Jack Rowland is photo technology editor for the Times. He is chronicling his experiences covering Hurricane Frances with the Times photo team.
By JACK ROWLAND
Published September 6, 2004
[Times photo: Jack Rowland]
The 38-foot Damon Intruder being used by the photo team in South Florida. The gray dish on the ground is part of a high-speed satellite phone that photographers use to check e-mail, browse the web and send photos.
Sept. 5, 2004 -- The winds were heavy all day in Naples, making it unsafe to drive the 38-foot wall on wheels to the east coast. Tom Scherberger and I waited, waited and waited for a chance to dash across Alligator Alley. But each time it seemed things had settled down, another squall line would come and blow us around some more. Eventually Scherberger was called back to St. Pete leaving me in Naples alone.
Determined to get across the state, I kept checking the radar on the web. Around 5 p.m. two squall lines appeared with a big gap between them. I decided to let the first one pass, give it a head start and then try to stay between them to get across. When I left around 6 p.m. it was very calm and it appeared my plan was working.
About half way across the second squall caught up with me and made it challenging at times to stay on the road. I slowed down a bit, to have more reaction time to the gusts, and that helped. The gusts were sudden and violent, as if it was Frances' birthday and she was blowing out the candles on her cake.
I'm not a churchgoing man but I became conveniently religious a few times when the going got rough. I'm guessing the gusts were in the 50 mph range. That doesn't sound like much until you realize an RV is basically a mobile home on wheels. How could anyone think they could ride out any hurricane in a tin box like this? The thought of it is horrific.
Despite the challenging conditions I made it across to Fort Lauderdale around 7:30 and took the Sawgrass Expressway north to get to the Turnpike. Things didn't look too bad in the Fort Lauderdale and it wasn't until I was near West Palm Beach that I started to see some damage. As the sun set, however, I began to see one of the biggest problems Frances left behind. Darkness. Complete and total darkness.
Driving along the Turnpike after dark was an eerie experience. All the way from West Palm to Port St. Lucie there was nothing but mile after mile of headlights searching through the empty black. Occasionally a single light would pierce the landscape or a single neighborhood block would stand out in the darkness. But with power out for millions with no moon and no visible stars, darkness is in charge here.
How dark is it? Go in a closet, put on a blindfold, close the door then turn the light off. Now look. That's how dark is. It's like crude oil at the bottom of the barrel.
Sitting in the RV tonight with a generator, air conditioning and other powered devices I feel a bit guilty. I'm sure lots of people are uncomfortable out there tonight and that's the cause of my guilt. But I'm sure they're also relieved to still have homes to live in even if they have to be uncomfortable living in them for awhile.
When I tried to exit at Port St. Lucie around 8:30 p.m. local police turned me away. My press credential and smooth talking made no matter, so I drove one mile north on the Turnpike and set up camp at the Fort Pierce/Port St. Lucie Service Plaza. With no gas available from West Palm to Orlando, lots of motorists are staying here for the night.
Tomorrow I'll hook up with our hurricane team members to lend support as we continue to cover the aftermath of the storm.
It's midnight now and it's still blowing like mad out there. When I open the RV door it takes all my strength to get it closed again.
We should be thankful Frances did not take lessons from Charley or Andrew before paying us this visit. She may be remembered mostly as the hurricane who ruined Labor Day weekend for millions. Far better than being remembered as the hurricane who ruined the lives of as many people.
