Disturbance 1

Thursday's bulletin from the National Hurricane Center caught me slightly by surprise:

A non-tropical low pressure system is located about 800 miles east 
of Bermuda.  The low is expected to develop gale-force winds later 
today while it moves generally northward. The low is then forecast 
to move westward and southwestward over warmer waters tonight and 
Friday, and it will likely become a subtropical cyclone near and to 
the northeast of Bermuda on Friday. The system is expected to move 
toward the north and northeast into a more hostile environment by 
late Sunday into Monday. For more information on this developing low 
pressure area, please see High Seas forecasts issued by the NOAA 
Ocean Prediction Center and forecast products issued by the Bermuda 
Weather Service.
* Formation chance through 48 hours...high...70 percent.
* Formation chance through 5 days...high...90 percent.

Every it seems as though May a disturbance disturbs the North Atlantic and every year the feeling is one of wholesale rejection. This is normal, one storm does not a season predict and so forth. And yet the little voice wonders if Bermuda deserves to get clipped by a cyclone this early in the year. Now Bermuda and tomorrow...?

I was discussing my feelings this hurricane season with my wife and I told her that this is the first year I face summer storms with some trepidation. I overthink most things and in this case I suspect I am so close to ending my static relationship with hurricanes that I am gaining an unreasonable fear of getting whacked one last time.

In our first world of building codes and relative wealth hurricanes aren't perilous to life inasmuch as we get plenty of warning and buildings don't collapse on a whim. The 140 mile an hour winds of Hurricane Irma in 2017 caused plenty of damage everywhere but in the end 72 Floridians died and lots of them by neglect, the elderly condemned by power outages and no help.  That many are missing presumed dead in one shipwreck in India following a cyclone there this week.

Hurricanes cause disruptions, they ruin structures and economies, in vacation land evacuations are a nuisance. Survivors live in great discomfort if the hurricane spawned lots of tornadoes that tore everything up. Five days without water and weeks without electricity wore us down after Hurricane Irma. Meals Ready To Eat kept us going but it was a matter of surviving and plugging along.

Repairs take forever as there just aren't enough people and machines to put everything straight instantly. It's hard to sleep and tiring to think and boring to be stuck picking up trash all the time. It isn't deadly but it is dreary.

I have always accepted Hurricane Season as the price one pays, and our plans were simple. Schools close Layne and Rusty drive north, no hesitation, and they got out of the Irma traffic jam throughout Florida by arriving in Pensacola before the evacuations were even ordered. I sat alone at home cocooned by hurricane shutters pottering around putting the last few things away and hoping for the best. The house survived intact, but the trash piles and the rats and the smells impacted our neighborhoods for weeks.

Answering 911 calls and telling people in Monroe County there were no responders was harrowing, because when the storm arrived there was no help to be had, which is the reason for the evacuation orders. If you stay you are on your own and that is a horrid reality to face in a society where help is always to hand. You don't forget those moments.

I had hoped to sit this season out but staffing shortages make that unlikely. I want to store the van undercover somewhere on the mainland as the destruction of all our plans would break my heart. My wife is going to California in September and Rusty will spend any lockdown with people he knows and trusts as I can't keep him at the police station. 

These tedious calculations are the reality of life in the near tropics, and then when the National Hurricane Center wakes us up again the casual planning is made real. And Hurricane Season is supposed to run from June 1st to November 30th. As they are weather phenomena there are always outliers. 

Last year Webb Chiles who was planning a voyage noticed, because he watches weather closely, that hurricanes had developed a nasty new trick in these heated times, of becoming massively more powerful in very short order indeed. Today's Category One becomes tomorrow's Category Four with no warning.  That's a nice new wrinkle I shall have to keep my eye on. And with Disturbance One on the tracking map we shall have to start keeping an eye on the forecasts from now till December.

Year Of The Ginsu

For my wife and I 1998 was the year of the Ginsu knives. That Spring my wife had called my bluff by telling the owner of her law firm that she was taking off on a sabbatical...after I had thrown a hissy fit about growing old stuck in the same space in Santa Cruz, and she didn't care! She really did care and off we went to Central America.  In point of fact when the six months were up she found a pay phone in Puntarenas Costa Rica and while admiring our boat floating at anchor nearby told Mitchell her life as a lawyer was over. She didn't tell him she was going to become a teacher in Key West because at that point our future and that of our dogs was an open book filled with blank pages; nothing was written. 

