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Nick was still putting the snubber on the anchor chain when
the first drops of rain began pelting the deck. We'd had a
nice trip that morning from Klein Curacao to the lagoon at
Spaanse Water, Curacao, but a nasty squall was now darkening
the horizon to the east.
Spaanse Water (called Spanish Water) is a rarity in the Caribbean,
a lagoon protected from the ocean on all sides. As such it
is extremely crowded during hurricane season, with boats packed
in like sardines. We found an open space in 35 feet of water
in area "B." Unfortunately, the proximity of other
boats prevented us from deploying our usual length of anchor
chain, an important factor in keeping the anchor set.
As the squall line approached, the wind piped up to 20-plus
knots and clocked from northeast to southwest. We anxiously
watched Caribbean Soul swing near her new neighbors
and prayed the anchor would hold. (I should note that our
anchor dragging incident in Georgetown has left us permanently
paranoid.) Meanwhile, a twirling funnel dipped out of a gray
cloud just ahead of us. When the squall had passed, we were
relieved to know our anchor set was solid. Little did we know
how much our fate would depend on that anchor holding during
the next two months.
This stressful opening act set the stage for the bad weather
drama we endured in Curacao. During the first few weeks we
experienced several ferocious nighttime thunderstorms. Counterclockwise
rotations from Hurricane Gustav and Tropical Storm Hannah
switched the wind to the west and pulled Venezuela's nightly
convection north to pound Curacao. The lightning from these
storms was awesome and frightening, sometimes reverberating
through our bodies. Several experienced cruisers said these
were the most violent thunderstorms they had ever seen, so
I don't think we're exaggerating or just being wimpy.
The drama continued with monotonous days punctuated by brief
episodes of nighttime terror. Daytime found us sweltering
miserably in 80-90 percent humidity with hardly a breath of
wind. "Hot and stanky" was the usual daily forecast
given by a cruiser weather reporter. Sunset brought relief
from the heat but found us anxiously watching the nightly
lightning show over the Venezuelan mainland. Sometimes these
storms would come booming over the hill to our south and keep
us awake and vigilant throughout the night. Dawn would find
us weary and grumpy, dreading yet another day of stifling
heat.
On one memorable night, the three of us were sitting in the
cockpit anxiously watching bold flashes of lightning descend
from towering cumulus to our south. As the thunder grew louder,
the boats all pointed into a light northerly breeze. Mosquitoes
buzzed around our heads in the tense, still air. Suddenly
the wind freshened and the lightning was upon us. Nick started
the engine. Without warning a gale-force downburst from the
south pushed the boat over, sending items flying into the
floor. Every boat around us took off in a different direction
trying to reorient their bows to the wind suddenly howling
off their sterns. It was impossible to tell if our anchor,
or our neighbors' anchors, were still holding. In the chaos,
Caribbean Soul raced toward two other boats that were
also out of control. Nick threw the boat into hard reverse
to avoid a collision. After a minute or so, the boats all
found their way back into the wind and order was restored.
The thunderstorm raged overhead, with ground strikes all around
us. When daylight finally brought an end to the tempest, we
assessed the damage. Boat: fiberglass intact and anchor unmoved.
Crew: exhausted and nerves shot.
Hurricane Omar debuted for the grand finale of our Curacao
weather drama. He started as a low pressure system drifting
north of Curacao that "could develop at any time"
(how I've learned to loathe those words!) At midnight on Monday,
October 13th, squalls from the west with 20-30 knots of sustained
wind and gusts into the 30s came howling across the lagoon.
Our anxious 36-hour vigil had begun. Several boats dragged
anchor and had to reset in the storm, but thankfully no one
was damaged.
When Tuesday dawned, we learned that Tropical Depression
15 had formed north of us and would eventually strengthen
and turn northeast. To our dismay, the 11:00 AM update showed
the storm heading southeast (toward us!) and strengthening.
By 2:00 PM, Tropical Storm Omar was spinning just 95 miles
to our north and still heading southeast! With his christening,
we no longer had insurance coverage, and tropical storm force
winds were now within 20 miles of Curacao. A few boats moved
over to the east side of the lagoon, but we decided to stick
with our tried and true anchor despite the unnerving proximity
of our neighbors.
By 5:00 PM, great relief spread over the anchorage. Omar
was strengthening but now moving east-northeast. During the
night he ramped up to hurricane status and accelerated to
the northeast, but heavy squalls continued to spin off his
southwest quadrant and track across Curacao. One of these
brought 45 knots (52 mph) and the most terrifying episode
yet. Nick motored into the anchor to reduce the strain and
to avoid a boat ahead of us that was swinging wildly across
the wind and precariously close to us.
By Wednesday morning, the winds were still howling but the
worst of the storm had passed. The drama was coming to an
end, and everyone was exhausted from two nights of sleep deprivation.
Omar, now a Category 3 hurricane, was crossing the Anegada
passage between the Virgin Islands and St. Maarten. One last
thunderstorm came through Curacao before noon. It seemed almost
anti-climatic, but then we heard a nearby CRACK from a lightning
strike. At that moment, our wind instrument, which Nick had
just repaired and mounted on our masthead the week before,
flashed 0 and died. And with that, Omar took his final curtain
call.
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Deanna standing in front of mural by local
artist Nina Sanchez.
Colorful waterfront at Willemstad, Curacao.
Venezuelan fresh market in Punda. One day
while walking through here, a
local man offered to sell Nick some drugs. "Everything
is legal here, just like
in Amersterdam," he assured us. Yeah right! Did we look
like we had just
stumbled off the latest cruise ship?
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