Matthew: A Personal Account
As I sit now in my living room looking onto Mark's Path, which again looks like street, not a canal, it's hard to imagine how different the situation was on Ocracoke yesterday. Where many residents felt confident Hurricane Matthew wouldn't do anything abnormal to the island, I had a strong sense of dread. I tried convincing my husband that we should get to higher ground with our two dogs before nightfall, but he was so sure we'd be okay. As it is now, we are okay. At 4 o'clock this morning, however, I did not think we would be okay.
Earlier this week, Hyde County issued an evacuation order for both visitors and residents, later suspending the order for residents. During the three days leading up the storm, Will and I did laundry, prepared food, went to the beach, secured our property, moved our vehicle to higher ground, and pretty much just chilled in the calm before the storm. Tuesday evening we met Stephanie and Sam at Zillie's, where we then spent the evening reconnecting with folks we don't typically see much, and later crying a bit as we said our goodbyes. On Wednesday, I went for a walk around the village, and the emptiness then was a bit eerie. I stopped in Down Creek Gallery where the always lovely Marissa was labeling jewelry, and greeted me as I walked through the door. Her rescue pit bull Lucas was watching what little activity there was through the glass door between getting lots of hugs and rubs from me. If you haven't met this dog, you should. He's amazing.
Thursday we went for a village walk around Silver Lake, through Springer's Point, and back through various streets in the village before returning home. Friday we used a golf cart to get us to Howard's Pub, then walked to the Airport beach. On the way we saw a Great Egret, several snails, and a creepy creature Will swears was a cricket. I think it was a character right out of a Men in Black movie, but I'm not a conspiracy theorist, so it really probably was just a cricket. Anyway, as we walked over ORV Ramp 70 we could immediately see ocean water everywhere. A few small areas of dry sand poked up from the swirling surf, but the majority of the beach had sea water flowing up to the dune line. I recorded some video and snapped a bunch of photos while Will explored the dunes. At one point, wearing his hood up, facing the big 70 sign, the wind blowing the sea oats around in front of an angry sky, Will looked like a malevolent character from a low-budget (but totally scary) horror flick. I've never looked at my husband and been like "Yikes!" but I sure did as I looked up at him from the beach. That night I spent several laughter-filled hours with my friends Merrian and Eve. As we talked about the storm they both expressed concern about the storm surge getting in our house. Once again, my nervousness peaked.
Saturday my sheer curiosity got the best of me and we went out to the beach again. My nerves were beginning to get rattled as Hurricane Matthew approached North Carolina, and after seeing the devastation left in the wake, who could blame me? The surf was much more rough Saturday than it had been Friday; large amounts of sea foam were being pushed quickly across the beach. Sea spray kept covering our glasses and my camera lens at a sort-of annoying rate, and rain was coming down at such an angle it stung our faces and hands. We walked from the ramp near the surf, only to realize after a few minutes how quickly high tide was coming. While not overly deep yet, the wind was creating strong currents. We made a mad-dash for the dunes. I took a few more photos before the wind really started to pick up, and we walked back to the golf cart. On our way, a Great Egret gave us quite a show as it took off, only to be thrown around a bit by the wind. It landed safely on the other side of the highway.
The rest of the day flew by. I was busy making sure irreplaceable items – quilts and blankets made by my mom, the quilt Will's grandma made, my dad's memoir, baby blankets, handmade decorations – were high off the floor of our house. I'd packed extra clothes, made sure we had plenty of dog food, double checked our documents were safe, and had all of our electronics charging. Will spent the day cleaning in the kitchen and making chili with some peppers we grew. We switched between watching the news and shows on NetFlix. I think we went off to bed around 11. I tossed and turned, obsessively checking our yard for tide, while Will and our two dogs slept soundly. I sent my parents an email at 1:14am. My dad was awake and responded to my email within minutes, grateful for the update. I fell asleep until around 2. I remember waking up and thinking "We still have power!" I tried to will myself back to sleep, finally succeeding for a short time. The wind had started gradually picking up throughout the night and wee hours of the morning. Will and I had strategically placed flashlights around the house in preparation for power loss, and we kept our bedroom door closed, something we don't normally do. Our dogs sleep in large crates most nights. Harley, the six-year-old, prefers the living room, so we usually let him have free reign of the house at night. Porter, the two-year-old, is a turd who sometimes gets in chewing moods, so we make sure to lock his crate door each night. But Saturday night we left the crates open with the door closed in case we had to make a quick exit. I wanted all of us to be togethers so we could jump up, get the dogs dressed (by putting on their harnesses), and leave the house if necessary.
