
Camaraderie, for a year- but had sailed over 15,000 miles since
George retired in 2001. During this time, I have come to hold
dear three truisms. 95% of sailing is absolute heaven. You meet
the best people and visit places the way our forefathers did.
However, there is that remaining 5% which is God-awful. That’s
the part of sailing where Murphy’s Law, (and Murphy always
goes along on your boat), kicks in at the worst time-in bad
weather, at night, no help. But there is also within that 5% ,
an infinitesimal fraction of awful that is off the nautical
charts. George and I have now experienced all three. The second
truism is “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. We
would see about that. Mother Nature has an ace up her sleeve and
all bets were off.
On
Tuesday, September 7, we awoke to a forecast we just couldn’t
believe. Hurricane Ivan was now a category 4 and had changed
course completely. It was heading directly for southern
Grenada…bulls-eye. Wind gusts were up to 185 mph (these
incredible wind speeds would later prove to have left propellers
gleaming and boat hull completely power washed down to the
fiberglass on any windward side).
“Jan,
we’re getting off the boat right NOW!” George said in a
voice that had a tinge of terror in it that I had never heard
before. “Pack a ditty bag- our boat papers, valuables, VHF,
satellite phone, water, and snacks.” No problem at this end.
George hadn’t even finished the sentence and I had everything
packed leaving behind only my coffeepot and our beloved
Starbucks. So, we left our Camaraderie, assuring ourselves that
she had taken us all of these thousands of miles safely through
the Caribbean and she would weather the storm. But still, it
hurt to think of her alone in such a fierce hurricane. We got
off the docks and walked up the hill to the open-air clubhouse
of the Grenada Yacht Club. Here we would stay and watch the
storm and Camaraderie. Wrong. The “Hurricane Party” had
started very early that morning (or the night or week before).
People were blitzed at 11AM. George and I listened to the
Grenada weather on SSB - it was bad. A small group of sailors,
including us, decided to walk down the road to an old waterside
restaurant/motel that had been built in to the side of a
mountain. It had survived Janet. That was good enough for me.
There we waited.
The
calm before the storm was so very quiet and eerie. My ears kept
popping from the low pressure approaching. Many in the group
kept saying that the storm had already passed Grenada. George
and I knew better. We told them of two past hurricanes we had
been through and that this one would probably be a doozy. We had
no idea…
It
was 3:30 PM. Checkmate. Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere,
there was a monstrous gust of wind, the likes of which I have
never seen. Every single boat in the lagoon experienced a total
knockdown. A huge wall of water, foam, and sea spray came in to
the harbor with a deafening howl. People ran into the restaurant
screaming. My ears started popping again. Here it comes.
Ivan’s winds came out of the northwest, uprooting trees like a
child picking daisies. On our VHF we were able to speak with a
couple who decided to wait out Ivan on their sailboat
“Adventure”. They were in the slip next to our boat. “ So
far, so good George,” Dave reported. The winds grew steadily
on our wind meter… 80-90-100-120 for the next two hours. Then
all hell broke loose and then some…185+ mph gusts…trees
snapped in half. Windows broke. Roofs blew by with car-sized
pieces of corrugated steel and aluminum flying through the air
like leaves. Everything was airborne and the noise was
absolutely deafening. Then, all the utility poles came down- we
were now in complete darkness. “ Dave, how are you guys? How
are the boats? “ George called on the VHF. Dave replied, “
So far as we can guess, something flying through the air has hit
our boats. We were knocked down but we are still at the dock.”
It was bad. Camaraderie would definitely need repairs (I laughed
to myself for a moment when I thought of how I had just washed
the entire hull and we had paid $1000 to a local to varnish the
teak toe-rail the week before). George and I stood inside the
restaurant’s wrought iron door trying to peer through the
darkness. Even if you have seen pictures on television, you just
can not absorb the impact of this size hurricane closing in on
everything around you. The windows were breaking in the
restaurant and the roof was coming off. For a moment, the
sea-spray dissipated and we watched a large powerboat upend and
sink literally within 10 seconds. 45-foot catamarans went
airborne and then flipped over. Sailboats were adrift. I kept
thinking with a little luck, we just might squeak through this.
No such luck. In fact, our luck had just run out. “George, you
still there?” “I’m here Dave. How are you and Charlene?
Anyone hurt?” “No, we’re shaken up, but we’re okay, but,
we’re on the other side of the lagoon. Camaraderie- she’s
gone, George. Her mizzen mast broke and then she broke loose from the dock
with us.” I was sitting at an old wooden bar and I saw George
speaking on the hand-held. He suddenly slumped against the wall-
his head leaning on the back of his raised hand. “George”, I
gulped, “tell me!” “She’s gone, Jan. Camaraderie is
gone.” No hurricane force wind could have matched the force of
those words. I dropped my head in my hands and just wept. Our
beautiful Camaraderie that had carried us so safely and proudly,
was now a shipwreck- somewhere. She was like an abandoned child,
alone and in the dark. “George, you there?,” came the VHF
voice, “She’s here George! Camaraderie just came floating by
us and she’s upright!” We hugged each other and cried for
joy. Camaraderie didn’t sink and she had company. But the next
dark hours were so awful. With each unbelievable gust of wind, I
pictured our boat getting pounded and damaged, maybe beyond
repair.
