Few outsiders understand that a hurricane is not simply a measure of wind speed.
While headlines focus on categories and numbers, those who have lived through these storms know that their true power lies in the experience itself: how they sound, how they feel, what they take, and what they leave behind.
In Bermuda, hurricanes are remembered not by statistics, but by the stories they leave in their wake.
My own first real experience of hurricanes was Hurricane Emily in 1987.
At that time, I worked for a captive management company which was headquartered in Detroit, Michigan.
We closed our local office early that day and everyone went home. Right in the middle of the hurricane, I received a call from head office. The woman told me that she wasn’t getting an answer from the office.
So, I explained that we were in a hurricane and I was at home. Not to be outdone she declared that she could not hear any strong winds, especially if it was a hurricane.
Fair point – however as luck would have it (or not) at that very time we were experiencing the eye of the hurricane, hence there was absolutely no noise. Even the birds outside my window were hushed. Emily was a direct hit on the island.
To this day I’m not sure she believed me.
Hot nights without power
In another serious blow, I will never forget the impact of Hurricane Fabian in 2003.
By then we were living in Hamilton Parish, and we had a lovely lady who lived next door. A most talented schoolteacher who lived on her own. So, as neighbours do, we invited her over the first night we were without power.
Needless to say, we had every excuse to partake of an alcoholic beverage (vodka as I recall) because tea, coffee, even a cold juice, were not available.
We were thoroughly convinced we were doing right. And while I haven’t drunk much (if any) thereafter, including to this very day, our one-night party turned into nine nights – in fact 220 hours to be precise.
We say outside, even though September was hot (even worse inside), on our balcony overlooking Shelly Hall and beyond, all the way to Dockyard.
Thankfully, our beverage of choice helped to combat the annoyance of watching the rest of the neighbourhood, and for some distance, get their power back, one by one, night after night. Each night for the nine nights, we kept convincing ourselves that it is “getting closer”.
Worse than the jungles
We had good friends back at that time, who lived across from the hospital, in a slightly hilly area. Apparently, the same hurricane blew the windows of their house out at both back and front in the middle of the first night.
He told me: “Bill, for a few years I served in the British Army in several tough places around the world. From astonishing heat in the Middle East to jungles in the Far East, to typically English rain. But I have never been so scared as I was that first night. There was nothing I could do.”
The wind and rain were coming in the front side of his house, blowing straight through and out the back side, taking everything in its wake.
“While I never served in heavy combat in the Army, there were many skirmishes now and again and I honestly believed they were the most frightening times of my life. Until I was faced with Hurricane Fabian.” A not-forgettable time of life.
Community spirit
Hurricane Franklin, in 2023, caused enormous damage not only to the Crawl Hill gas station itself but heavily impacted the entire community.
The station took the full brunt of the winds from the ocean right across the street and severely damaged the large metal canopy that covers the gas pumps. The result was that the remaining structure was deemed to be a serious structural risk. It had to close and did not reopen until early 2024.
According to Joe Marable, the station’s operator, while the long closure was a clear and frustrating struggle in terms of rebuilding, the loss of revenue was catastrophic.
“It took us over a year to get back on our feet and in some respects, we are still not back to full strength,” he said.
Mr Marable, however, added: “Throughout the ordeal, the community supported us immensely. Neighbours would sometimes just swing by to say hello and make sure we were on the mend.
“It is sometimes hard to fully appreciate how the community relies on essential services such as gas stations across the island.”
In other words, the impact of severe storms is not just what happened during the storm, but in many cases, throughout the time it takes to rebuild not only the physical damage but the knock-on effect to other people and the emotional toll.
It is abundantly clear that advance warnings of impending storms and the advice to have essentials like food, water, plywood perhaps, tools, tarpaulins and some form of light in the house or business premises is critical to support people, property and perhaps above all, emotions.
Predicting localised damage is almost impossible, but being prepared is clear, simple and essential.
Many years ago, I was speaking with an insurance executive who had visited Bermuda many times. He said he couldn’t figure out why an island in the middle of the Atlantic, only 20 miles long, can be battered so severely by major hurricanes.
How does it even find the island? he asked.
After I had tried to explain that hurricanes typically follow a standard path emanating from the Caribbean, travelling over warm waters, sometimes skirting the Eastern Seaboard and then normally barrelling north-east, there is no doubt that Bermuda is always on the lookout.
I asked him: “Do you accept that Florida can easily, sometimes regularly, be hit with hurricanes?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“And do hurricanes move north, not south?”
“Yes,” said he.
I rest my case.