When I woke up next, there was complete darkness. I could hear the house creaking. The joints and beams sort of moaned when the wind blew against the house. I pictured the house doing what many people do with their knuckles or other joints that pop. It seemed like once a placed creaked, it never did again. I was surrounded by creaking and moaning sounds. I could also hear the windows rattle and wind whistle when a good gust of wind forced its way around. I sort-of expected to hear Night on Bald Mountain play somewhere off in the distance, but instead heard what I feel was much more frightening.
In the background – and I say that because it wasn't the dominant sound – I heard this horrible whining. It reminded me of a steam train whistle that was being sounded constantly, like a high-pitched drone being played off in the distance. It wasn't overly loud, and I didn't notice it right away, but once I did notice it I couldn't stop hearing it. Based on posts I'd read on Facebook several hours before, weather conditions were going to deteriorate soon. I managed to sleep for a little while longer, but when I woke up next I was awake for the long haul.
Two years ago I went to Portsmouth village for the first time. When we entered the United States Lifesaving Station, there was a quote hanging on the wall. One of the men stationed on Portsmouth said, describing his time as a lifesaver, "...it is hours and hours and weeks upon end of excruciating boredom interrupted occasionally by a few minutes of sheer terror!" The last part, where he talks about sheer terror stuck with me. That's how I feel when the wind makes my house creak and moan, no doubt bending and contorting the trees around it. Not knowing if a gust will blow a tree onto our house, and wondering if every new loud sound I hear is a tree falling down, is terrifyfing. That's also how I feel when I see the tide creeping up up up into our yard, and also knowing it's doing the same everywhere else. It also stuck with me because – and I'm not getting off track so bear with me – it is incredible and astounding that crews of six people would load up a cart weighing over 1,000 pounds, drag it out to the beach, with a rescue boat, where they would then launch a pully-type device onto a ship and rescue people in distress by pulling them on a zip-line-type set up over the temultuous sea during hurricanes and Nor'easters and any time someone needed rescuing. It really is awe-inspiring. So, every time I start to wimp out, I try – and I stress the word TRY – to think about the spectacular rescues these lifesavers conducted, often times in extreme or horrific conditions. All of that went out of my mind during this storm.
As I mentioned earlier, I had a sense of dread days before Matthew came swirling up this way. Having watched the coverage being broadcast about Haiti, seeing footage of the Bahamas, then looking through photos posted by friends who live in Florida, I believed this storm was going to be serious. Part of that too could have been the build-up. The forecast kept changing all the time, so I would be prepared for one thing to happen, then it'd switch. After watching all of these changes and the devastation unfold, that sense of dread seemed reasonable.
Anyway, back to Saturday morning. I got out of bed around 4:00. I'd listened to the wind, tried to get myself back to sleep, but nothing was working. I decided to check on the tide. Each time leading up now (as in 4:00ish Saturday morning) I'd open the door apprehensively, expecting to see a wall of water, only to see puddles created by rainfall. This time when I opened the door, I did see tide, and a lot of it. The wind was still howling, contorting the trees and making my house creak, and there was so.much.water.
We moved into our house the day before Hurricane Sandy reached Ocracoke. When I woke up we still had power, so I switched on the outside lamp and opened the door. I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but they weren't: tide was everywhere. But, unlike Matthew, Sandy didn't bring the strong winds to us.
This Saturday morning, it was a wicked combination of wind and tide. I began taking photos and capturing video. The water was above our first and second steps, rising to reach the third. I didn't want to call my parents to check in at so early in the morning, so I started posting to Facebook. I wasn't the only person awake. Many many residents were sharing photos, communicating about what they were seeing, and discussing the current situation compared to other storms. I posted photos at 4:41 am and wrote that the water was over the first step (which was actaully the second. I couldn't see very well). I opened the door again. The water was now over the third step. It had risen so quickly in a matter of 20 minutes, and nothing gave me or anyone else any indication it was going down. It was still pitch-black outside. I recieved a text at 5:04am from a resident asking if we were okay. I responded by saying "I'm scared," and I was. I woke up Will and showed him how quickly the water was rising.
