Power of a hurricane

When Hurricane Joaquin brushed the island earlier this month, it brought winds gusting at 100 mph and slightly higher. They howled across Bermuda for more than 12 hours, reaching their peak after nightfall.

Joaquin was a Category 2 hurricane, just below 'major hurricane' ranking, but packing a powerful punch. The storm's winds became a significant factor as daylight bade a premature farewell, and grey clouds frantically raced above.

Alone in the centre of the garden the mature avocado tree was forced to dance to the tune of Joaquin. Shaken by the wind, with each new blast more forceful than the last, the branches were tossed back and forth almost to the point of breaking (see video).

A large branch hangs down from the
avocado tree after being snapped by
the fierce winds of Hurricane Joaquin

Nightfall arrived early, extinguishing the storm's day-long twilight. I was able to take a kitchen chair outside and sit under the small porch, near the back door, protected from the relentless southerly winds by the cottage's sturdy walls.

In that oasis of shelter in the midst of the hurricane's fury, I watched the avocado tree being mercilessly ravaged in the wind. At any moment it seemed it might buckle against the force of nature.

How small we are, I reflected; how transient are we, and our homes and surroundings in the face of nature's mightiest forces.

On cue, the lights went out. A transformer box on a nearby utility pole sparked in defiance, like a silent firecracker or a camera's popping flashbulb. Twice, three times, it fought back before submitting to the unrestrained hurricane forces sweeping the island.

With only candles and a flashlight for illumination, it was time to turn in for an early night. From my bed within the window-shuttered cottage, I drifted to sleep listening to the howling of the storm.

A bird box was left at an acute angle after being
pummeled by the winds of Hurricane Joaquin

In the grey light of morning the damage was surveyed. Two sizeable branches had snapped from the avocado trees, while lesser branches and twigs were strewn across the ground. A hefty flowerpot had been shifted and tilted, but on the whole none of the damage was on the scale of that done by Fay and Gonzalo, last year's two direct hit hurricanes.

The centre of Hurricane Joaquin stayed 60 nautical miles or more to the west, and so we were spared a much fiercer pounding. However, the storm was a timely reminder of the power of nature in the raw.

Hurricane tree is no more

The toppled tree after last year's two hurricanes, and the now empty site

A sprawling tree that once provided some cool shade at the corner of a road on the outskirts of Hamilton has gone. It had a dominating presence on St John's Road, where its rich foliage provided shelter from the sun and the rain.

I've no idea how old the tree was, but it had seen a good few decades and survived many storms before it was finally toppled by the two hurricanes that scored bull's eye hits on Bermuda last October.

The first, Fay, did the most damage, although the arrival six days later of the more powerful Hurricane Gonzalo worsened the situation for the grand tree.

Surprisingly, despite being all but uprooted, it continued to grow even at its post-storms acute angle. The red letter box that once sheltered beneath the mighty tree's boughs was displaced by the trauma of the hurricanes and in the interest of safety was removed soon afterwards. Dealing with the tree was a far bigger task, and for seven months it appeared the tree might remain as a living reminder of the force of nature wrought by Fay and Gonzalo. However, as I rode past on a recent journey home I noticed the corner plot had been cleared of all signs of the tree. The land looked naked and exposed without its once-towering sentinel.

Although I've never been a pedestrian strolling along the pavement beneath its shade-giving branches, the tree felt like an old friend on account of seeing it on a daily basis for almost 10 years while riding my scooter between home and work. And on a number of occasions I've run beneath the fringes of its shade during road races that skirted this distinctive corner.

What will become of the corner plot remains to be seen. But it would be fitting if another tree is given the chance to grow there and become an equally magnificent landmark.