Chapter 10
Oborea and Andrew
Aug to Sept 1992
1/ The Preparations
Tropical Depression number 3 of 1992 started as a Tropical Wave somewhere west of the Cape Verde islands and dribbled
across the Atlantic with winds in the twenty to thirty knot range. By August 18th it was 700 miles east of the Windward
Islands and started to curve north as do dozens of other depressions each year. Its winds briefly rose above forty five
knots, making it officially a Tropical Storm and giving it a name: Andrew. For the next four days it continued northwest
well offshore as a borderline storm, and when we arrived at Miami on the 22nd it was right on our latitude 800 miles due
east, still heading north of west. Our Miami friends relaxed, these storms never travel due west for 800 miles, they always
curve north a bit. Coming up against a strong area of high pressure over northern Florida, Andrew thought otherwise and
turned due west and the winds increased to over sixty
four knots making it the first hurricane of the season.
Our friends in Miami said that it wouldn't travel 800
miles without curving one way or another, but if it
did, they would anchor their boat in one of the wide
canals in the north part of Miami beach. By Saturday
night Andrew had not wavered and we would have to
do something first thing next morning.
Where to go was the question. I had heard that a good
idea was to take the boat into an area of mangroves
and tie off to these low wiry bushes; their springiness
would absorb the shocks of the hurricane. We knew of
one such area but it was forty miles south, a day's
travel, and the holding was not particularly good if we
had to use anchors as well. Also if the authorities
decided to evacuate the barrier islands, as now seemed likely, the draw bridges would all be locked down and we might be
trapped somewhere where we did not want to be. There was another smaller mangrove fringed bay five miles north, but it
was open to the east and was separated from the ocean by only a narrow strip of low land. If the eye of the hurricane
continued on its present course it would pass south of us and the strongest winds would come from the east. They were
also predicting a surge of up to thirteen feet which could flood the land between us and the ocean. We decided finally to do
as our friends and anchor in the canal. It was open only to the west which would be the least strong winds, and was
protected from the ocean by a dozen blocks of Miami Beach.
We moved Oborea and laid out three anchors, all on very long scopes. In the open direction to the west we put out our
60lb CQR on 5/8th inch line, to the east a 45lb CQR on 5/8th inch line and to the north a 45lb CQR clone on 1/2 inch line.
Then we put all sails and everything else movable below decks, and double lashed everything that remained topsides. We,
together with our friends, had considered staying aboard. This seemed a practical proposition with winds up to 100 mph,
but Andrew was still building with winds of 140 to 150 mph. The order to evacuate Miami Beach had already been given; it
was time to go. We loaded valuables, emergency food and some water and clothing into three bags and with the three cats
set off in the dinghy. As we pulled away I took a photograph of Oborea knowing that this could well be the last picture I
would ever take of her. It was not a nice feeling.
2/ The Flight
Ashore our next problem was to find a rental car. Our friends had offered us a lift if all else failed, but as they had only a
compact pickup truck it would have meant riding in the back with the cats and all our worldly possessions like something
from The Grapes of Wrath in possibly stormy conditions. After many fruitless calls we finally found a branch of one of the
major car rental chains on Miami Beach that had one car, but I would have to pick it up by four as they were being
evacuated. I took a cab against all the evacuation traffic and got there by quarter to, but they were already closed. We
phoned them again and found that through the magic of call-forwarding they had not actually been at the location that we
called and had neglected to tell us so. Acknowledging their error they arranged a car for us at their main branch at the
airport and said they would pick up the cab fare. “it's all arranged, just ask for Joanne''. By now they were evacuating not
just Miami Beach, but the mainland to Biscayne Blvd ten blocks inland, and traffic was getting chaotic. We got to the
airport five minutes after Joanne had gone off duty and left no record of us and our three bags and the cats. At this point
Iris got angry, Picasso the Siamese joined in with all his complaints and they finally agreed to rent us a car. First we were
assigned to one that did not exist, another screw-up, but eventually we were on our way.
We wanted to avoid the Interstate Highway system which was reported to be packed solid, and headed for highway 27, an
arterial road that runs up the center of the state. Traffic was heavy but moving well. By now the radio was reporting that all
hotel rooms were filled up to and including the Orlando area 200 miles north. We pushed on past Lake Okeechobee, in the
dark now. Almost every motel had a NO VACANCY sign, and those that did not, we found after a dozen fruitless stops,
were just as full. North of Sebring we took an alternate scenic route; there was nothing to see in the dark but the traffic was
lighter. It was after eleven o'clock at night now and the radio was now reporting no accommodations south of the Georgia
border another two hundred miles to the north. There were public Hurricane Relief shelters, but they did not take pets so
we were finally resigned to sleeping in the car at the side of the road when we decided to try one last motel in the town of
Lake Wales. The owner of the Tower View Motel had been holding three reservations but no one had arrived to claim them
and he wanted to go to bed so he had decided to let them go. We got the last one.
3/ The Wait
We had a nice room, two double beds and a full kitchen and all for $35 a night. The cats were in heaven with a full bed to
themselves. We were in a lovely scenic area close to the highest point in Florida. This could be a nice little holiday away
from the boat. But we could not get away from the television and its hurricane reports. Winds were up to 145 mph now and
it was coming right for Miami. How could Oborea possibly survive? The eye was supposed to hit land between 9 and 10
next morning so we got a little sleep.
