The calm after
the hurricane
G
entle wavelets chuckle under our
RIB as she swings off the stern
of Pearl, which in turn swings off
a mooring in Soper’s Hole, BVIs.
It’s quiet after our bumptious
sail from Spanish Town, with
28 knots of wind up the chuff
and a large swell from the north.
The Sir Francis Drake Channel lived up to its piratical
name as tropical island after island slipped past, the odd
one lost to a squally shower. Blonde Rocks, Dead Chest
Island and Ginger Garden Point; it makes you wonder at
the inspiration for their names. Charter yachts crisscross
like butterfl ies blown in the
wind, some motoring into
big seas, others sailing with
fl uttering leaches. It makes
me cringe when I think of the
punishment to the sails, but
I respect them for having a go.
As I bash away at my laptop,
a cuppa by my side, a cockerel breaks the tranquility of
our new location. It’s perfect until you glance up, look
beyond the immediate colourful impression and scope
the shore in detail. As you scan the coast, a scene of utter
devastation becomes apparent. I expected a building site
perhaps, but this resonates with a war zone.
Walking ashore, I am staggered by the power of a
category fi ve hurricane. The locals insist it was a category
eight, that the authorities couldn’t measure beyond fi ve.
At every corner there is another incredible sight that
intensifi es the image. In Spanish Town, there is a large
catamaran upside down on the side of the marina basin;
it has a magnetic fascination that draws us to it. It’s
a sorry sight that stops you in awed contemplation, then
one of the locals quietly tells us that it started off on the
hard the other side of the complex. The scene that must
have unfolded that night is now beyond my imagination.
Talking to people, they say how grateful they are that
it came during daylight so they could see and react as
their world disappeared around them. Violently
wrenched from happy homes and businesses torn to
shredded matter by a storm that knew no bounds, they
describe crouching behind walls trying to clear their ears
as pressure waves assaulted their eardrums. One mother
told how she had encouraged her distraught daughter
to sip water, but not so much that she might have to go
to the toilet, since that part of the house had disappeared.
A glazed expression slips into place as they recall the
experience. For them, it is still real, a tangible presence.
Many have lost everything and are living with friends
or family as they rebuild their lives. Out of this darkness
there is light though, and it is embodied in the quiet
dignifi ed strength that radiates
from everyone. There’s hope and
humour; they will not be cowed.
There is fl otsam everywhere,
potholes, running water,
damaged buildings offering
some semblance of shelter.
A container is now a shop, and
we have to skirt a 40ft yacht to get to the cash machine.
It is chucking-out time at school and the kids capture
the character of the community. They are immaculate
in their uniforms; a huge smile precedes a confi dent
‘Hello’ as they look you in the eye with heads held high.
This is just a setback, albeit a huge one. They need
help and will accept it, though as a hand up not a
handout. For all the devastation we have witnessed, it is
pictures of just after the storm that show how much they
have done already. Make a donation if you want to help
but also book a holiday, as this will bring business as well
as recognition that they are valued and not forgotten.
As for us, we must move on to the Turks and Caicos
Islands. There’s a fair wind blowing and a fair wind must
never be wasted. Tracey is sleeping below as I stand the
fi rst watch, the BVIs fading into the haze. We’ll be back
next year and fervently hope the next hurricane season
will be kind to them. If it is, we look forward to a colourful
and vibrant paradise with open arms to all who visit.Out of this darkness,
there is light in
dignii ed strength
COLUMN
PETE
GOSS