After Bill

Bill the Hurricane has passed our coast and passed from Hurricane into Tropical Storm status; that is, he has passed on and is gone from here. What we have now is strong northwesterlies that are rushing in to fill the gap that Bill’s centre of low pressure left behind. He was, as the man from Beyond the Fringe said, “not quite the conflagration we expected”, and we were glad for that. There was plenty of rain and plenty of wind and plenty of shaking of trees, but there was no shaking of our house and no debris flying around the property; in fact, the staging sections and ladders, the deck furniture, the plywood and scrap lumber were all lying exactly where I stowed them yesterday in anticipation of Bill.

So what was it like? This morning the waves hitting the shore at Sailor’s Point were unremarkable, nothing more than the usual good southeast gale, but down on Ferguson’s Cove Road the water was way up around Andrew’s wharf, even though it was still more than an hour until high tide, and John and Lesley’s lane was almost under water well ahead of the forecast storm surge. Bill did kick up some fuss, and our clumps of maples certainly thrashed their branches around, but nothing broke off and the torrential rain didn’t last long. The storm surge seemed not to amount to much and the gusts became less intense. While the large swells were crashing across Mauger’s Beach behind the lighthouse, the wind came around to the north and then northeast, and the whitecaps came straight across the harbour towards us, a sure sign that Bill’s centre had moved past.

Soon the wind shifted to northwest and the sky cleared a little. When we went back out to Sailor’s Point there were cars parked all up and down the road, and it was easy to see why. Bill had moved on but he had left behind huge swells that roared in from the open ocean and crashed on the rocks. There was something a little exotic about these giant rollers that came from way offshore where a huge depression called Bill had been stirring them up. Farther out on the shoal water just offshore they reared up and crested with the sharp wind blowing back plumes of spray so that they looked like white horses with flying white manes rushing in. People were standing everywhere, all looking seaward. Some held up their cameras and phones, but all were watching wave after wave. Out on the horizon spray flew upward in mysterious white blooms, and we all stood and watched.

Tonight Venus is bright in the eastern sky, the white blooms are still intact on our hydrangea, and there is a roar still coming in the window from the waves across the harbour. But Bill has gone, and we are OK. Tomorrow everyone goes back to their ordinary work, but they will all be talking. They’ll talk about Bill, what happened or didn’t happen and what he was or wasn’t, while Bill’s ragged remnants cross Newfoundland and end up in a couple of days lashing the coast of Ireland with whatever strength he has left.