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Hurricane David By: Tim Ebaugh The middle of summer marks the start of the Atlantic hurricane season and thanks to El Nino, National Hurricane Center prognosticators are predicting heavy tropical action this year. Brevard County has escaped the wrath of a major hurricane since weather services began tracking the storms in the early 1900's. We have had several close calls and many storms have skirted our coastline. The eye of Erin in'95 and David in '79 wandered over Brevard, packing quite a punch. Both were only minimal "category one" hurricanes. These passing storms offer a blessing in disguise for the Brevard surfing population in the form of drastically increased wave conditions, with the swells sometimes reaching Hawaiian proportions. Hurricane David was one such storm, one I'll never forget. While most of the coastal residents were battening the hatches and running around the grocery stores in a panic, my friends and I were smuggling our surfboards into my little Mazda station wagon. Devising a plan to sneak past barricades and police officers stationed at the causeways was not an easy task, but the desire to surf sparked our creativity and we came up with a real corker. I pulled the car up to the base of the Eau Gallie causeway where two sheriff's deputies stood watch directing the heavy west bound traffic, while blocking the east bound lanes. One officer approached my window. "Your gonna have to turn around son." He said sternly. "The storms outer bands are only four to six hours away and we're evacuating the entire beachside." He glanced into the rear of the wagon, where under a pile of cardboard boxes and blankets, sandwiched between three surfboards, Paul and Brent remained perfectly still. Thrown on top for good measure was an old wheelchair. "I understand officer" I began. I was fully clothed over my surf baggies so as not to arouse suspicion. "But you see my grandmother is expecting me, she's very old and scared. She can't get around without that." I motioned toward the wheelchair. "I had to take it home to repair one of the wheels" I continued, the genuine concern for my fictitious grandmother drawing lines of worry in my face. The deputy took a prolonged look into the back of the car and quickly asked me her address. "We'll send a patrol car for her." he snapped. After a brief moment of panic I rattled off the address of one of my beach buddies and explained how, in her delicate condition, dear grandma would surely have a heart attack at the sight of the police beating on her door. "I'm sorry son, I just can't allow........" Screeching tires and a subsequent clash of metal diverted the officer's attention as a west bound van slammed into the car right next to us. Starting toward the accident scene the officer looked back and motioned me on. "I better see you back here within the hour." Amidst a series of muffled hoots and hollers I gave Paul and Brent the all clear and we motored over the causeway and towards the beach. The waves were not quite as large as we'd hoped and there was a strong northerly current as Hurricane David was pushing in from the South. Thirty minutes into our session, with the waves building rapidly, I heard Brent shout my name, pointing out to sea. My heart dropped into my baggies. An enormous set of waves, like a line of rolling, snow-capped mountains, appeared on the horizon. Survival instinct kicked in and I paddled furiously towards the first huge wall of water. I barely cleared the crest of the first wave, then another. There was seemingly no end to the swells. I realized my only recourse was to catch one of the frothy monsters and attempt to ride it in. I swung my board towards shore and caught the next wave, which quickly lifted me ten feet high as I jumped to my feet. Rocketing down the face of the wave I turned hard at the bottom, my short surfboard no match for the wave's tremendous power. The last thing I saw before an avalanche of surging water crushed me was Paul's surfboard, holding a steady line in front of me. Paul was not on it. Rolling and twisting under the powerful wave I had a flashback of the time I threw my sisters Raggedy Andy in the washing machine. Raggedy Tim. About ten minutes later, which felt more like ten hours, a breaker deposited me softly on a wooden step, about halfway up the stairway leading to a boardwalk. Nearly two miles from where we started! At the top of the stairway stood Brent and Paul, each clutching remnants of a surfboard. Breathless and beat we made our way to the car, barely a word was spoken. Surviving such an experience tends to turn ordinary people into great philosophers. Close friends become closer. Everyday things are suddenly important. Outside the comforts of home sweet home, David gained strength and whistled his eerie tune, constantly knocking on windows and rattling the house. Throughout the dark night we talked about life, and death. We thanked the Lord for sparing us that afternoon. We agreed unanimously. Never would we surf hurricane waves again. "I may never surf again period." I said. Plenty of other things to do than go surfing. The next morning, while surveying David's somewhat extensive damage, the three of us stood outside. With the gentle, after-storm offshore breeze blowing upon our tired faces, we began scheming of a plan to get across the causeway to go surfing. |
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