By 5:00 AM Friday, Lenny had been downgraded to a Category 1 hurricane (Advisory 24), and had moved over Anguilla for a second shot at destroying what it missed the first time.  While you might shrug and ask “what’s a mere 85 knots”, the NOAA still had absolutely no idea where this thing was going next, and I didn’t want it in my backyard.

By the time I was pouring my morning coffee, Lenny had drifted back over St. Maarten to give them an additional day of grief.  I took the dinghy in to the marina to look at the forecast and was dismayed by the Advisory Notice indicating that this damn hurricane would be stalled for another 24 hours.  We would have to wait another day to find out who would win the “Lenny Lucky Draw”.  Nobody could say for sure, and I believed it was entirely possible that it could be us.  “Great,” I thought, “I own the boat for 6 months and it’s sunk by a hurricane.”

I was now becoming quite annoyed by this thing.  We had been rained on for two days.  We would be rained on for another day.  Then things might possibly get worse.  I was annoyed that I had deliberately decided several times that week to move the boat and crew in a direction that could potentially place us in harm’s way.  I really wanted to be as far south as possible at that moment.  Venezuela seemed fine to me.  I briefly considered making a run for St. Lucia, but quickly came to my senses.

The weather that morning was really quite nice, with a light overcast and zero wind.  I took the opportunity to repair the seal on the overhead hatch in my cabin.  That hatch had performed like Niagara Falls during each and every thunderstorm that rolled through over the past two days.  Any of you who have ever repaired a hatch, you will know that you have to dismantle the entire boat.  All the interior furniture must be removed and the diesel engine completely stripped down before you can work on the hatch.

The Better It Gets, The Worse It Seems

The light overcast of the morning clouded over and by early afternoon, it was starting to rain again.  For the first time, we had wind.  I went in to the marina to check the 2:00 PM forecast to determine if we were the lucky ones who would inherit Lenny next.  Advisory 25A indicated that the storm was considerably weaker at 65 knots and was finally moving away from St. Maarten. Hooray!

But wait.  This was not consistent with what I was seeing around me in Le Marin, Martinique.  The wind and the rain were getting worse.  Boats were entering the marina in record numbers and being tied down with many lines.  There was a huge lineup of people at the public telephones, people were dashing about, and there was a real buzz of activity at the marina.

When I saw a staff member from Moorings running down the dock, I lost it.  Why is he running? Is there something that everybody else except me knows?   I decided to call Seth at Barefoot Yachts to find out what I should do next.  On the phone, his first question was “Where the hell are you?  We were getting concerned because we had not heard from you guys.”  Using carefully controlled vocal tones, I lied, “Oh, we’re having a great time here, no worries.”  Seth then advised me that Lenny was about to be downgraded to a Tropical Storm and that we should have absolutely nothing to worry about.  LIAT was still flying and Gord would definitely be on the plane that night.  I was relieved.  I hung up the phone and headed back to the boat just as the rain began to really come down hard.  If Seth told me not to worry, then I wouldn’t.  That was that.

We picked up the rental car at 5:00 PM and headed off to the airport to meet Gord.  By the time we arrived, it was dark, the rain was coming down in buckets, and it was windy as hell.  Ironically, the NOAA had downgraded Lenny to a Tropical Storm at about that time, despite the surrounding evidence to the contrary.

A few hours earlier over the eastern Caribbean at 37,000 feet, Gord was strapped into seat 456Z on Air Canada 966 flying from Toronto to Barbados.  He would later connect on a LIAT puddle-hopper to join us in Martinique.  He wrote of his trip:

“Flying Into the Heart Of Darkness – On the flight down to Barbados, we certainly could see the storm off to our left as we flew south/southeast over San Juan.  The flight path usually takes us over Guadeloupe, down the island chain to Martinique, and then southeast into Barbados.  The Captain came on and remarked that due to weather, he would be taking a more southerly track.  The first Windward Island we saw was St Vincent and we flew the last 90 miles due east into Barbados.  As I looked north after the turn, I could make out St Lucia but nothing northwards. My stomach rolled as I thought about the roughness of the upcoming connector flight!”

