THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, November 27, 1994 TAG: 9411240284
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 06 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: Ron Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 73 lines
``Maelstrom'' was the word that immediately flashed across my mind in capital letters when I crossed the crest of the dune at dawn, leaning into the wind, and saw the sea.
The surf - multicolored, noisy, frightening - was boiling out as far as I could see.
It kept slamming into the dune with hammering punches - not from majestic, awesome whitecaps treasured by surfers, but from confusing, ugly waves flattened by howling winds.
Never before had the word ``maelstrom'' seemed appropriate.
But at dawn on Nov. 18 it was the only word I could think of that vividly described the seas spawned by the approach of Hurricane Gordon.
``Violently confused . . . dangerously agitated'' says Webster's in defining maelstrom, a name given a dangerous whirlpool off the coast of Norway four centuries ago.
That's a perfect description of the seas sent us by Gordon, a goofy storm that wandered off the coast like a drunken dog before turning away.
The winds weren't bad, and man didn't take much of a beating from this storm.
But the fragile strip of land known as the Outer Banks was battered viciously by the seas of an otherwise easily-forgotten hurricane.
Some oldtimers say the storm did as much damage to the beaches as any they could remember.
But if you didn't go near the beaches - or watch television - you might not have known a hurricane was around.
A few hours after watching the surf pound the dunes at dawn, I went home for lunch in Manteo and felt like I was in another world. The air was calm, and I read while I ate outdoors on a picnic table on a balmy afternoon.
But just a few miles away, marching to a unending roar of noise, the seas were eating into the sands, from Virginia Beach to Ocracoke, devouring dunes and cutting through the only highway linking the barrier islands.
The surf's attack on the land continued long after Gordon lost its bluster, continuing to send flood waters across portions of Hatteras Island while most of us were already celebrating the good fortune of having dodged another bullet.
Everyone knew Gordon was coming, of course. Experts now are able to track hurricanes from their birth until they fade into history, and sophisticated equipment provides us with a good idea of where they're headed. I kept an eye on the storm's progress when it headed through the Caribbean, not much unconcerned because the hurricane season is supposed to end Nov. 1.
And when Gordon rolled into the Gulf of Mexico, I forgot about it because hurricanes don't cut back across land.
This hurricane did, flooding Florida as it returned to the Atlantic and headed north.
That caught the attention of Outer Banks residents. We filled coolers and checked flashlights and did what more-experienced neighbors told us to do.
And we cheered when hurricane trackers told us the storm was going away.
The storm marked the first time I was around for the start of a hurricane, although I've come in after they were over to check out the damages.
And easily the most surprising thing to me was the noise.
I could hear the angry, growling sound far from the oceanfront where the surf was slamming against the sand.
The unending roar from this wimpy example of a hurricane was a chilling reminder of how much power Mother Nature packs when she turns against us.
Gordon's winds never got above 80 knots, which barely qualified it as a hurricane.
It is hard to image what a storm spawning winds of 150 knots would sound like when it makes a landfall.
I hope I never find out. by CNB