When we decided to sail down the East Coast ICW and cruise the Bahamian waters in September, we knew the potential of running into some nasty tropical storms or maybe even one of nature’s dreaded whirlwinds, but we studied the weather patterns and placed most of our faith in the law of averages. We knew we would receive a good forecast each day from NOAA and other commercial marine weather services, and we thought we could always steer away from a hurricane if we had to. After all, they travel only about 50 per cent faster than our own cruising speed… Then, when November rolled around, the official hurricane season ended, we figured we’re out of the woods.

So, what’s wrong with this thinking? For years we have gotten away with it. But in recent years, weather patterns have been different for no rhythm or reason, perhaps due to global warming, we found out that there are no averages and no dependable storm tracks nature adheres to. And, how easily a slow boat’s skipper can be fooled into a compromising situation and really have no place to run to.

There’s not supposed to be hurricanes in November, but in the early hours Monday morning, the National Weather Service upgraded Beaufort County to a tropical storm warning as Hurricane Nicole is expected to strengthen and slam Florida’s east coast in the late Wed evening. South Carolina’s coastal areas, including Hilton Head Island in Beaufort County, will bear the residual brunt.

We were fortunate to be able to stay at a marina in Hilton Head Island hunkered down to ride out the storm. This protected marina is located on Broad creek, roughly 150 yards wide, not enough distance for the seas to build up any heights. We only need to worry about the wind.

When walking from our boat to the main dock, we usually appreciated the placid water and clear skies growing from the east. Normally we’d smile and think about how absolutely beautiful our surroundings are. We’d watch the variety of birds fly about, make a note of how high the tide is and keep an eye out for passing pelicans on the dock. We’d smell the salty sea air and notice the ever so slight warm southern breeze. Today, however, our feelings are different. Today we have one thing in mind and it’s the big storm that’s currently making its way towards us on the east coast of America.

We started preparing for Nicole’s arrival – we took down the bimini and dodger – the canvas structures that provide us protection from the sun, wind, and sea. We have solar panels that zip into the top of our bimini, or sunroof, so we can quickly,  within minutes unzip them, unplug the electronics and also store them below decks – we configured the setup for situations like this. We added extra lines and fenders, tied down all the sails. Pretty much the only things that we can do under the circumstance.

There’re about 6 boats anchored few hundred yards from us. We thought to ourselves that they might be our biggest threat if their anchors dragged and come barreling down towards us.

Wednesday was hurricane day. If there was to be a doomsday, this was going to be it. Many sailors left the marina for safer accommodations inland, marina staff went home to care for their own, restaurants closed and shops putting up sandbags and locked down their doors. After all, this whole area is referred to as “Lowcountry”, below the sea-level. 

The wind started to hawl around midnight and pushing our boat against the dock making her lean sideways about 10-15 degrees. Our round fenders turned into pancake shape. In our light sleeping, we can feel our bunk leaning towards one side.

Just before 3AM, we took the heaviest assault for more than an hour. I’m half asleep and listening to all sorts of crazy weird noises generated by the wind & rain. Claudia, a Nervous Nelly, elbows me to get-up for security checks with every unusual sound. I opened the hatch and popped my head out; the wind speed showed 40+ knots. Within seconds of being outside, I was soaked. The rain stung as it hits my face – not because it was cold but because of the speed as it was hitting me. All I could do is making sure the lines are secured and fenders are intact. I checked across the creek, those anchored boats seemed to be still far away. I gave Claudia some reassurances with a soft pad on her back then went back to get some rest.

Next morning as the rains subsidies, I dug out my rain gear and strolled the marina. It felt a little like I was the last person on earth, as the usually bustling community had disappeared. I went around and adjusted lines and fenders for absent boat owners. We are fortunate that we escaped unscathed but we know that isn’t the case in many areas. We’re counting our blessings and will chalk this one up to the old adage – “It’s better to be lucky than to be good”.