19 September 2014
The hurricane was south of us. Computer projections had once more been adjusted, this time to show a direct hit on Cabo San Lucas and the lower Baja. The nautical among us had been following the storm for days. We had allowed ourselves to be lulled into complacency because hurricane computer modeling had shown the storm would pass well offshore on the Pacific side of the Baja Peninsula. Of course, we'd get some wind and rain, but that was about it. So, as it happened, we got a day's notice of a slight, but critically important, change in direction along with the comment, "life threatening floods likely." The stores emptied out immediately. Supplies were at a premium. I managed to get the car fueled up. After stops at three stores, I managed to get another loaf of bread and some eggs.
You see, it's just me down here, and I am by myself, eating lunch out every day, hanging with boat captains, and yachties. The house is relatively large, in excellent condition, located in a beautiful gated community with its own private beach. Idyllic. Paradise. Really very nice. Until it isn't.
I was not worried about the house. It had recently been significantly upgraded, with extra run-off drains, new roofing, wiring, stucco, etc. I was worried about the boat. The boat is moored in La Paz, Baja Sur, on the inside Sea of Cortez, 100 miles north of Cabo, on the opposite site of the peninsula. Island Cat, is an elegant, well-built, sailing catamaran. We have several websites offering both private charters and public excursions. Our private eco-charters usually take guests to the UNESCO protected islands close by. We also offer public excursions to Swim with Whale Sharks and another to explore Remote Beaches. Virtually, all of our guests tell us it is the best travel experience of their lives. This is why we do it. The pay-off is mostly validation, there is not a lot of money to be had.
Eight years ago a hurricane hit La Paz destroying marinas, docks, and much of the entire boating industry. They called it the hundred year hurricane. Guess we've all heard that term a lot lately. Yes, I was deeply worried about the boat, certainly not the house.
Projections showed that the hurricane would arrive at about 11pm. Just as always, I had lunch with friends at Tiki. This is pretty much a local's place for boaters. It is on the Cabo marina across from M dock. This is where our boat was first moored when it arrived from Oregon. The Tiki restaurant and bar is frequently referred to as the "Cheers" of Cabo. The prices are fair, the food is good, the service really good, and the location is one of the best around. I've never visited Tiki without running into friends and folks I know. It reminds me of the response the late Julia Childs gave when asked where her favorite restaurant was, she remarked, "Where they know my name." Oh yeah, and you can park right behind it in the Wyndam Hotel's business parking lot, and get your ticket stamped. And, for the whatever it's worth's department, Island Cat has its scheduling and logistics office in the Wyndam, straight across from the registration desk.
So, I was dining at Tiki on what the menu calls Taco Bell tacos. Seriously. I am not kidding. Anyway, about a dozen of us were staring out beyond the marina entrance. We could see rolling waves crashing 30' to 50' above the rocks. Okay, time to go. The hurricane is ahead of schedule. I was just getting in my car when the rain started. I only live five minutes away, but by the time I got to the house the rain was so hard I was drenched just going from the carport to the front door. On the way home I had glanced at the iconic Cabo Arch. Waves were already blowing right over the top. Hmmm. That's pretty high. Okay, so the wind is howling, but really, no big deal. Right?
You may understand that I am not really concerned about this stuff. I have gone through five previous hurricanes, one a Category Five in St Kitts, West Indies. It's kinda like, "Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt." So, once again, I am only worried about the boat. The house is concrete, stone, stucco, and marble. It is very solid. All ten outside doors were new this year. Most of the windows are new. The pool and Jacuzzi were rebuilt and retiled just days before. I have all new pumps, electrical, plumbing, etc. I am not concerned.
Because I am alone, rattling around in a 3,900 sq ft house much of the year, I began renting it out to families and small groups. The fun part is we've always got five star ratings from guests. I suppose it's another validation issue that has become rather important to an older guy like me. I love it that people love it. And I keep upgrading the place so people keep loving it and keep coming back.
Once inside the house, I changed out of soaked clothes and switched on the TV looking for news of what was about to happen. No one was reporting anything. (Direct TV pulled out of Cabo a few years ago because their signal footprint was poor, and Dish requires two receivers just to see anything, so I have Shaw, a Canadian provider with a bazillion channels, but no weather channel. CNN, MSNBC, FOX, PBS, nor anyone else, seemed to think the incoming hurricane was newsworthy. About then, the TV went dead. A moment later all the power was out. Now it was easy to hear the raging storm. The sun should still be shining, but it was dark as midnight.
Armed with a single flashlight, I trundled off to bed at 6pm. First stop, the master bath. Sitting delicately on the throne, I glanced up to the shower skylight just as the wind torn it off. Instantly, the room was awash in rain, swirling leaves, branches, and palm fronds. Soaked through AGAIN, I pulled off my clothes, dropped them in a heap and bolted out of the bathroom shutting the door firmly behind me. Naked and a bit irked, I dropped on to the king bed and put ear plugs in to reduce the noise.
