Tropical Depression

Gloom, despair, and agony on me
Deep, dark depression, excessive misery
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all
Gloom, despair, and agony on me

~Buck-O and Roy, “Hee-Haw”

Back in the old days, a time when the Internet was still a secret military project, I was an adventurous sort. During that stretch, I had two experiences that turned me forever into what I am today, a sea-salt lubber.

Back in 1979, I was just a mere freshman in college. Lonely and with little excitement on my social horizon, I took up an invitation from my high school buddy, Billy. He suggested that my college roommate (and high school buddy)-Joel- and I come to Virginia Beach to stay at Billy’s aunt’s house. There, we could mess around for a weekend and have recent high school graduate fun.

It was not to be. Although Joel, Billy, and I did have a fun time with our old high school German teacher - she taught us the beauty of White Russians and jug Italian wine, the three of us were soon faced with a monster of a decision. The house of Billy’s aunt was located near what is now known as Willoby Spit near the entrance to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. The days were ebbing toward late August and a massive hurricane was sliding up the Atlantic coast. Hurricane David had destroyed the islands in the Caribbean with 165 mile per hour winds- one of the most destructive storms on record, and it was slinking up the coast toward Virginia Beach, gradually weakening.

When we learned of the storm, we made a firm decision. No matter what, we would not abandon the beach house. Within a few hours, David struck and blasted us with tropical winds. Thumbing our noses at its fury, the three of us; Billy, Joel, and I; walked a block to the bay beach and leaned into the hurricane force winds. Never before in my life had I ever been able to stand on a beach and lean into a stiff, blinding wind- the blast supporting me like an invisible skeleton. We stood on that beach throughout David’s onslaught and monitored the Chesapeake Bay and the Bay Bridge Tunnel. In fact, we even took off in our car to explore the bay bridge tunnel during the height of the storm. Standing on one of the man-made bride islands in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay was glorious. Gulls and terns crashed around us, screaming in the whistling wind, desparate for a rest after being dragged up the coast. Rarely in life can you ever feel that liberated. Later, we came back to the small beach house and drank lots of cheap 18 year old beer.

In 1982, just after my graduation from college, I think, I had occasion to visit the Virginia Beach area again. My high school buddy, Brian, was stationed at COMSLANT–a Coast Guard communication hub in the Dismal Swamp. That particular day, my high school friends, Boyd, Joel and Ken ventured to the coast in Boyd’s amazing Dodge Omni with me. We planned to stay in Brian’s room on the Coast Guard base. That particular evening, we played the most amazing game of RISK ever seen. The whole world was evenly divided in a giant cold war stalemate. I suppose things got a bit out of hand in Brian’s room that evening, because the next thing we civilians knew, we were being escorted off the base and out into the sub-tropical night. We really hadn’t been paying any attention to the weather, but the weather was paying attention to us.

With nowhere to go and little money in our pockets, we headed to Sandbridge Beach along the Atlantic just south of Virginia Beach. There, we found a nice sand dune along an undeveloped stretch of oceanfront and tossed out our sleeping bags. The breeze was delicious, tasty, and seemed to pick up in intensity as the evening wore on. I remember falling asleep in a comfortable dream world: crashing surf, whistling breeze, ocean beauty.

I woke up rudely around three in the morning. My sleeping bag was soaked and the wind was howling. I later learned that a sub-tropical, unnamed storm had ripped across from the gulf and blown through the Outer Banks and Virginia coast before heading out to sea. This storm, although never being named, was brutal on us as we tried to sleep on the beach. All I knew at the time was that I was getting soaked, and I was miserable. Sopping wet, we all retreated to Boyd’s small Dodge Omni and tried to suffer through the rest of the humid wind and rain in his tiny fogged car. I’ve never been more wet or more uncomfortable in my life.

That devilish storm, however, peaked my interest in the ocean. Years later, I would endure several Nor’easters as I spent time fishing with my father and brother along the Outer Banks of North Carolina in the late fall. Each storm brought torrential rain and blinding gale-driven sand. Through these storms, my brother, father and I became the hardest b’strds on the beach.

I’m older now, but much saltier. I hear that salt preserves.