“Upon my arrival, the connecting LIAT flight to Martinique via St. Lucia was shown as “Delayed”.  I feared the worst and was fully expecting to be staying in Barbados for a couple of days.  When the flight was finally called, approx 1.5 hours late, they announced that there would be a route change – Martinique was to be our first stop.  All passengers going onto St Lucia would change planes in Martinique.  With the routing change, instead of me being a couple of hours late and having the crew waiting, I wound up only being approximately 20 minutes late of the predicted landing time.  The flight was certainly not smooth and as we got near Martinique, rain started to streak on the windows.“

“As I walked from the plane across the tarmac to the terminal, the wind was certainly gusting but nothing to fret about.  I remember a warm wind replete with warm rain, but when you have just left a gloomy cold Canadian late-fall day and are now in the tropics with a welcoming rum punch just around the corner, a little rain and wind slide off the worry scale very quickly.  I should have known that fate had simply kept the door open and I had blindly stepped through into the paws of Hurricane Lenny.”

The Arrival of Gordon Paperman 

We arrived at the airport early.  I dropped Tiny off at the arrivals entrance to run in and check to make sure the LIAT flight was in fact operating.  I planned to drive around in circles until he returned with news of the situation.  On my 47^th lap, I was running low on fuel and ducked into the pits.  Tiny was detained for some stupid reason, so I decided to park the car and go to the bar across the street from the arrivals door.  Tiny finally returned with news that there were in fact two LIAT flights arriving within 5 minutes of each other from Barbados.  This was good.

I tried to enjoy my beer, despite the fact that each passing thundershower seemed to get worse and worse.   I thought of the boat left unattended back in Le Marin.  Tiny offered some comfort, “It’s probably run aground by now, so there’s nothing more to worry about.  And don’t forget, it’s considered an abandoned vessel, so whoever lays claim to it, now owns it according to marine law.  As well, your insurance is void because you voluntarily abandoned a vessel that was not in peril.  By the way, what kind of beer do you want, it’s my round”.  At this moment, I was not sure if Tiny would ever be invited on another trip.

Finally, at 8:32 PM AST Friday November 19, 1999, Gordon Paperman himself walked through the arrivals door and a new chapter of our adventure was about to begin.

Friday Night Hurricane Party

The wind and the thundershowers continued to get worse on our drive back to Le Marin.  When we arrived at the marina, I looked out at the harbor from a second story balcony and was horrified at what I saw.  There were whitecaps in the harbor, the wind was 20 – 25 knots, and I could not see my boat.  I checked the Weather Advisory, which ironically still showed the 5:00 PM forecast that indicated Lenny had been downgraded, and there was absolutely nothing to worry about.  Don’t these people look out the window?  Probably not.  The last official weather forecast for the Caribbean was in fact developed in 1873, and has been replayed ever since – “It’s hot out!”

Tiny, who was pushing his luck now, suggested that we head right to the bar.  I insisted on going out to the boat to check things out, and convinced Gord to come along to get rid of his duffel bag before we went for dinner.

The dinghy ride out was rough, to say the least.  We were headed directly into 2-3 foot chop, with no visibility in the unlit harbor in driving rain.  I guided the dinghy using dead reckoning to the spot where the boat should have been.  It was not there.  I could make out that we had passed the catamaran “Ballade”, which had been anchored just beyond us earlier that afternoon.  This did not make sense.  A wave of panic came over me as I tried to figure out exactly where we were.  Somehow I managed to get my bearings and concluded that we had not traveled far enough, and that the skipper of “Ballade” had moved in closer to the marina.  I made a mental note to sink his boat later, in thanks for the momentary panic he caused.  We quickly found The Usual Suspects, and Gord unloaded his gear.  We were both drenched from head to toe.

After a quick survey, Gord and I concluded that despite the chop on the water, the wind was not extreme and that we were well anchored.  I could live with that, although I remember thinking at the time, I would have preferred the situation to be different.  We returned to the marina for dinner at Mango Bay Restaurant.

We were well lubricated by 11:00 PM, when Tropical Storm Lenny reached Antigua about 170 miles away (Advisory 27).  It was now on a southeast track.  That’s right SOUTHeast!  We were on our 6^th pitcher of beer and I was now beginning to relax and enjoy myself.

At midnight, we decided to go back to the boat for rummers.  Before leaving, Gord and I took a walk through the marina and discussed a plan for docking in case things really got out of hand later.  We would have exactly one shot at getting it right, given that there would be an intense amount of wind.  There was a buzz of activity on many of the boats, preparing for what was going to be a windy night.  You could sense a bit of tension.

The wave conditions in the harbor dictated that I would had to make two dinghy trips to ferry the crew home.  I delivered the Round Man on the first trip.  As I left to pick up the others, he began pouring rummers.  These were ready for us when Gord, Tiny, and I returned 10 minutes later.

