Hurricane Earl is predicted to make land-fall in Destin Florida at 7pm.

"Hello, the temp is 88 degrees, current wind conditions 5 to 9mph from the East North East."

Windy-the-wind-talker was letting me down. I thought a hurricane was about to hit ?

This was merely days after getting stymied by Hurricane Bonnie, who didn't give up so much as a good 25 knot day in Jacksonville. Sure it trashed the Carolina's, but that's a bit too far to drive. I was beginning to think that I was cursed by the hurricane gods.

At 1pm, everyone is sent home from work to prepare for impending doom. With winds approaching 100mph, people were taking Earl seriously. Most locals spent the day making preparations and recounting the tales of hurricane Kate in the 80's which blasted Tallahassee.

I received a variety of looks when I told my co-workers I was going windsurfing. From the speculative:

"This is a joke, right?"

"Are you insane?"

A little history.

I started sailing on the edges of hurricanes about 10 years ago in West Palm Beach. The fearless and brainless would head to Lake Mangonia as the East Coast would typically have 12 foot plus sand-sucking shore-break and a good 6 knot current.

Unless struck by lightning, or knocked unconscious, it was fairly safe. The worst that would happen is that you'd get separated from your gear and have to swim in (never happened). A more common fate was getting overpowered and washed into someone's back yard (Happened plenty). A long walk of shame was the major obstacle. Other than a few concussions and contusions, I was not really the worse for wear.

The most memorable moment in my WPB hurricane sailing occured when I was tooling towards the shore on an borrowed 3.0. It was a true nuclear day. You could tell when the heavy gusts were rolling through, the sailor farthest upwind would get hammered, then the next and so on until it was your turn to get slammed. We'd wait beneath our sails for the gust to pass, waterstart and keep going. There were about 3 of us on the water with about 50-75 sailors and spectators watching us from the shore.

I was on my ultra-high-tech Bic Hard-Rock ( ~9'4", Just the board for the 45+ knot winds). A tremendous gust came and my forward motion seemed to slow to a crawl as I fought the derotation. My board hit a piece of chop and the windward rail lifted. In seeming slow-motion, the board, sail, and myself were lifted about 2 feet above the water. End slow-mo as the sail was whipped past the front of the board and into the water. At a blinding speed I was slung-shot forward, then jerked short by the harness lines. Water never felt so solid.

Stunned and sucking air hard, the hoots and laughter from the beach mixed with my own as I struggled to see straight. (Concussion #1)

For the next week, I felt like I had just lost a steel cage match with Janet Reno. I had to help my head sit up, as all the muscles in my neck were pulled. Other than that incident, sailing the hurricane was a blast. The pain faded long before the stupid grin on my face.

Since the move to Tallahassee, sailing Gulf Coast hurricanes has become an no-brainer. Although I complain daily about the shallow conditions at the coast (people tend leave at low-tide), these same conditions make hurricane chasing awesome. Shell Point, about 35 miles south of Tallahassee, is a common venue for hurricane sailing. The bottom is shallow, so there's no shorebreak, and out about a mile, the water gets deeper and rougher.

During the storms, water is typically blown into the bay, so low-tide isn't much of an issue.

Hurricane Opal and the redneck chorus.

Hurricane Opal was set to wipe out the gulf coast one fine day in July. As I woke at 7am and hurriedly checked the weather channel, I was rewarded with a blaring all-red advisory screen. As my roommate stumbled out of his room I excitedly said.

"We're going to get hit, I'm heading to the coast!"

OK, this wasn't going to be my camera man. I packed up and despite the protests of my girlfriend, headed to the coast.

Well sort of. Shell Point and Alligator Point were blocked by E.M.S. teams and police, so I decided to keep driving until I reached a point where there was beach access and no blockades.

Thus I found myself heading toward the St. Marks lighthouse. The road to the lighthouse was only about 4 inches above the swelled brackish waters on either side. As I saw this, I tried to mentally assure myself that the water couldn't rise THAT fast. I hadn't sailed this 'beach' before and was curious to see it.

It was pure Florida Panhandle. Erosion control rocks blending into reed-grass. The tide was up, so the rocks were mostly submerged.

Looking out over the water I was disappointed. It appeared to be nothing special. Grey skys and clouds everywhere. I rigged my 4.5 and my 3.2 and waited. At about 11am, the wind picked up from about 12 to about 28 and I was in business. In another hour, the wind picked up BIG TIME.

I went from well-powered cruising on the 4.5 to getting hammered in the middle of a storm in the span of 30 seconds. Scaling the slimy rocks and trying to keep my gear from getting trashed in the process, I swapped out the 4.5 for the 3.2.

