# Landfill Floatout : The Hurricane.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

With even more news on television and in the press of plastic rubbish clogging up the countryside and covering the oceans of the world... with some areas hundreds of square miles covered in this waste... something that might be considered to be a man-made Sargasso Sea, were forming into large, undulating rafts bobbing to the rhythm of the waves. What is to be done... one wonders? It brings to mind another incident in my life at sea.
Debut lay anchored in the calm, languid waters of Falmouth Harbour, Antigua, the air... still and humid... causing the pores to run without effort. The sky was overcast, grey and brooding, intensifying the feeling of expectant foreboding. The news had just been broadcast that morning of the approaching hurricane... Hurricane Frederick... the second in as many weeks. It followed in the wake of the largest, strongest and most devastating hurricane to hit the islands of the West Indies in more than a hundred years.
Hurricane David had been reported publicly when it was only six hundred miles east of Barbados. It was of hurricane force to a diameter of five hundred miles, with an average wind strength of two hundred knots, gusting up to two hundred and seventy knots. It had been a vortex of pent up emotion, and had launched its assault on these small islands within twenty four hours of the news. It had smashed the small, insignificant communities into oblivion. Dominica hadn't a single building left standing, and half the buildings throughout the islands simply vanished... blown out to sea like waste paper down an empty street.
With hardly a breath drawn to recover, a new onslaught had to be faced. Tent cities thrown up by the world's relief organizations, with their thousands of frightened refugees crowded them, couldn't even be considered. This wasn't just a few days of bad weather approaching... Hurricane Frederick was coming to visit, and was expected that night.
What to do... run around in circles or bury your head in the sand? All the ships and yachts were snugged down in hurricane holes. What buildings remained from David, some hastily nailed back together, had chains, beams and iron girders across their roofs, with rocks piled on top. After all, what could you really be expected to do against a hurricane... flesh and blood... mortal man... against these rampaging tantrums of nature. Some prayed, while others took whatever woman was available, spending themselves... possibly for the last time... into warm, moist flesh. Many just huddled in the filth of their hovels and whimpered like cornered animals.
But, in general, the islanders knew what to do... what they had always done... go to a bar and get hopelessly drunk on the strong island rum... blank out all thought, feeling and emotion. When they came to, the hurricane would have gone on its way to annoy someone else. It would then be time to pick up the pieces of their lives. They'd been lucky when Hurricane David smashed through the islands two weeks previously. It had hit Barbados, then pulverised Martinique, and has passed west well south of St. Martin. 
They'd been let off the hook. But Frederick was right on track for Barbuda, then St. Bathelemy and St. Martin. Unless it changed course before much longer, they were in for a real pasting. Frederick was only a baby compared to David... it was only gusting at a hundred an ten knots, although it was still growing. But, unlike David, which had been travelling at twenty knots, Frederick was making only eight. When it hit, instead of passing over quickly, it was going to linger.
By midnight the wind was screaming from the west, spindrift was flying all about us and visibility on deck under the floodlights was, at most, twenty feet. Debut was in her own world and might have been locked in a vortex of time. Swirling rain and spray engulfed her so thick, you couldn't breath while facing into it... you would have drowned. The main difference between Frederick and other hurricanes was that it dumped upon these peaceful islands forty eight inches of rain in only thirty six hours. It was like someone had turned the sea upside-down as the eye went over St. Martin. To be continued. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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## skilly57 (Mar 11, 2008)

'David' & 'Frederic' - August/September 1979. I had to check the date as everything looked normal when I eventually got to those locations in 2010!

Skilly


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## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

*For skilly57.*

G'day to you, Skilly, it's good to hear from you. I look back at those two hurricanes... David and Frederick... and I'm so glad that I survived those two monsters. It was broadcast over the local radio station when I was at anchor with my ship, Debut, in Falmouth Harbour, in Antigua, when Hurricane David was already six hundred miles east of Barbados and five hundred miles in diameter. It was reported to be the largest and strongest hurricanes to hit the Caribbean Islands in over a hundred years, with a wind strength of 250 knots, gusting up to 275 knots. By then all ferries and aircraft had been diverted, so everyone was stranded and had to face the oncoming onslaught.
There were over a thousand yachts moored up at Fort-de-France, in Martinique, and English Harbour, in Antigua, was chocka-block with more yachts riding out the hurricane season. I had my own ship, Debut, anchored in Falmouth Harbour, across the causeway to the west of English Harbour, and thankfully had the place to myself.
Following a wild hurricane party at the Antiguan Yacht Club, situated on the southern shore of Falmouth Harbour, my crew and many of the yachties from English Harbour descended aboard Debut to continue the festivities. After all, what could you really do against one of these maelstroms of nature? When you sobered up, the hurricane had gone on its way to annoy someone else... or you would have found yourself steeped in bull-dirt.
When the hurricane struck... the eye striking Martinique, destroying some five hundred yachts and reducing them to matchwood... my own crew scanned all around us during the storm, with one of the main generators running and the main engine on standby. Visibility was down to twenty feet, and the radar finally was reduced to a complete white-out. Empty gallon plastic bottles were dropped at intervals to check that we were holding our position, as it was only possible to let out four shackles of chain. Thankfully the anchor held, and all those enjoying the wild party in the messroom knew nothing more about it until waking up in the morning to nurse their hangover.
The damage on the Leeward Islands was horrific, and almost every building on Dominica was blown out to sea like wastepaper down an empty street. There were tent-cities set up by the World's health organisations on most of the islands to cater to the hundreds of thousands of displaced people, with soup kitchens set up all round. Before anyone had time to draw their breath, Hurricane Frederick was upon us, rending its vengeance on all and sundry. This time the wind-strength of the hurricane was only 120 knots, but it was moving very slowly as it hit the Leeward Islands, causing it to linger. The main damage and loss of life that it caused was because of the amount of rain that it dumped in its passing.
To read of the full impact of these two hurricanes, go to the Books Forum and download the Kindle code for my first book, 'The Judas Kiss', written when I was castaway on Emily Reef, after being shipwrecked off the Australian coast, in the Coral Sea. I hope that you enjoy the read, all the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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