Florida under curfew as flood warnings and tornado alerts remain
Fort Lauderdale has been battered by hurricane winds and torrential rain all day. Although Hurricane Irma skirted to the west, it still swept through the region with winds gusting at 150kph and dropped record amounts of rain.
This is what it was like to be stuck in a hotel room in a city under curfew, as a tornado warning circulated and floodwaters rose.
5am Woken by phone, which is emitting a shrieking alert that I haven’t heard before. “Tornado warning in this area till 5.30am,” says the national weather centre. “Take shelter now.”
I check the storm windows and they seem to be holding up. The wind outside seems to be no worse than it was the night before, but this is just the start. 7.30am
The winds are strengthening hour by hour. The rain is filling part of the car park, which stands at the bottom of a slight incline.
Dark clouds overhead mean the day won’t properly lighten and Irma will sweep through in an eerie, angry twilight.
9.23am
Craig Mayor, who I met yesterday, calls to see how I’m getting on. He is a veteran of many hurricanes, and although his house is on the beach it is high enough and secure enough – with steel shutters and sandbags – to weather almost anything.
After all that, he says they forgot to close the cat flap.
9.45am
Some of the other hotel guests are outside watching the hurricane roll in. I meet Eric, a retired marine sergeant, who has a six-inch knife in his belt.
He is from California and better at earthquakes than hurricanes, he tells me. He is chatting to Ostar, a roofer, whose six-month-old pit bull terrier is cowering in fear from the wind. A guest gives him a cold cheeseburger for the dog.
10.45am
Back inside my room and there’s a crash outside the window. I pull back the curtains – perhaps not sensible – to see that part of the drainpipe has been brought down by the wind. Without it, a torrent of water gushes on to a flower bed, filling it instantly. It has nowhere to go.
11.35am
The wind is getting stronger. We are due to hit peak winds at about midday. Meanwhile, it turns out the water does have somewhere to go. It is seeping under the door of my room, spreading into a six-foot-wide puddle that I try to slosh back outside with my boot.
1.55pm
We are under curfew here in Broward County. It was imposed at 4pm on Saturday and meant to keep the streets clear for the emergency services.
I suspect it was also to thwart looting. Although I was happy to ignore it yesterday, winds today have hit more than 150kph and it would be insanity to venture out in my rented 4x4. Instead, the TV is keeping me informed about what is happening farther afield.
Palm fronds, branches and flimsy bits of construction panelling skitter across the car park. Ironically, the hotel’s emergency exit sign is blown down, but remains lit up.
3pm
The lights flicker off and then pop back on. The TV, however, is dead. The satellite dish must have been one of the earlier crashes.
The air conditioner (not necessary today) gives me a “br” error code.
We may still have electricity – unlike more than two million across the state – but we are now in a “brownout”, either through a line being brought down or a deliberate reduction in voltage to protect supplies.
3.30pm
A rumble outside the window grows into a roar. And then the noise is gone. Veterans like Mr Mayor told me that is the sound of a tornado.
Later, I find out that the national weather service detected a tornado close to Fort Lauderdale airport racing north-east, putting it roughly on a course for my hotel.
5pm
It is 12 hours since I was woken by a tornado alert and the winds are starting to slow. I wonder if it is safe enough to venture out.
Right on cue, my phone goes again with another tornado alert. It looks like I will be eating my emergency rations tonight – beef jerky, raw carrots and a yogurt.
We may have had a let-off here on the east coast as Irma veered west, but this is still going to be a long, long night.