We
waited until 10:30 that night for the storm winds to die down to
gale-force and left the shelter to look for our boat. Earlier,
all power had been turned off by the local government- not that
it mattered, as every pole and power line was down. We climbed
over mountains of debris, using our flashlights to guide us
through tangles of boat parts, trees, dead animals, and houses.
I could hardly see for the rain and wind and tears in my eyes.
Boats were strewn ashore like pebbles on a beach. Where
was she? We’re coming, it’ll be okay, I thought to myself.
Finally, reaching the other side of the lagoon, we spotted her.
Camaraderie was upright but aground, in a rat’s nest of boats.
A catamaran was flipped over on her starboard side. A Gib’Sea
was leaning on her main mast on the port. Dave’s steel
“Adventure” had broken its bowsprit on our starboard winch
and was now resting on Camaraderie amidships. Lifelines, stern
railings, our dinghy, the mizzenmast (we were now a sloop), ssb,
radar, and all electronics on the main and mizzen were gone. The
gorgeous 6-inch teak toe rail was terribly damaged as well as
the teak and brass rub-rail. Amazingly, not a bit of damage to
our teak decks. We held our breath, as George opened the
companion way hatch. Was she holed and taking-on water? So many
boats sank or were sinking all around us. We pointed the
flashlight in… “She’s dry down here!” George explained.
Down below, Camaraderie was just fine, like nothing happened.
This gorgeous boat hadn’t given up the fight. Hurt, but not
down, she would live to sail another day. Even though the bow
was hard aground, the stern was in about 5 feet of water, so
George was able to start the engine and the generator. Thank
God. Our almost floating home was still home and the storm and
its horror was finally ending. We fell fitfully asleep in each
other’s arms, thinking that the worst was over… so we
thought.
At
6a.m. the next morning-I awoke and for a few seconds all was
fine until reality hit my stomach. My mind went into immediate
overdrive. What do we do now? How can we get help? It’s so
hot! Give me strength to get through this. My steady stream of
tormented thoughts stopped abruptly. People outside were
shouting and crying. “Poor souls, I thought. They’ve lost
everything. What despair… I was mistaken. I lifted my head out
of the hatch and was completely dumbstruck. Hundreds and
hundreds if looters ravaging the island’s grocery store and it
warehouse-and we had landed aground 100 feet away from looting
central. Of all the bays on Grenada, St. George’s was not only
hit the hardest by Ivan but also by looters. For sailors in
other anchorages the worst was over and repairs could begin. For
us the worst was yet to come and more terrifying. This was mob
action. We were sitting ducks-dead ducks. George and I knew our
goose was cooked if we weren’t careful and kept our wits. I
can’t even describe the emotions I felt. We were still in
shock from Ivan and now total fear and anger and disgust
consumed me. I watched as these lowlifes stole and destroyed
what would be needed most in the days and weeks to come. Their
fellow Grenadians now had nothing- family members missing, no
homes, no belongings, and now no food or water.I wanted a gun.
No, I wanted a machine gun. All I could think was that if these
hoodlums wanted to take our boat, or us we were at their mercy.
I wanted to see our children, I didn’t want to die here like
this. I went from sobbing to new levels of anger and outrage.
There was no time to let Ivan sink in…I was numb to that. Only
our safety and water mattered. The rest was put on hold. We
couldn’t let our guard down and it was exhausting.
Major
catastrophes bring out the worst and best. We had one local man
that first day offer to get us fruit that had blown off the
tress if we could give him money for gas. We figured-what have
we got to lose- it turned out to be $20.The prime minister
lamented on the radio ( he had left the island), that his new
$700,000 roof was lost in the storm and he felt everyone’s
pain. A local woman called the station saying she had four
starving children and had lost everything. She was told she
should use this as a growth experience and that these were
exciting times for Grenada. The local police were helping. That
is they were helping themselves and the looters to as much
liquor as they could fit in their car trunks. The roof of the
Grenada prison had blown off and all the really bad guys were
free. One inmate climbed on the overturned catamaran next to us
and asked if we had work he could do. Where was that gun I was
wishing for. And this was only day one.
The
looters of course, weren’t taking the basics to live on…oh
no. Case after case of wine and liquor went by us non-stop for
days. Building warehouse, jewelry and clothing stores,
furniture-everything was being carried off- a free for all
literally. Small wooden boats and dinghies and outboards lost in
the hurricane now held thieves who waited in the lagoon for
signals from their land cohorts to load up the booty and make a
watery escape. Pirates. It was time for my New York upbringing
to kick in. As some of these crooks climbed over all our boats,
I told them to look at our hailing port on Camaraderie. “You
see where we’re from? That’s right –New York. Ever seen
New York cops before? You’re looking at 2 of them now. My
toughest, meanest look and voice came up from my gut. If they
thought that George and I would blow them away if they set foot
on our boat and ask questions later, well that was fine with me.
