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.

Stormy morning in the middle of summer

A large storm system rolled across the Island yesterday, and for many hours it became stationary above this speck in the North Atlantic.

Having risen for breakfast I was aware of the gathering gloom outside - an unusual thing in summertime in Bermuda. Then the distant thunder began to boom, getting closer as it did.

Flashes of lightning soon danced behind the closed venetian blinds (I keep them closed in most rooms in the summer to deflect the sun's hot rays). As rain pitter-pattered against the windows I finished breakfast and looked outside. From horizon to horizon grey clouds filled the sky.

My daily run would have to wait. I returned to the bedroom to read a chapter or two of my current favourite read, Mary J MacLeod's 'The Island Nurse'. However, the dark clouds so successfully shut out the brightness of day that, even at 9am, I needed to switch on the room light to read my book.

For an hour or so I lay on the bed reading the book and listening to the storm battering away outside. But for the heat it could easily have been a winter's night in mid-summer.

The storm lasted all morning and stretched beyond midday before the rain finally switched itself off. I was then able to venture outside in the fresh, though mightily humid air - thankful for a pleasant piece of metrological variety to break up these long days of summer. And who doesn't like the experience of being comfortable at home, reading a book with a thunderstorm soundtrack beyond the walls and windows?