Wilfred. That’s all we got. The last time I looked, there were seven blotches on the National Hurricane Center’s grid of the Atlantic Ocean. And by the time this newspaper hits the streets on Sept. 17, the 2020 hurricane season will probably have moved into the practice of naming each new storm for a letter of the Greek alphabet.
Can anyone say 2005? The year of Wilma? 2005 produced six “Greek” named storms — four tropical storms and two hurricanes — on top of the 25 regularly named storms.
What’s worse is that the 2020 season is three weeks ahead of schedule, when compared to 2005.
Before Hurricane Wilma hit the Keys, we had already dodged five other storms. Tropical Storm Arlene skirted the Keys in the Gulf of Mexico on its way to Pensacola. Hurricane Dennis crossed Cuba, and slipped past Key West into the Gulf of Mexico.
Hurricane Katrina was a wild ride, even in the Keys. The storm was expected to cross the state from east to west on a neat horizontal trek, but it dipped and roared up the Keys’ backside (gulfside) and through the Everglades. Afterward, the acute misery of the Gulf states made an impact on the entire U.S., probably the defining hurricane of my generation.
Hurricane Ophelia danced close to Florida’s east shore. Hurricane Rita missed us by a hair, moving from the Bahamas into the Gulf of Mexico, and passing just 45 miles west of Key West.
In 2005, the Keys called three mandatory evacuations. Hurricane fatigue set in. Islanders were tired of putting the shutters up and taking them down. People had run out of money for forced “vacations” to the mainland. So when Hurricane Wilma threatened the Keys in late October, I think it’s fair to say, we were just done. Very few residents evacuated.
I remember a friend called to ask me about Hurricane Wilma. Should we be worried, she asked. And what I said next was so, so stupid, it’s forever etched on my brain.
“Hurricanes never hit the Keys this late in the year. It’s October!” It makes me cringe just thinking about it.
Before Hurricane Wilma arrived, weather forecasters made many serious warnings about storm surge. Conchs weren’t worried about the wind, and rightly so, but they ignored or didn’t understand or were just too damn tired to pay attention to the flood warnings. Starting in Key West and moving northeast to Key Largo, a wave of water passed over the islands from gulfside to oceanside. There was much kayaking on residential streets in Key West. Someone reportedly rode a Jet Ski up and down the runway of the Marathon airport. Spontaneous waterfalls appeared at the head of the south-facing canals as water from land emptied back into the ocean. Businesses, houses and cars flooded. The sight was stupefying, the damage immense.
Last weekend, when Tropical Storm Sally formed on top of our heads before a Sept. 16 landfall in Alabama, it was but a taste of hurricane season. The good kind: a fun amount of rain, a chance to stay in bed and watch movies all day and pick up two palm fronds when it’s all over. I hope the hurricane gods will spare us in 2020, but it’s far from over. If push comes to shove, I’m gonna grab the beer and run like hell.