We’re not police officers-but they didn’t know that. And the
word did get around that we were. All we really had at the ready
was some pepper spray, a spear and flare gun, my Chinese clever
and a set of steak knives. One foot on our boat and they were
stir-fry.
Two
days after Ivan, the looting and drunkenness were still around
the clock. At night the island was in total darkness, so you
could only hear whispers and movement as the pillaging went on.
I could hear people inside the catamaran next to us. You could
hear gunshots- many too close. During that day, we had been
visited by a British Navy warship’s dinghy . The sailors were
already bringing supplies to the island that would never reach
the locals. They came to our beached boats and that visit was
pure gold. Someone cared and knew we were here. They told us to
raise an American flag’ cause Grenadians loved Americans since
1983.They also told us to call them day or night as we were in a
terrible area. At about midnight that night, looters climbed
aboard the Gib’Sea next to us. George was standing guard in
our cockpit and called them off figuring our boat and Dave’s
were next. These guys threatened George with machetes and said
they’d be back with more men to cut us up. No sleep that
night. We hailed the Brits over and over-no answer. We were
completely on our own. I’ve never been so scared in my life.
We were just like hostages in a foreign country. We called our
kids on the sat phone. I couldn’t contain my tears at first
but I didn’t let them know what danger there really was. They
had been calling embassies and politicians- no luck, The warship
had left for Jamaica…Ivan’s next stop.
During
those days immediately following the hurricane, my foremost
concerns were for our safety and our health. Where once we had
daily “rain forest” showers and trade winds, we now had
stifling heat and humidity. You have never experienced heat and
humidity until you are near the equator. It takes your breath
away. In the next 2 weeks, we only had 2 short downpours which
cleaned us and our “ripe” clothing if only for a few
moments. would
collect the runoff rainwater and boil it for laundry and
utensils. We used Lysol and Clorox wipes on everything including
ourselves. Sailors were getting stomach upsets and temperatures.
I became compulsive about our hygiene. We had lots of scrapes
and bruises from all the deck debris, so triple antibiotic
ointment was used with sunscreen. I feared that we weren’t
getting enough water. We were constantly soaked from sweat and
only “peeing” once a day. I made limeade with the boiled
water and insisted that we take a large assortment of vitamins I
had brought with us. Our diet was extremely limited, but in that
heat you weren’t really hungry. All we dreamt of was drinking
ice cold gallons of water. There were times I was down below
thinking” how can I get through this? “ I kept thinking that
our kidneys would just say “ enough”! But, we never did get
sick or infections. You do whatever it takes- and that’s the
bottom line.
Finally
towards the end of that first week, the police from Trinidad and
Jamaica arrived and they meant business, ( just like New York
cops!)Tear gas and mace and rifles firing-what a gorgeous
Caribbean postcard. We stayed down below as the fumes were
awful. We were also helping a local family with a 5-month-old
baby. They had lost everything and we shared what ever we could.
George finally was able to give them money and they safely left
for Trinidad. After 6 days, there was nothing left to steal. 95%
of the homes were gone and almost all businesses had been
ransacked. The looters made the recovery of this island doubly
worse. A few more days passed and we began to see freighters
pull into the harbor round the clock, delivering tons and tons
of food and bottled water. It was unloaded and left the docks
under armed escort. Not one of us stranded sailors was ever
offered assistance from the locals or the government. No one
checked to see if we had injured among us or if we needed water.
Mind you- it was American bottles of water by the tens of
thousands that was arriving in Grenada. Our guardian angels
came- from Trinidad. A convoy set up there by cruising sailors
heard of our plight and literally saved us. They made local
announcements in Trinidad about Grenada sailors and we heard
that there were lines in the food stores there with people
buying goods to send to us. Catamarans and sailboats came
everyday to offer support and bring rations. They braved the
“pirates “ in those open waters to get to us and we can
never express our gratitude for the “camaraderie” they
showed. You guys were indeed the most beautiful site in the
Caribbean!
After
about 2 weeks, we finally got off the land and began the long
process of recovery and repair. Oh- that third truism I
found-you’ve heard it. “Someday we’ll look back and laugh
about all this”. Someday isn’t today.
Captain's
Note: For those of you who are wondering....Camaraderie is
presently being repaired at the Rybovich Spencer yard in West
Palm Beach and we anticipate repairs will take through the end
of May. The shoulder I hurt getting off the boat after Ivan
turned out to be a torn rotator cuff and I had surgery about 6
weeks ago. Should be back to normal about the same time the boat
is! We plan to spend the summer in Manteo, NC which we love and
then head back down to the Bahamas for the winter. We are both
looking forward to getting back on the boat!