We surveyed the anchor situation and concluded that we were very well hooked.  There did not seem like a huge amount of pressure on the anchor, so we poured another rummer.  When Gord finished his, he announced that there was nothing to worry about, and that he was going to bed.  With that announcement, he did just that.  I concluded that if Gord, who usually is the first to be concerned over inclement weather, could sleep, so could I.

Night From Hell

At 4:00 AM, we were awakened by a very wild thunderstorm, complete with torrential rain, lightening, loud thunder, and very big wind, probably 40 – 50 knots.  All four of us were on deck to survey the situation.  There was a lot of pressure on the anchor while the boat fishtailed back and forth under the force of the wind.  The boat shuddered and vibrated each time we got hit by an extreme gust.  As the boat owner, I did not enjoy all this stress and strain.

I was really getting concerned because this was the worst weather we had experienced during the entire week, all from a storm that was supposed to be over.  Was it possible that Lenny had re-intensified overnight and was heading right for us?  Was it also possible that we were the only four idiots on the planet who did not know it?  I really wanted an updated weather forecast at that time, but it was no longer possible to go ashore in the dinghy.  We were forced to sit and wait, a situation I was not happy with.

All around us, people were on deck trying to figure out what was going to happen.  The crew on three boats to weather of us began to panic and pulled anchor, perhaps thinking it was safer in the marina.  We held a brief conference and decided to stay put until the anchor was no longer doing its job.  Besides, I did not think we could pull anchor anyway, given that our anchor was directly under the boat to weather as a result of a 90-degree wind shift.  I was not confident I could hold the boat into the wind during the procedure, and would probably end up crashing into a neighbor.  I figured if we were going to cause hull damage, I might as well let Mother Nature initiate it.

One of the boats that pulled anchor, a brand-new Sunsail Oceanis 50, shot past us at flank speed, missing by only 10 feet.  Their genoa had partially unfurled and the skipper of this boat was intent on getting into the marina in a big hurry.  I guess they could not find a parking spot because a few minutes later, they shot past us again, this time a little closer.  I could not understand where they were going, because they were heading out of the harbor.  In a short time, they turned left and appeared to be headed towards the mangrove swamp, looking for better shelter.  They obviously did not know about the reef that was in the way because in no time, I could see they were not moving.  The port navigation light was stopped solid in the distance, meaning that their stern was facing into the wind, definitely not a condition favorable to anchoring.  They were aground.  On the bright side, they no longer had to worry about sinking!

This show was interrupted when we heard a sound directly behind us.  One of the other boats that pulled anchor, a 35-foot catamaran, was 10 feet to our stern.  The skipper was on deck by himself, throwing the anchor.  He then ran back to the wheel and engaged full reverse in an attempt to set the hook.  I could see a lone figure in one of the windows looking out.  I surmised that it was the skipper’s wife, probably quite upset at the whole affair her husband got her into.  I speculated that he was alone on deck because she refused to take part in the mess that he was responsible for.

I was at least satisfied that our anchor was holding, because we did not budge one millimeter in reference to the boats immediately around us.  The catamaran anchoring behind us only reminded me of a potential problem that might develop if one of the boats upwind were to break free.  I was certain our anchor would not hold if it had to support another boat, perhaps a catamaran that would become impaled on us.  This would be a BAD situation, and I worried about that one for the entire night.

By 5:00 AM, the big thunderstorm had passed and we were left with 25-knot winds and brief gusts to 30.  This was tolerable.  The catamaran that tried to hook behind us had in fact dragged.  I watched that skipper try to re-anchor at least a dozen times.  He eventually gave up and spent the next 3 hours motoring around the harbor trying not to hit anything.

Just before dawn, the big turquoise cruiser that was anchored to port of us got very sideways in the wind and began dragging the anchor.  The couple on deck just could not get the boat head-to-wind despite their best efforts, and quickly went to work trying to pull the anchor without hitting any of the boats downwind of them.  It was entertaining, to say the least, watching the two of them on deck trying to execute this maneuver.  I was glad they were downwind of us.  They did succeed after a couple of near misses with some downwind boats.  They finally did re-anchor an hour later after four failed attempts.

The Round Man and I stayed on deck until dawn just to make sure we did not miss any further entertainment.  At least things were stable, with the wind steady at only 20 – 25 knots, and occasional gusts to 30.  As long as things remained the same, we would be OK.  I remember focusing on each gust, trying to determine if there was an upward or downwind trend.  It nearly drove me nuts.  I can honestly say that at that moment, I really would have rather been somewhere else.

At 7:00 AM, the situation was stable enough that I felt comfortable enough to go down and sleep.  When I woke up two hours later, I could tell that the worst was over.