I had forgotten how noisy hurricanes could be. It's incredible. Really. It's like a jet engine going off right next to you. Perhaps an hour passed as the wind gained in intensity. BOOM! POW! BANG! The new glass and wood double doors next to the bed exploded. (These are insight doors to an alcove that is open through the roof. They provide access to a small fountain and planter.) Glass and wood splinters went everywhere. Somehow, I was not cut, although debris was scattered over the entire room. Still naked and feeling very exposed, I jumped up grapping the flashlight and headed for the steps that lead up out of the room and back to the TV room. I shut the door behind me, amazed I had not been hit with glass, nor did I step on any on the way out.
Disoriented and a bit shaken, I went over to one of the couches and lay down. Just as my heart rate was coming under control, the double glass and wooden doors, exact duplicates of the ones that had just exploded in the master bedroom, provided a re-run experience. The doors both blew in and hit the floor right next to me, the glass panels breaking when they hit the marble floor. (The entire house has marble floors, a technique to keep things cool, but you really don't want to drop things on them.)
Once again, I flicked on the flashlight and surveyed the area, feeling mighty vulnerable, naked and barefoot, with the house full of wind and blowing water. I couldn't get to my clothes, as the closets were in the corridor between the bedroom and the bathroom that had first sent me running. The last thing I wanted to do was tread barefoot through glass shards with wind swirling every which way. So, I picked my way through this new minefield and headed up the five stairs to the marble entry to the house. (Crazy as it sounds, the house is actually six levels counting the sundeck on top. Weird, I know, and totally impractical. I assume the original architect must have thought it cool.)
Seeing the large, heavy, double wooden doors of the main entry seeming to flex, I leaned in against them to see if what I was seeing in the dim of my flashlight was true. Holding the flashlight from a cord by my teeth, I put both hands on the doors. Leaning into them, it was obvious there was one heck of a blow going on out there. Then suddenly the doors literally exploded on me causing me to fall hard and tossing me fifteen feet into the rock backside of the fireplace that faced into the TV room. Seriously, like who needs a fireplace in Cabo? Bruised and bleeding I took stock. Nothing seemed to be broken but I was hurting all over.
The good news was the flashlight still hung from my clinched teeth. That still amazes me, and perhaps even more amazing was it was still working. With both front doors gone I was getting up stark naked and exposed to anyone dumb enough to be outside. (I live in a tightly built neighborhood, on the one way road down to the beach, about a hundred yards away. Neighborhood people are frequently walking in front of the house.) Obviously, no one was dumb enough to be outside, but I might as well have been, the outside was now inside. As I crawled to my feet in the howling mayhem, I heard another bang. One of our over-sized sliding glass doors blew out downstairs. A moment later another went. Finally, the third one, the master bedroom access to the Jacuzzi, and pool, blew glass all over the patio.
Pulling myself together, no easy task with winds howling through the house at 140 mph, or so, I staggered up the final set of stairs and gained the guest room just as a piece of artwork ripped off the wall and went careening down the hall. Two queen sized beds are in the guest room. I lay down on the one furthest from the window. Yep, I admit it, windows were scaring me. Within an hour the window in the guest room blew. Sliding out of the room, (I say sliding because the water on marble floors makes it difficult to walk), I moved into the hall and gained the last room upstairs. My office. Kereth Houpt, my rental manager, had insisted I put a twin bed in this room so we could call it a fourth bedroom. God bless her soul. I fell on the bed worrying that the sliding glass door that provides access to the office veranda, or the window looking out over the arroyo, would break. They didn't. But of course, I spent the night expecting them to self-destruct at any minute.
Earlier in the day, I had received a call when phones were still working, saying that the Harbormaster in La Paz was insisting that someone be on the boat through the storm. Chris Miller, Island Cat's full-time, 34-year-old captain, a USGS 100-ton Master, volunteered to take the task on. It was either him or me, and he is young, healthy, and according to myriad ladies who go out on the boat, "eye-candy." As a guy, I cannot really comment on that, but for sure he attracts attention from women of all ages. So now, here I am lying on the little twin bed opposite my desk, shaken, and deeply concerned, for his welfare. Given the enormity of the storm, I was pretty sure the boat was a loss. Chris was the issue. I spent the rest of the night worrying while listening to the storm. The noise of a hurricane is deafening, but I could sometimes make out car alarms going off, light posts and palm trees crashing down, the radio station tower collapse (it's at the front of our neighborhood), and of course, anything and everything in the house that was falling off the walls and banging about.