I was nervous heading out in the barely planing winds and hammered by heavy rain. I was alone on the water with a full-sinker. Visibility was sub 50 yards. I figured that the US could probably negotiate with the Cuban government for my remains should I sink, then get sucked into the full-brunt of the storm.

I shouldn't have worried. By the time I hit my first turn about a mile out, the wind picked up to the bronco-busting level, and I was well powered.

As the sailing-rust worked itself off, I started to hit more of my turns, and suddenly became aware of the 10 or so people on the shore hooting and hollering at my inside gybes and near-gybes.

Some of them had come to the coast to watch the storm, but became a southern-speaking pickup-driving cheering section.

About every 1/2 hour, I would brave the rocks and chest-deep reed grass, check the position of the storm on the radio, answer a few questions from the baffled locals, and head back out.

After about 2 hours of heavy 3.2 weather, the lightning came, and I decided it was all fun and games until I got fried like chicken. On the drive back into town, the canopy roads were disintegrating like mad. Limbs and branches mixed with the 40-50mph winds to make the drive less-than relaxing. On the plus side, I was just about the only idiot out on the road.

Not wanting my jubilant sail-buzz to quit, I marshalled the troops, gathered the alcohol, and had a great hurricane party.

Hurricane Earl and the encounters of Buford T. Justice.

I raced home from work, loaded the truck, and headed to Shell Point. On the way to the coast I noticed that traffic was bumper to bumper heading North, in the opposite direction. I was one of just a handful of people heading South, into the storm. Most of the other coast-bound travelers were trying to secure their boats or lock-down beachside property.

The radio announced a mandatory evacuation of the area, which told me there was a high-probability of wind. I was going to sail if The Man didn't stop me.

As I got to the marina, a fellow-windsurfer was leaving and hailed me.

"You're an optimist right ? Most of the guys say it's going to blow tomorrow."

She had a point. At the moment it was only blowing about 10. It was also only 2PM, and I had nothing better to do but rig-up, pray for wind, and wait.

I decided to rig a just-purchased 5.2 meter sail. Even though it seemed that the wind would end up in the force 10 range, we'd probably have a few hours of great intermediate wind before the gale. I hastily rigged the 5.2 with new booms and harness lines. As I was rigging, I noticed that the wind seemed to be building.

The wind was ever-so-slightly side off shore, so I knew the calm looking inner waters could be deceiving.

Windy-the-wind-talker to the rescue.

Glancing through the towers window, she showed that about 25 feet up it was blowing high 20's to low 30's in the gusts.

I took out the 5.2 not having sailed in about 2 months, and had a blast shaking off the cruft that had settled on my sailing skills. I re-learned a lesson I've taken many times, but seem to forget when faced with wind. The extra 2 minutes you spend rigging it right on the beach can save you 15 wrestling with it later. In my haste to rig, I put the harness lines on wrong, and they would auto-lengthen when I leaned back. Whoops. A few curses at myself later I was in business after flatting my sail to resemble the side profile of Kate Moss.

Hugh Bosely, architect and all-around good guy, came up and asked what I was on. I replied:

"A 5.2, but I'm pretty max'd out. I could use a 4.5 and be plenty powered"

Hugh is about 180lbs and I'm about 210, so he rigged his 4.2.

The rain was starting to pour as Hugh, Mark, and myself took to the water.

After a few incredible hours, the rain was intensifying. Mark was trying vainly control his 5.2. My sail was just at the point of derotation. The water was flat, which allowed me to carry it, but not easily. I was too greedy to go in and rig down. The sailing was like a much-needed opiate, and I couldn't stop.

Runs were kept short, as the wind was a bit unstable in its direction and intensity. I was starting to get fatigued when I noticed my fin was loose. As I was applying the shims, an officer was marching up and down the beach, barking at spectators and sailors alike.

"It's time to go, there's a mandatory evacuation....Son, do you hear me ?"

"Yes Sir."

As I sailed off, purportedly to tell Hugh that we had to go, a monster gust flattened me as the rain picked up to monsoon proportions. The wind and rain were pounding as I waited under my sail for the gust to pass.

After about 30 seconds, I decided that it wasn't just a gust, and I'd better get moving.

I got launched on my waterstart, and my board and rig flipped downwind through the air. I did some hasty swimming and managed to catch it after a 50 foot chase.

Catching my breath, I took stock of the situation. If I tried a few more times and couldn't sail in, I could tear a hole in the sail. Given that it was a new sail, I was really going to save this option as a last-ditch, and give it a college effort to get to shore intact.

Concentrating on keeping the sail flying a scant 12 inches above the water, I pushed both my feet into the footstraps and prepared to sheet out. I was yanked onto a plane instantly as I fought to control the sail.