We had six months to get ready for the grand sailing migration to Mexico from San Diego, an informal rally called the Baja Ha Ha organized by Latitude 38, the west coast sailing newspaper. Normally Layne and I are not into tours and gatherings and flocking together but faced with our first long passage into a profound unknown, and given the unorganized nature of this rally, by then in its 6th edition, we figured we could fit in. No one held our hand to Cabo San Lucas, we sailed alone and gathered at a couple of anchorages along the way. It was the prefect introduction to a very long undertaking for our family.

The summer of 1998 we spent getting rid of some things, preserving far too much stuff in our garage which we turned into a storage locker while we prepared to rent out the house and granny unit. The idea was that we would sail more relaxed if we knew everything wasn't totally committed to the boat which might easily end up sunk, crushed, stolen, or burned to the waterline. Disaster is one's constant mental companion while preparing an undertaking. It seemed inconceivable at the time we could make it 6,000 miles to Key West through a dozen countries. Curt with his spare mooring outside Garrison Bight seemed a very long way away even as he invited us to hang with him when we arrived. We took him up on the offer in 2000.

I find myself once again in a Ginsu frame of mind as I face the last ten months before departure, and its a frame of mind I don't recommend as it becomes a note  note  symphony in the head. I find it hard to concentrate on fiction when I read. I find myself drawn most to literature that somehow reflects the next phase of my life - travel, overlanding, vehicle preparation, all the tedious notes that fill the mind of someone uncertain of his ability to make the thing happen. That summer 23 years ago Layne and I sat up in a bed made of plywood over cinder blocks, like middle aged students and we watched late night television infomercials to empty our minds and relax. That thing could be useful we told ourselves watching eager salespeople on television, as we telephoned in our orders for helpful gadgets. Cellphones were a novelty and the Internet was a military secret in those days of the Sears catalogue and Penny's mail order stores. We still have the Ginsu knives we ordered that summer. They took the boat trip and are still in our kitchen drawers today on Cudjoe Key as I write. They were excellent and are still sharp.

Nowadays we exchange ideas in texts. I sent Layne a text with a link for a suspension lift for the van to travel torn up roads, and she returned the compliment suggesting a  very small electric cabin heater for Alaska summers and Andean boondocking at 10,000 feet in Chile. Amazon is the new infomercial. We decided to dump our mosquito proof gazebo as it is big and heavy and we can't usually be bothered to put it up. A friend bought it eager for the extra "outdoor room."

It is impossible to think of everything and at some point the umbilical cord must be cut. Layne's recovery from shoulder surgery is going well, the pain is dropping dramatically and soon she will start physical therapy. In two weeks she will be retired. I'm expecting she will channel her energy into making doctor's appointments and dealing with the paperwork that I am useless at. We keep promising ourselves this will be an orderly departure, lists will shrink not grow, all will be settled by the time daylight saving time comes around in 2022.

Rusty has his vaccination card and his place in the van. Layne has prepared a space to store his food and we have several collars with his name and phone number on them in case we manage to lose them. Losing him is not something I want to think about. I used to worry on the boat if a dig were to disappear. Death is one thing, a finality, but disappearing into an uncertain void is too awful.  

I have entered the twilight zone of one more, one more hurricane season so I keep my fingers crossed.  I realized I have  sat out every single storm since  July 2004 and this year I was hoping I would get a break but we are so short staffed I doubt I will have that option this summer. Hurricane Irma is not an experience I want to repeat, the aftermath was even worse than Hurricane Wilma in 2005, a storm of lesser winds and dreadful flooding.    

I laugh at myself as we go into another hurricane season, because in years past I never really cared that much. Hurricane season is part of life in the Keys, and not just here. But this year because it's my last time around everything seems more delicate, more in balance. Layne is going to California in September and for that month I'm going to take the van to Central Florida and store it under cover. I couldn't bear being stuck at work and having my retirement home destroyed. 