The horrible noise finally subsided. The winds were still blowing, but nothing like they had been. At first light, I headed downstairs hoping to find some dry clothes. As I walked through the house, it was clear we had suffered greatly. My art collection was mostly destroyed. The amount of trash lying around was remarkable. Everything was soaked. Leaves were stuck to all the walls and ceilings. The pool, startlingly crystal blue just the day before, was now black. Our 12' privacy fencing was down, much of it in the pool. Our satellite receiver was also in the pool. In every direction, things were damaged or destroyed. It was like a bomb had gone off.
Stepping through glass I found a T-shirt and pair of shorts in a closet that managed to stay partially closed. Dry clothes. Hooray! I found some shoes, not dry, but absolutely needed to continue moving about. The living room, dining room, and kitchen had 4" of standing water in them. Wooden tables and chairs were already warping, all the wall art was gone, couches were rolled over in various places and thoroughly soaked.
I took my shoes back off to wade through the downstairs and made my way to the kitchen. It seemed to have fared better than most of the rooms. I opened the kitchen door to the outside and a small wall of water poured in. Palm fronds and debris had plugged the patio drains. There was 10" of water trapped against the kitchen door. I began to clear the drains, a process that required more than an hour of grasping swirling debris as it attempted to reclose the drain. Roof water was still running off but I now had a clear drain. Just as I was finishing this, I could hear yelling in the house.
Thank God for Hugo. A deckhand and federally licensed chauffeur, and overall maintenance guy. Hugo had risked the highways to check on me. He had shown up with his wife Joane, better known as "Jo". Hugo was driving our 12-passenger van. When he found me outback he threw his arms around me and cried. This is a tough guy no one would want to mess with, but here he was crying on my shoulder. Over the last couple of years we have spent many hours talking about the meaning of life, love, and happiness. His street life beginnings in east Los Angles had scarred him deeply. He is an American-Mexican, fluent in both English and Spanish. His wife of 24 years was deported just two years ago, after ICE discovered she had come to the U.S. as a baby. Everyone in their family is a U.S. citizen but Jo. Hugo was born in the U.S., as were all six of their children.
Hugo, Jo, and I, immediately set in cleaning. I had already found a long handled squeegee and was busy pushing water out of the kitchen. Jo was working with a push broom, and Hugo put on gloves and begun the arduous process of picking up glass. Four hours later the water was mostly gone from the lower levels. Hugo had picked up much of the broken glass, but there was still a lot around. Hugo and Jo left, telling me to stay put, that they would be back again the next morning with help.
I started the car for the third time that day, to charge my cell phones. I wanted desperately to get a message out to family. Very early in the morning, I had been able to receive a couple of messages from my sister in Long Beach, California. For some reason, I could get something out to my sister, but no one else. As it turned out, cell towers were still going down. By mid day nothing was working. I backed my car out of the driveway and tried to go down our little one-way street. Palm trees had fallen across the road. I couldn't get out. Backing up I managed to turn around and go out the wrong way. Everywhere there was destruction. I drove all the roads in our neighborhood that I could move around on. Several times I had to back up for street debris and fallen trees. Every house showed damage.
By mid afternoon neighbors were out wandering around. Everyone had a story to tell. Some houses were in worse shape than others, some not so bad, but every structure had damage and everyone had lost windows. Disaster tends to bring the best out in some, the worst in others. I met some interesting neighbors, everyone spoke of banding together to help. On the outside of our gated neighborhood, it was much, much different.
Hugo returned the next day with incredible stories of looting. Wal-Mart estimated 400 looters in the store at the same time. All the OXXO's, the ubiquitous equivalent to 7-11, Circle Ks, and AM PM stores all combined, were all destroyed and completely looted. All the grocery stores had been hit. Home Depot was hit, Costco was hit, the main shopping mall had collapsed, and all the products had been stolen. There were fire-line brigades working together to pass commodities, appliances, furniture, electronics, drinking water, and food, out of every store in the area. Nothing was left to buy. We were on our own.
I drove my car out of the neighborhood the next morning, noticing that the gate guards were haggard and worn out. It is just a matter of time before these guys quit protecting us, I thought. It took over an hour to make a ten minute round trip into town. There was one cell tower still up behind Squid Roe, but it was swamped, and I could neither send, nor receive. I could not get down to Tiki, or our office. Devastation was everywhere. Driving back was even worse. The highway was covered in a mud slide. My car is a new Cadillac, very low to the ground. It was a struggle getting through.
True to his word, the next morning Hugo made it with five workers. They all jumped in and started cleaning. What did not occur to me previously, was I had to feed these guys and provide drinking water and beverages. Workers in the heat drink a lot. They did a great job, but dropped my dwindling supplies by a full ten days of personal resources. Drat.
People continued to drop in from around the neighborhood. The single older ladies in particular, were deeply stressed. They simply did not know what to do or how to do it. They were scared. Not only were they scared, but they began to tell each other the rumors they were hearing, making things all that much worse. A panicky attitude can be as dangerous as the situation driving it. I spent more time than I would have preferred trying to calm terrified ladies down.