The gusts were now blowing so hard that the water was almost completely smooth. I gritted my teeth, and locked my legs and arms in a rigid stance, going for the hail-mary effort. I truly wish someone had a radar gun on me as I screamed downwind toward the launch. I was pushing the needle somewhere between out-of-control and slammed-to-oblivion.

Had I had more time and energy, my 3.2 would have been the call as the wind was now in the low 40's with higher gusts.

Exhausted and happy, I pulled into the launch and carried my gear onto the beach. Big Andy borrowed Marks way-too-big 5.3 with hopes of getting a single run. Even Andy's 235lb+ bulk wasn't able to control the 5.3 in the now 40+ winds. As I watched the carnage of a tail-walked-slam in progress, the trooper again gruffly re-enforced to everyone that it was indeed time to go.

"No problem officer, we're on our way out."

"WHAT ? Huh? Oh. It's umm...about 60 miles off of Destin"

"I'm glad you fellas are goin'. If you guys weren't goin' to leave easy we were gonna get Cat down here. He's a real bear."

"YOU WILL RESPECT MY ATHORITAIEEEE"

This fellow was so deep-south that no one has yet managed to translate the phrase that the officer barked at Andy:

"Hitch your stitch, it's time to go."

As Hugh and I were leaving the water, we were interviewed by a CBS newstation from Orlando who'd arrived to cover the storm. The interview was pretty cool, but I was feeling bad for the rain-soaked anchor trying to keep her composure.

Perry Morris came by to pick up Windy-the-wind-talker, as she was suceptable to the storm surge.
Perry lives at Shell Point.

 "So Perry, you going out?"

"No way man. When you live here, you need to get ready. I got my boat tied up, now I need to take care of the house."

When I got back to town I made a few calls, and most of the people I reached were scrambling in hurricane preparation. One of whom was my friend Shannon. She called me an idiot for sailing and dove into grilling me:

"And WHAT are you going to do if you don't have water or electricity for a week ?"

"Leave."

"Ok smartass. I'll laugh when you're drinking my water."

At night the hurricane made landfall. The wind whistled in the trees and the power blinked on and off, but nothing crashed through the roof, and the beer was cold late into the evening as I passed out thinking of the winds that might blow tomorrow.

Hurricane Earl, day two.

Alligator point was best call due to the new wind direction. Tallahassee appeared to be in more-or-less one piece as I drove through the deserted streets. Putting it into high gear I turned South.

The hour drive to Alligator Point was made more painful by the bevy of ultra-slow highway drivers, and exasperated by two lane roads. It seems the preferred speed for drivers in the rural southern area was about 44 in a 55.

Teeth marks in the steering wheel notwithstanding, I passed a "Road Closed" sign at the head of Alligator Point and foraged forth. Sailing here was not to be, as Earl had an appetite for Alligator. A huge section of the road just before the marina was eaten by the storm surge. The newscrews and heavy equipment were going full steam as I flew back East to Shell Point.

I stopped outside Panacea to get gas at a packed station and was surprised that the banjo player from Deliverance wasn't playing. My wonderfully grumpy cashier had at least 60% of her visible teeth and an accent so thick it almost required translation.

A fellow sailor, Mark, got to Shell Point before me said that they wouldn't let people come back until 10am. The presumed fear was looters.

I rigged my 6.0, gave a quick interview to a lingering news guy, and headed out.

Getting to Shell Point at about 10:30am, I found a good 22-27mph wind. Not nuclear, but definitely sailable.

The hurricane had taken it's toll on Shell Point. One of the channel markers had washed ashore and was mostly buried on the beach. The tiki huts that the Shell Point Sailing Club had erected were trashed, with one being tossed or washed across the road.

The picnic tables were washed North by the storm surge. A local restaurant had a trashed canopy and looked like it had been flooded.

Sailing these conditions presents some unique challenges. After a few runs, I was making adjustments to my sail when a fellow-sailor came up.

"Hi Joe, what's it doing out there?"

"I'm on my 6.0, but could easily sail my 5.2 right now. It's windier than it looks. Oh yeah, stay upwind on your first run as everyone is getting tricked by the wind shift and ending up downwind at first....and watch out for TREES. No, really."

The main danger was hitting debris. There was a non-trivial amount of branches, sticks and just plain weird stuff floating in the water. Hitting a floating log at 30 could ruin your day. Hugh reported seeing a floating beer-cooler in the waters west of Shell Point.

At about 12:30pm it was like someone had flipped the light-switch. The wind went from 25+ to about 9, and the sky went from angry-grey to the purest-blue I've ever seen.

I let my equipment dry, got some sun, and drove home with an ear to ear grin on my sunburned face. I guess I really should pick up those branches in my yard, but they can wait.

Right now I just want to enjoy this feeling.