Parts of the Tampa Bay area would be even more vulnerable than Pensacola to a storm like Ivan, one expert says.
By DONG-PHUONG NGUYEN
Published September 21, 2004
PENSACOLA - By now, most of the country has seen stunning images of this city's battered beach communities, virtually obliterated by Ivan's deadly winds and surf.
It would be even worse in St. Petersburg, said Max Mayfield, director of the National Hurricane Center in Miami, after surveying damaged areas here.
"St. Pete is on borrowed time," Mayfield said. "What you see is how St. Pete is going to look ..., but worse."
Mayfield, who took helicopter tours throughout the Panhandle, said sand dunes offered some cushion for Pensacola's beach communities, something Pinellas County beaches lack.
"Treasure Island is a beautiful place to live," he said, "but you don't have the protection like up here in the Panhandle."
Pensacola's Perdido Key, home to million dollar mansions, snow birds and retirees, was underwater for days.
Residents of the funky town of Pensacola Beach still have not been able to return because the storm walloped buildings and covered roads in sand and debris.
Some barrier islands used as one-day pleasure destinations were wiped out.
"It's unlike anything we have ever seen," said Escambia County sheriff's Sgt. Phil Defelice.
But Mayfield said the picture would be even grimmer in the Tampa Bay area. Here's what Mayfield found Hurricane Ivan did to the Pensacola area:
* A storm surge of 10 to 12 feet rushed into buildings, causing extensive water damage. The water line inside some homes ran halfway up kitchen cabinets and lapped at chandeliers.
* Waves up to 25 feet hammered structures. Offshore, buoys recorded waves up to 52 feet. The storm surge combined with battering waves brought down large sections of the Interstate 10 bridge over Escambia Bay.
* Hurricane-force winds blew entire roofs off buildings and peeled away walls, exposing high-rise condos like dollhouses.
Gov. Jeb Bush said he expected the uninsured losses from Hurricane Ivan will exceed those of either Frances or Charley because of the storm surge that caused damage far inland.
On Perdido Key, the beachfront view of one condominium offered a glimpse into people's damaged lives. Household objects that did not fall to the ground hung perilously over the edge or were piled on top of each other like the contents of an overflowing toy box. In a kitchen on the fourth floor, the door to a cabinet was ajar, revealing a perfect set of white dishes. Amid the destruction, battery-operated alarm clocks wailed.
Mountainous piles of sand covered the streets of Perdido Key, burying parking lots like the ones around the Crab Trap restaurant.
Residents were placed on buses Monday and driven over the bridge down Perdido Key Drive to see the destruction for themselves for the first time.
Johnson Beach Road, a 5-mile strip of sandy beach, was gone.
Officials know of only two Perdido Key residents who refused to evacuate. After the hurricane, rescue workers brought food and water to the residents, which included a man named Ted and his 12-year-old dog, Charlie Brown.
"It was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life," said Ted, who refused to give his last name. "It was total chaos."
He and his dog ran from room to room on the middle level of his three-story condo. Eight feet of water filled the garage. Winds ripped off part of his roof in a bedroom on the third floor.
"The wind gusts were way greater than I had expected," said Ted, who said he rode out Camille in Gulfport in 1969. "And the water came on so fast, I couldn't tell where it was coming from."
Mayfield's advice if a hurricane the size of Ivan threatens the Tampa Bay area: evacuate.
"There's just no protection at all," he said. "That's the price they pay for living in paradise."
Information from the Associated Press was used in this report.