At noon the next day I decided to make the drive to La Paz. I had heard there was gas, food, and water available there. I took Jo, Hugo's wife, along as translator in case there were problems on the highway. Hugo stayed to protect the house. Just before I left, David Miller, Captain Chris' father, decided to follow me in his large pickup. Chris' daughter Taylor, his mother Dana, and their dog, also came along. Off we went. The three minute drive from the house to where we pass Costco on the main highway, took one hour and twenty minutes. The looters were everywhere. Literally, hundreds of them were out. I have never seen anything like it. Every store in Cabo had been ransacked. Seriously, every store was hit. The few army guys were completely overwhelmed. I have never seen anything like it, and I hope I never do again.
Eventually we made the open road and sped along at mostly 90 to 100 mph to avoid being flagged down by anyone that might have ulterior motives. (I tend to drive stupid fast down here anyway, once I am out of town.) We passed hundreds of power poles down. I was to learn the next day, that there were over 3,300 power poles down in the Cabo area. Unbelievable, but that is what the electric people were reporting. We passed gas station after station, and store after store, all closed. We were getting worried. By the time we made the downtown area of La Paz things were improved. La Paz is the capital of the state of Baja Sur. It is about three times larger than Cabo San Lucas and San Jose del Cabo combined. Yes there was hurricane damage here, but nothing like Cabo. We found an open gas station with a long line, and got in it. There was cell phone service here although spotty from being swamped with tens of thousands of extra calls. Grocery stores were open. Life was almost normal here. Hooray!
We went shopping and got the supplies we were seeking, all except flashlights, which apparently everyone was sold out of. We went to a hotel where we have a contract for guests. They said they were closed, but they gave us rooms anyway. Power was by generator for only three hours that evening. It was still, hot, and muggy, but we had dinner as a group, with Captain Chris and Cesi, the latter who had served us as our oceanographer during the prior season. Only two selections for food were available, but it was something. The toilets did not flush until 8:00 the next morning when the power came on for a while, but hey, life had definitely improved.
Then we started getting reports from the cruisers net. Friends had died on boats in the bay. Twenty-two boats in La Paz alone had washed up on shore, plus those that had sunk. Thanks to Captain Chris, and a lot of luck, Island Cat was unscathed. Oregon TV was already hailing Chris as a hero, not just for saving our boat, but for helping save a number of other unattended boats in the marina. Some boat captains had decided to have their yachts pulled and stored in boatyards before the hurricane. I took pictures the next day of a dozen high-end vessels up on the hard. They had fallen over on one another like a huge pile of dominoes.
Thousands of homes and buildings suffered serious destruction from Hurricane Odille. The extensive damage done to years of investment by the Mexican government in infrastructure was swept away in one night. But the really amazing news was the response of the government. It was, and is, simply fantastic. Two days after the hurricane 7,000 military arrived, plus another 1,000 Federal Police. The looting stopped immediately. Historically, Cabo is the safest place in Mexico. According to FBI records, Cabo is also safer than just about anywhere in the U.S., and much safer than any of the largest 100 U.S. cities. So, seeing the looting up close and personal was a real sad experience for me.
The military and governmental response, along with the resilience of the average person, is the great success story here. The military has been friendly, helpful, and doing massive clean-up. Wow, I must admit, I have been very impressed. A thousand electric workers with hundreds of trucks arrived via ferries from the mainland. Recently, I drove into town and there was a large truck lift extended to the top of 27 electrical poles IN A ROW. All the poles were new. There were literally hundreds of guys working down both sides of the street. It really is an amazing sight.
Only three days after the disaster, the president of Mexico was in our neighborhood doing a personal site examination. Yes, of course, it was a photo-shoot, but it shows the commitment of the government to actually resolving local problems. Military ships arrived. Army trucks deliver food and water to the barrios every day. No one is starving. No one is without drinking water. Now, just two weeks later, we have managed to buy all the replacement doors and windows needed to complete our rebuild. Everything came from La Paz Home Depot. The one in Cabo, literally across the street from us, was completely ransacked and the roof had collapsed. The downtown is back alive. Stores are re-opening. Hundreds of semi-trucks have arrived to re-stock the stores that have been rebuilt enough to handle the inventory. Everywhere new construction is underway.
The business of Cabo is tourism. It is a huge cash cow to the Mexican economy. The beaches have already been cleared, and fishing boats are back out with guests. Our ground transportation and boat is immediately available for Swimming with Whale Sharks; for exploring desert islands and Remote Beaches. Many hotels have re-opened. Restaurants are coming back to life. Things are returning to normal. Yes, it will take time to rebuild in some areas, but for travelers wanting to escape the coming wet and cold of fall and winter, this is still one of the best places in the world to visit.