Hurricane Omar, Bonaire 2008

Tuesday 14th October 2008.
We were still alongside in the Village Harbor Marina, Bonaire. Bob had returned to Daisy a few days ago following 2 ½ weeks back in the States working. We were both very busy cleaning, polishing and doing general boat maintenance in Preparation for the trip back to Curacao, where Daisy was being hauled out of the water for a few months for her annual maintenance checks and repainting of the hull.
The weather was typically fabulous for the Caribbean this time of year and being in what is reputed to be an area well out of the hurricane zone, thoughts of tropical storms and hurricanes were not exactly at the forefront of our minds. Bob had noted a small tropical wave headed our way, but it was nothing to cause us concern, as it hadn’t formed into anything resembling a storm, with obviously no patterns resembling a hurricane, because you don’t get hurricanes this far South! Or do you?

In the early hours we were woken from our sleep by a light sprinkling of rain coming through the open hatch in our cabin.
Following the usual manic scrabble to secure all the open hatches and portholes, we returned to bed. Within no more than a couple of minutes the wind had reached near gale force proportions, and the gentle sprinkling of rain had turned into a torrential downpour.

Unusually the wind appeared to be coming from a Westerly direction. This was not the first time we had been caught unaware by these unusual wind changes. We quickly donned our foul weather gear and braved the weather to check on the security of the lines. Once we had satisfied ourselves that everything was secure, we put out extra fenders and then retreated below to comfort and shelter from the storm.

Daisy shifted uncomfortably in her slip throughout the night as the surge increased. The wind continued to howl and the rain hammered down relentlessly. It proved a good test for leaks, which we were happy to discover we didn’t have. However, I couldn’t help worrying about the dinghy that I had carelessly left tied only by the painter to the side of the boat.

At first light we braved the weather to once again check the lines and the dinghy, which was bouncing around noisily. I was relieved to see it miraculously still tied alongside. Bob had deliberately left enough slack for Daisy to rise with the surge, but the poor little dinghy was half submerged and completely full with water.

The wind and rain had eased a little, enabling me to make a precarious climb in and bale out without getting thoroughly drenched or washed overboard in the process.
The wind continued to blow strongly from the West pushing Daisy hard against the concrete dock, and she was moving considerably with the surge. Bob decided we should check the lines on the unoccupied boat in the slip alongside us. It was a much larger and heavier boat than Daisy and upon inspection we discovered to our horror that her lines were stretched dangerously taught, and were close to breaking.

One of her deck cleats had also been partially pulled out, the situation did not look good. Bob was extremely concerned for the security of the boat, as the surge had raised the level of water in the marina so much that her lines were actually sawing down through her deck. It was only a matter of time before she broke free, which would send her crashing into us.

Despite our best efforts we were unable to ease the lines as they were pulled so tight we could not free up even the first ¼‘ of wiggle room. We knew that if left to its own devices, either due to the lines severing or the attachment points breaking free as the deck disintegrated, the 70 ton vessel was quickly going to become an oversized bull in our very small china shop! And we were first in line for a visit.

In poor light, as the wind howled and the rain stung our eyes and blurred our vision, we set about adding more lines in an attempt to ease the tension on the current lines. Our crazy scheme was to create enough compressive forces on the yacht to haul it down against its buoyancy and enable us to loosen the piano wires that once had been braided shorelines. We ran a line under the dodger to the winch in the cockpit. We looped a line around the main mast, we tied another from the anchor windlass to the dock, and finally one more to a large powered winch that ran the line through what looked like hefty spinnaker pulleys aft of the cockpit.

We were both very aware of the danger, a wrong move or loose loop of line that trapped a hand, foot or limb between the fixed dock and the writhing giant would cause severe injury even amputation. I had to keep silently reminding myself of how much I love boat life! Finally, cold, wet and tired and having run out of both ideas and suitable spare lines, It was time to see if we could overcome Samuel Plimsols theories about how low a vessel was meant to float in the water. To our immense relief the arrangement appeared to be working! The winches inched the vessel over, probably tilting in the water more than pulling it lower, but who cares about the accuracy of the science, we were finally able to exert enough tension to ease the pressure on the original lines and much to our relief able to loosen them to prevent further carnage to the deck.

We set about re-organizing the lines to enable immediate release of the pent up destructive forces and also to have the ability to compensate for further surge in the water level. Relief flowed over us and no vote was needed to decide the next move. We slipped and splashed our way back to the security of our boat knowing that once again we could leave the elements to do their worst, while we would be secure in the warm dry confines of our floating refuge. Throughout the rest of the day the skies remained as dark as night and the near gale force winds blew incessantly. The harbor was quickly filling with boats previously on moorings in the bay, as well as other boats in the vicinity seeking refuge from the storm. The marina staff were busy squeezing boats into every available space, rafting one boat to the next. The scene was one of frenzied activity.
At eleven pm Omar officially became a category one hurricane.

Wednesday 15th October
After yet another restless night we awoke early to stormy skies, black with rain. We watched with disappointment as the wind and rain continued its relentless abuse. Concern for the security of our neighboring boat, which had posed such a threat to us, forced us back up on deck.

While Bob checked the other boats lines, I once again baled out the dinghy, a thankless task knowing only too well that it would be full again within the hour. Through our large cabin windows we could see the masts of the boats in the harbor swaying to and fro dangerously close to one another.

Always the alarmist, visions of masts crashing into each other, tangled lines, broken spreaders and torn off boat parts, being hurled about like missiles in the wind, were vivid in my mind. There was nothing more we could do but stay below out of harms way. I busied myself baking scones, drinking cups of tea, and watching an entire series of CSI on television. Murder and intrigue proved to be an effective distraction from the mayhem taking place outside.

By nightfall, the wind was still blowing, but with much less ferocity than during the day. For the first time in almost 36 hours I didn’t have to worry about being crushed by the neighboring boat coming to pay a visit, or being smacked in the head by flying debris when I ventured up on deck. The rain had finally abated and it wasn’t long before we were able to open the hatches and let some air back into the boat.

Thursday 16th October.
At last, an uninterrupted nights sleep. Through our cabin hatch we could see beautiful blue sky. There were one or two black clouds on the horizon, but nothing that looked threatening. As the day progressed, the weather improved bringing with it brilliant sunshine. One almost had to wonder, had there really been a storm?

Looking back I realize it wasn’t the weather that scared me, so much as the very real threat of being crushed by our neighboring boat. Fortunately we all survived Unscathed with a few lessons learnt, and plenty of material for my journal.
The water around Bonaire’s coastline was murky and angry looking with debris floating everywhere. The pier where we had previously spent so many happy cocktail hours had been totally demolished; all that remained were a few broken concrete pillars. There was substantial damage to the roads with large craters full of water, and uprooted trees all along the sea front. but the clean up was already underway.

At the end of October 2008, Bob and I took Daisy back to Curacao; to the Curacao Marine boat yard, where she was taken out of the water to have her hull painted and other maintenance work done.

At the beginning of November we both flew back to the States for a few months.

Bob visited the boat many times during her stay at the boatyard, to do work on her, but I didn’t return to Daisy until June 2009.