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If it happened here

Though the county is generally well prepared if a major hurricane hits, the biggest factor in residents' safety may simply be whether they obey evacuation orders.

By DAN DeWITT
Published September 11, 2005

The lowest of a series of narrow, blue signs - labeled "TROP STORM" - is bolted about waist high on a utility pole in Aripeka. The highest one, way up near the wires, says simply but ominously: "CAT 5."

That's the expected depth of the flooding in this coastal community during the most severe hurricanes. That's how much water from the Gulf of Mexico would be pushed ashore by winds of more than 155 mph.

But Steve Sloan, manager of the nearby Norfleet Fish Camp, says he's not worried - not by the horrific aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, not by the warning signs recently posted by the county. "It's such a joke," Sloan said last week, after craning his neck to look to the top of the pole. "The government has been wrong so, so, so many times in the past."

Just as he survived the no-name storm of March 1993 without evacuating, Sloan said, he could survive a Category 5 hurricane. His house is reinforced and weatherproofed; he has learned to store his valuables high in the closet and in his attic.

"I don't think you realize how tough everybody is around here," said Sloan, 44, a lifelong resident of Aripeka. "We're all excellent swimmers."

That kind of thinking is the single biggest obstacle to preventing the type of tragedy that accompanied Katrina, said Tom Leto, the county's emergency management director.

The county is generally well prepared for a major hurricane, Leto said. It is poised to provide food, water and shelter to displaced residents and to embark on an orderly recovery. And residents in vulnerable neighborhoods who obey evacuation orders would likely survive even the worst storm.

But people like Sloan, who refuse to leave their homes, have no idea of the dangers they face, he said.

"I can't tell you the level of stupidity that is," Leto said.

It has been widely reported that many coastal residents in Louisiana and Mississippi became falsely confident after surviving Hurricane Camille in 1969. Hernando residents who believe that the no-name storm - a late-winter storm that caused a surprise tidal surge, by most measures the most destructive in local history - compares to a major hurricane are even more deluded, Leto said.

Though the no-name's winds gusted to 90 mph, they blew steadily at only 50 mph, he said. The highest reported tidal surge was about 10 feet. A comparable storm was Hurricane Easy, in 1950, which hit Cedar Key as a Category 3 storm, then circled back out in the gulf to strike Homosassa with 110 mph winds.

It is true, as Sloan and others said, that Hernando is not as vulnerable to hurricanes as, for example, the Florida Panhandle.

But last year's Hurricane Charley, a Category 4 storm, showed that severe storms can curl around to strike the state's west coast. The most frightening possible storm to hit Hernando would likely form, as Charley did, near Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula.

It would move northwest, well into the gulf, before returning to Hernando, allowing ample time over the warm gulf waters for the wind speed to build, and for the hurricane to push up a huge wall of water.

In southern Hernando County, the resulting floodwaters could easily be twice as deep as during the no-name storm. In northern Hernando, where the floor of the gulf is smoother and the approach to the coast unobstructed by barrier islands, the surge could reach 34 feet.

If ground-level buildings, such as the fish camp or Sloan's house, survived winds three times as fast and much more powerful than in 1993, they would be submerged by the tidal surge.

The surge would also inundate the living quarters of the highest stilt homes on the coast and flood some of the most densely populated neighborhoods in Hernando, including western Spring Hill.

Anyone foolish enough to try to swim to safety would quickly be overwhelmed by the swirling water, filled with building debris and sewage from flooded treatment plants, including the county's large plant near Osowaw Boulevard and U.S. 19.

"We have not seen this level of flooding ever - ever - in our recorded history," Leto said.

Dave Duda, a 57-year-old crabber, realizes the severity of the situation, he said.

He took a different lesson from the no-name storm than Sloan. Having barely survived that storm, he shudders to think of anything worse, and he and his wife, Lynda, definitely plan to evacuate in advance of a severe hurricane.

They awoke before dawn on the morning of March 13, 1993, to find their home partly flooded. After Duda ran - barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt - to his 36-foot boat, a surge carried it out to sea, along with the 80-foot dock to which it was tied.

Duda cut the boat free with a machete. And, knowing the boat would capsize if it were turned broadside in the waves, he had no choice but to steer it directly into the storm, he said, lashing himself to the wheel after the windscreen blew out. He could not return until the storm passed, in late afternoon, when he found two of his house's walls washed away and the roof collapsed.

"We got nuked," he said.

More than one-third of the county's residents - 60,000 - would be ordered to evacuate in advance of a Category 4 or 5 hurricane, Leto said. Those would include not only coastal residents such as Duda, but also people living in mobile homes and in the two most inland evacuation zones, parts of which are well east of U.S. 19.

Ideally, those residents would already have made arrangements to stay with a friend or relative in a secure area.

"You buddy up with somebody, combine your supplies and their supplies, board up the windows and bunker down," Leto said, adding that people should be prepared to stay put for as many as three days.

Leto encourages that approach partly because Hernando has a severe "shelter deficit" - as does every nearby county - according to a report prepared last year by the Withlacoochee Regional Planning Council.

Hernando has space for 4,350 people in shelters built to withstand severe winds. A Category 5 storm would probably drive more than 17,000 people to spaces in these shelters - mostly schools - which have been built to withstand winds of up to 140 mph, Leto said.

Leto said the county has room for about 1,000 more evacuees this year, primarily because of the opening of Challenger K-8 School of Science and Mathematics.

The shelters include space at West Hernando Middle School for "special needs" evacuees. The 800 disabled or elderly residents who have requested transportation in advance - and many more who probably will do so at the last minute - will be picked up by school buses.

Pets brought to the shelters will be taken to Hernando County Animal Services, at least until its facility is filled. The Emergency Management Department is discussing a special shelter for pet owners.

No matter what arrangements the county makes, though, all of the shelters will likely become quite crowded during a severe storm, especially if it also threatens other parts of the state.

"The worst case is that all the people in South Florida evacuate first and fill up our hotels and start trucking through our community," Leto said. "That's when we might have to get a lot cozier in some of our schools."

Daniel Orban's house on Lily Lane in Hernando Beach represents the good and the bad news about building trends along Hernando's coast.

Orban, 65, also lived in Hernando Beach during the no-name storm. His house at the time cost $115,000; his current residence, one block away, was recently appraised at $850,000.

In 1993, the assessed value of property in Hernando Beach was about $112-million; 10 years later, the total had climbed to $239-million.

Because of the soaring values, damage caused by a severe hurricane would certainly be many times higher than the no-name storm, which inflicted about $500-million of damage along the entire Gulf Coast.

The property losses from a Category 5 storm in Hernando alone would likely be more than $3-billion, according to the regional planning council study.

The popularity of the coastal areas also means more people displaced or otherwise affected by a severe storm.

At the same time, Leto said, houses built more recently have had to meet tougher building codes and have been built on stilts.

"There's a lot of development on the coast, but all the new development is elevated," he said.

Orban's 6-year-old home looks like the model of storm preparedness, sitting on thick concrete pillars 13 feet high that were designed to accommodate his recreational vehicle.

But Orban said he also knows the limits to the weather his house can withstand. He is under no illusions that it could hold up in the face of a storm such as Katrina.

"I don't care about these cars," he said, sweeping his arm around the well-equipped garage under his house.

"I don't care about any of this. My plan is a motor home. I'm outta here."

Dan DeWitt can be reached at dewitt@sptimes.com or 352 754-6116.

[Last modified September 11, 2005, 01:12:04]