At six next morning it was still dark, but reports were starting to come in. The motion of the hurricane had speeded up
considerably and it had come ashore shortly before 5 with winds of 130 to 140 mph. The national Hurricane Center had
reported a peak gust of 164 mph. At first light the TV stations started to poke cameras out into their parking lots. One
reporter clinging to a cement post against the wind reported how all the cars in the lot had their windows broken by gravel
flying off the roof. Dan Rather, his jacket whipping around him reported that the shaking received by all the cars in his
area had set off all the burglar alarms. It was only a couple of hours later when the stations could send up their camera
helicopters that the devastation became apparent. Mile after mile of homes destroyed in Homestead and Florida City (both
southern suburbs of Miami) Tamiami airport destroyed with not one flyable plane, even the hangars collapsed. No
electrical power in Miami and very limited telephone service. Trees and electrical cables blocking every road. Very little
about how boats fared, there were much more
important things to show. Could Oborea possibly
have survived when so much had not? Our only
consolation was that most of the destruction they
were showing was in the south part of the city while
we were in the north, but the distance was not very
great. The urge was to return and see if we still had a
home, but all day we were warned to stay away,
streets were still impassible all through the greater
Miami area so we stayed in Lake Wales another day.
Here in the center of the state it was a little breezy
with a couple of showers but otherwise it was a
pleasant day. We even swam in the pool. But all the
time we were thinking: what are we going to do for
the next few years of our lives without our boat? We
were already making alternate plans.
4/ The Return
Tuesday morning we started back through the
beautiful countryside of central Florida. The sun
shone and it seemed there could be nothing wrong in
the world except that over the radio all we heard
were reports of the thousands of homeless, the desperately needed supplies and the immense rescue effort that was oh so
slowly starting to roll. They sounded like reports from another world and in a way they were. We got as far south as
southern Fort Lauderdale before we saw any kind of damage—a few broken tree limbs—and our spirits started to pick up a
bit, we were less than ten miles from Oborea. But then things started to change rapidly. Not just tree limbs were down, we
had to jog around whole trees. We saw downed power lines arcing and glowing red and there were no traffic lights. Miami
favours the type of lights that hang over the center of the intersection on cables and they had all blown away. A newspaper
report said that of 2,400 traffic lights in Dade County, less than 400 were working. Only the really major intersections had
police to direct traffic as most were engaged in the rescue effort. Shops were shut as there was no electrical power, the gas
stations could pump no gas. Sand drifts extended across the highway opposite the gaps in the hotel strip.
As we continued south we started to see more structural damage; awnings and signs were gone, shingles and tiles were
ripped from roofs and unprotected store windows were blown in. Our spirits started to sink again. Oborea was anchored in
a residential area and we wanted to get close enough to see if she was still there. We searched through the winding roads of
Normans Island detouring around streets blocked by trees, peering between the houses for a glimpse of her and then we
both yelled together as we saw her masts. We could not see the hulls yet as they were behind some shrubbery—were they
still in the middle of the canal or had she piled up against the cement walls? We jumped out of the car and hurried through
someone's yard until we could see all of her. What we had given a less than 50-50 chance had occurred—Oborea was afloat
and appeared undamaged. We just stood in that back yard and hugged each other.
It was only later when I went aboard that I realised just how lucky we had been. A big power cruiser astern of us had piled
up on shore, and in spite of all my precautions both 5/8 inch lines had chafed through—we were lying to the CQR clone on
the 1/2 inch line only!
5/ The Aftermath
A couple of things helped Oborea to survive, one was the compactness of Andrew. Although it was the third strongest
hurricane ever to hit the US, it was also one of the smallest in area. Although Oborea was only 15 miles from the eye wall
with its 160 mph gusts, a map printed in the newspaper estimated the winds where we were as not much over 100 mph.
The other factor was Andrew's forward speed. As it crossed the coast it was travelling at 16 mph, this combined with its
compact size meant the hurricane force winds did not affect the area for as long as is usual; they did not have time to build
up the predicted 13 to 18 foot surge (In fact it was generally less than eight feet).
We were very lucky. Dinner Key, the biggest live-aboard anchorage in Miami was
decimated with boats sunk or piled helter skelter ashore. Even closer to us, less than a
quarter mile away many boats were sunk or stranded. We were back aboard but living
in a kind of twilight zone. A dusk to dawn curfew ashore was enforced by the national
guard with assault rifles and it was several days before power was restored to Miami
Beach. All Dade County was under a "boil all drinking water'' order and one had to
drive to the next county to find a store that still had bottled water. Without power
none of the draw bridges were working so we could not leave so we drove up to Fort
Lauderdale to check on our friends André and Karen. We found them fine, but their
boat Ru was at Islamorada in the keys, an area that was not badly hit, but they could
not get down to check on her as the roads in South Dade were closed. They phoned a
restaurant from which their boat could be seen and they reported that she dragged
anchor for a mile but appeared all right, but it was six days before André and Karen
could get down and check for themselves.
As luck would have it we were between the last two bridges to become functional and
we did not leave Miami until exactly a week after the hurricane, heading south for the
Keys. In Biscayne Bay we sailed through great swaths of floating debris, mostly weed
and leaves but with enough solids like floating piles and chunks of docks to keep you
on your toes. On Key Biscayne the forest of casuarinas was reduced to sticks leaving
the old lighthouse as the highest point around. For forty miles, all the way to Key
Largo we saw large boats high and dry in the bushes and we even saw a large capsized
trimaran amongst the mangroves.
We are now in Marathon, half way down the Keys and Andrew seems a long way away,
but even here we are affected. All the powerlines to the mainland are down, and the
Keys themselves do not have sufficient generating capacity. No air conditioners are
allowed and other major appliances are restricted to a short time each day. This
restriction was not to be lifted for two and a half weeks. Ashore from us an old fish
plant building has been converted to a hurricane refuge for refugees from South Dade.
The blue cross shows Oborea’s position
Path of Andrew