At 6:11am I posted that the water had almost reached the fourth and top step. Not long after that post, the water got to the fourth step. I began seeing posts about water reaching cars, going into laundry rooms, and the fear it may enter some homes. If the water rose even a few inches more, it was coming in our house. I was furious that Will didn't believe me when I said this storm was no joke. We watched the devastation in North Carolina unfold Friday night! We had seen posts from friends who evacuated to the Fayetteville area become nearly stranded in homes as rivers overflowed by feet and rushed through neighborhoods! I saw the same friends write about contributing to the rescue of another family, posting a photo of everyone smiling once they got to higher ground. We read about people being killed, the roads being washed away, dams breaking, and yet we stayed in this house. I trust our landlord and I trust the locals who we live near. The street we live on is named for their Great-great-great grandfather, so these are folks who have seen some severe weather. When I see them moving their vehicles, you better believe I do too.
But no one – not even the meteorologists – thought what was happening was going to happen in North Carolina until it was too late. The word "catastrophic" had been used to describe Matthew as it impacted the areas south of us. As of Friday night, it was being used to describe the impacts being experienced in North Carolina. What a horrible, scary, fear-invoking word. As I rushed around the house gathering things to take in the event we needed to leave, I went out back to check on our kayak. It had floated away from the high spot where we placed it. We thought it was high enough as we left it. It wasn't. I felt totally trapped at that point. I recorded a video from the back deck, got startled multiple times by the sound of sheet metal blowing around nearby, and could smell a mixture of gasoline and spetic coming from the flood water that was covering our back yard. At 6:38am I uploaded the video to Facebook. After experiencing a wide range of emotions from nervous to scared to terrified to hystercial, that trapped feeling calmed me down. I surrendered. I decided not to open the front door anymore to check on the level, because if our house was going to flood, it was going to flood, and we were stuck in it.
Will and I put on our water boots and sat on the couch by the front door, watching and waiting. The sun was beginning to lighten the sky, so at least we would be able to see the exact moment water seeped through the door. But, it never did. As quickly as people were panicking about the rising level, people began posting that the while the water hadn't receded, it hadn't gotten any higher. The sun came up at 7:05. The water in our yard didn't appear to have gone down, but it also didn't get any higher. I called my parents, took a bunch of photos and video, and was thankful that we could now see what was happening.
Over the winter I'd purchased chest waders so I could walk in the frigid Sound water to retrieve any cold-stunned sea turtles. I never had to use them, so Saturday was their "maiden voyage". After the water went down I put them on, tucked my raincoat into the suspenders, and waded into our front yard. I was amazed by how the water pressue made the waders cling to my body. I waded from our front steps to the trellis (baby steps) and Will took a couple photos of me. Shortly after that, Will waded out in search of coffee and to see how his workplace held up. When he left, the water had gone down even more. It still surrounded our house and completely covered the street, but it was at a level we're used to seeing.
Throughout the storm, residents shared photos from various spots of the village. It looked like the majority of the village got storm surge. Houses and cars became flooded, Oyster Creek and areas around Silver Lake looked like rapids, and many life-long residents were saying they'd never seen anything like it. People were traveling around in motor boats, on jet skis, and kayaks. This storm produced historical flooding on both Ocracoke Island and Hatteras Island. Here, landline phones are out of service - a cruel twist of fate as that's how Will and I communicate with family when we don't have power - due to the box being blown over and apart, the gas station got flooding bad enough to keep them closed, and residents have to endure losses of property.
Luckily, the weather has been great since and the temperature cool. Most importantly, as far as I know, no one was injured or killed locally. I'm not even sure if any animals went missing or were injured in all the chaos. I watched a brief video of our governor, Pat McCrory, speaking yesterday. He looked so down-trodden and worn out. Politics aside, I can't imagine what it must have been like to be the governor and watch as a huge part of his state's residents experienced a record-breaking disaster. After watching McCrory, I went walking around the village. I didn't go as far as usual for fear high tide would bring more water, so I walked down Back Road, turned on British Cemetery Road, made a left onto Highway 12, then walked down Howard Street. I wanted to see in person the water level marker Philip Howard maintains. Sure enough, Matthew was a record-breaker. I continued down Howard Street and onto School Road. The area around OUMC, Deepwater Theater, and the school were still covered with water. Back Road still was too, but, from what I've been told and seen, at that point in the day, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Today the water has receded even more. The sun is out and it feels like fall. I'm anxious to get my vehicle and see the beach.