All these considerations pile up as the weeks go by, a final tooth check, an eye exam, a colonoscopy because one is old and that exam is a mark of advancing years, and this year is the Year of The Ginsu, the period of recollection and preparation and the hope that the blade is as sharp now as it was 25 years ago. So far, so good.

Downtown

Mask Up Key West go the instructions, and now we are told us vaccinated people may not have to wear masks in public anymore. As vaccines are going unwanted in the county it seems like the dodos who don't want vaccinations are all that's left we might as well get on with it and let the chips fall where they may. Luckily I don't set public policy because my patience with this virus reticence is at an end.

Summer is here, actually this is one of the quietest times of the year in the Keys, not easily quantified but I'll stick my neck out. Winter residents have gone north to the hot dry winds of the plain states and the summer visitors with their families and beach gear haven't yet arrived as schools are still in session. 

I saw a white crowned pigeon on a tree in Mallory Square and couldn't get my camera focused fast enough. They are incredibly fast fliers and I usually see them flitting at mangrove height twisting across the horizon like guided missiles. And here this one was sitting placidly not 15 feet away. Lovely.

It's not all nature and white crowned pigeons at Mallory Square either. 

I saw an actual sailboat raising actual sails and quite possibly making progress with no engine assistance at all. 

Clouds caught my attention here in the heart of the city just as they do in the wilderness. 

I love clouds.

And abstract buildings, comparing the Opal Resort (until recently Margaritaville) with the older brick...

...of the Clinton Square Mall, a former warehouse in the glorious days of the maritime trade of decades past.

Rusty ambling past the old water cistern between the resort and the Custom House:

A pleasant morning stroll not likely to be overcrowded as cruise ships are nowhere to be seen here or elsewhere in Florida.

Mangroves

I took some pictures. I post them here. Another lovely day in the Keys. My wife is healing and the pain pills are doing their work. Shoulder surgery is said to be extremely painful which I can now well believe. Checking the mangroves with Rusty is a good end to the day.

Front Street

Masks are on the way out for us in this corner of the world and how lucky we are. For the first time in 14 months I came to work and walked into the police station not wearing a mask, per the city manager's latest email saying vaccinated employees don't have to anymore. India and Brazil are not so lucky of course and when you are too poor to manage a socially distanced life and your government can't buy the vaccine you take your chances.

The old CVS building on the corner of Wall Street at Duval is still in place, dusty abandoned and decorated as it always has been. Only now do I noticed the artistry high on the wall that reminds me of a Mario Sanchez intaglio...The Key West artist created illustrations on wood of slices of daily island life and the picture below puts me in mind of some family drama he may have memorialized. 

I have been watching chickens for years and this rooster was clearly about to leap off... and he did. 

Another thing I've been watching for a long while is the old wooden boat rotting in the public space. There is a sign on it warning not to sit as it oozes wet tar but I think its tarry days are long since washed away.  I think even the intrepid Webb Chiles might have trouble sailing this one around anything much.

Another old survivor,  a Honda motorcycle possibly from my youth in the 1980s. I find it quite odd how old machinery washes up in Key West, far from anywhere automotive.

This part of town is  where cruise ship passengers first come ashore and the consequence of no cruise ships is easy to see: no business. 

The odd thing now is that the state has overturned the restrictions voted into place by Key West residents in an effort to keep cruise ships coming. However the Governor's proclamation that proof of vaccination is not going to be offered by the state in the form of so called vaccine "passports" has produced  an unintended consequence. Cruise ship operators now want to bypass Florida entirely as they are requiring passengers to produce proof of vaccination...The day President Trump politicized the virus was the day we seem to have collectively lost our medical minds. 

It was early in the morning when I came by and most visitors to town were nurturing their hang overs when I took these pictures, but now that summer has settled in the winter crowds are reduced. 

The cry of "five dollars" will never cease ringing out around Front Street as long as tat is for sale in competing stores. 

They came, they saw and they decided it was better here than in Cuba. Mel Fisher Museum has a Cuban chug on display, a fondly named bid for freedom. Since the wet foot dry foot policy was abolished by President Obama the numbers of refugees arriving and thus presumably dying anonymously at sea has plummeted to about zero. Life is full of irony but you have to be alive and somewhat removed to able to see the irony sometimes.