Hurricane Matthew on Hatteras Island by E. B. Davis

As I write this blog, Hurricane Matthew blows around my stilted house on Hatteras Island. It is now only a Category One hurricane at sustained winds barely above tropical storm status at seventy-five miles per hour, with gusts of eighty-miles per hour. My body mirrors the storm. The continuous roar of wind I hear transmits from my ears down my central nervous system, which my brain monitors, tamping down panic. Gusts shake my house back and forth on its stilts. Each gust elevates my heart rate. I see the water level rising and flowing down my neighborhood street. The water has now reached two feet under my house. Our first floor is four feet above the ground, eight feet above Pamlico Sound. The storm surge must now be six feet. Lost in writing this blog, I now realize the electricity cut off a few minutes ago.

 Figure 1: October 9, 2016 http://www.nhc.noaa.gov/

I have watched the National Hurricane Center forecasts for two weeks, driving myself nearly insane with analytics of cause/effect/plan/action. On their website, NOAA’s predictive trajectory path was outlined in red with the eye bolded in a circle in the center of the cone, changing each day. The plotted predictions changed radically throughout that time. The first predictions showed the storm heading straight for us from the Caribbean. Then the predictions changed—the storm going as far north as Wilmington, North Carolina—heading east into the Atlantic without coming near the Outer Banks, and then traveling south in a reverse question mark configuration. Everyone wondered if Matthew would circle round and hit Florida twice. My evaluations changed numerous times as a result of NOAA’s changes in the predictive model. 

Figure 2: Our driveway--beyond the electric pole--the street.

 Those forecasts prompted me to make reservations at a hotel on the mainland in case the storm headed near us. I changed the reservation several times due to changes in the predicted storm path. Hearing the last prediction twenty-four hours ago, which downgraded the hurricane to a tropical storm heading out to sea before reaching us, I cancelled the reservation. In twelve hours, the model changed again. It still showed the storm passing us in the ocean well off the coast.

Figure 3: Someone's canoe passes through

The eye passed over our house at three a.m. The silence permeated our sleep. We awoke and, an hour later, the wind resumed in the opposite direction, building storm surge. I only hope the wind changes before the waters reach our first floor.

                                                                             

I’m not angry because NOAA can’t predict the weather. But their pretending to be able to predict leads everyone to false conclusions, ones that can have dire consequences. I know in the small print there are the error probabilities, limiting their liability. The science of weather isn’t exact. However, Dare County was going to declare a Hatteras Island tourist evacuation on Thursday. Based on the official predictions, the county did not ask visitors to leave. The storm is now preventing visitors from coming onto the island since Route 12, our only road off the island, is closed from Bodie Island to the most northern part of Hatteras Island. I can’t imagine what those tourists trapped on the island are experiencing.

              

Figure 4: When the Pampas Grass was first planted.

Millions of tax dollars invested in satellite technology result in accurate documentation of the storm, but predictive capabilities are limited. Relying on historical data seems a better bet. Most hurricanes follow the Gulf Stream, which parallels the US east coast, its closest point at Cape Hatteras. From now on I will stop believing what the National Hurricane Center tells us and plan based on many factors, not just what the officials tell us. We've now experienced two "one-hundred" year storms within one month.

Figure 5: Storm view/Same location

The storm caused unanticipated flooding on Hatteras Island and in mainland North Carolina, which made me glad that I stayed here and didn’t go to a hotel on the mainland. I would have been trapped off-island preventing me from starting the cleanup—a week’s project--for me.

Others in Frisco and Hatteras Village lost most of their possessions when flood waters over a foot deep deluged their homes. Route 12 is lined with water-damaged appliances, bedding, carpets, and other home basics. The Salvation Army Home Store truck is parked at Frisco's Fire Station. Federal assistance is necessary.  

Tourists have been allowed to come back to the island. People work, play, and enjoy Hatteras Island even if our paradise turns into hell now and again. The waters have receded, the sun is shining, and a cool air mass has kept the mosquitoes from hatching—life on the sandbar is getting back to normal.