Waiting for Hamish

The palm fronds were horizontal in the wind; the rain was so thick and descending so fast the harbor and surrounding islands were no longer visible, hidden behind the curtain of cloud and water. The wind was loud, making its own angry noise as it blew with a ferocity I had not before encountered.

We looked out our glass encased rental home, built to showcase the stunning views in every direction during normal times. Perched on the top of the steep hill, the house did not offer the magnificent views today; instead standing alone and unprotected against the unimpeded wind.

A category 5 cyclone (aka hurricane), the most powerful of storms, marched steadily toward our island retreat. We recalled other Category 5 storms like Andrew in Florida, and the damage that resulted. Katrina was only a Cat 3; and New Orleans has yet to recover.

It was not supposed to be this way: a reunion of friends from the U.S. on an island off Australia’s northeastern coast; an idyllic setting for snorkeling, unspoiled beaches, and visits to The Great Barrier Reef. It was to be a respite from the pressures of work and home.

Three guys who have experienced great success yet are struggling late in life with terrible economic and business conditions and difficulties at home. Three genuinely nice guys who have known each other for 25 years during long careers in the U.S. and are well respected and liked planned this sojourn, our first together despite knowing each other for so long.

Gene organized the trip. A senior partner at one of New York’s most prestigious law firms, Gene is overseeing a staff of transaction hardened attorneys in a market were there are few transactions. He struggles with a long term marriage which offers increasing volatility and uncertainty. Two of his adult children accompanied him for a trip of bonding and mutual support.

Glenn flew up with his wife, Mary, from Melbourne. Glenn and I worked together in New York at a public company (Glenn as CEO and me as President); after I left Glenn sold the company to a big Australian company, that later became insolvent when the credit markets collapsed. Glenn became CEO of the combined company and has worked day and night to salvage the company from liquidation. This was his time to relax for a few days and reconnect with his wife.

I am CEO of an Australian company in Sydney after a long career in the U.S. Now, however, I too am struggling with too much corporate debt in a debt-starved marketplace and too little income in a deteriorating property market. To add to my difficulties, my wife of 30 years has filed for divorce in the U.S. and seems determined to pursue aggressive and expensive legal remedies to insure a comfortable lifestyle for her and not much for me. The three of us needed this break from the daily pressures of life; we looked forward to it with much anticipation; it was to be our R&R and an opportunity to recharge our physical and mental batteries.

Yet, now we stood in the path of one of the most powerful storms ever to cruise the Australian coastline. There was no place to hide; no bridge to cross to safety; no planes or boats leading away from the storm’s path. As we looked out from our glass enclosure, we waited for Hamish to come.

We did all the preparatory things you are supposed to do when a storm approaches. We filled the bathtubs and various containers with water in anticipation of losing power and water. We secured flashlights, matches, and candles. We bought extra food and drink (including several six-packs of beer) at the grocery store; placed outdoor furniture in the pool so pieces would not become airborne missiles, and moved away movable objects from inside windows. We located safer spaces to hide and discussed how to communicate and where to go if the behemoth hit at night.

Our only transportation on the mountaintop was a buggy (aka golf cart). Amidst the driving rain, the buggy stopped working. This was surely an omen; even the buggy feared to venture out. We borrowed a buggy from the neighbor for trips to town.

The Aussies in town seemed eerily calm and unconcerned. “No worries, mate,” was a common response to questions of pending destruction. “When is the storm projected to hit here, I asked the woman at the news stand?” “Tomorrow” she replied, with an air of indifference. “No worries, if the police want you to evacuate, they will stop by and tell you.” “But where do we evacuate to?” “The police will know; maybe the conference center.”

I realized all of the local residents who exuded such self confidence were 25 years old or younger. I guess the older residents left town when they could. The last cyclone to hit the islands was 10 years ago, and most of the people we met were not here then.

We drove the buggy to town and stopped first at the tour office where we had made snorkeling reservations the previous day. The girl in the office at the time lacked concern that the storm would affect the next day’s outing; that was yesterday. Today the office was locked up, windows taped, and a hurried sign posted “No tours until further notice.”

We drove to the Italian Restaurant we planned to have dinner that night. “Only accepting dinner reservations before 6:30 pm” the manager said; the restaurant was closing early so employees could look for safety before Hamish came calling.

Hamish appeared to be slowing down according to reports we picked up in town. That was both good and bad news. At least it would not hit until the following day when we could react in daylight, but it also met the potential for more damage and a longer encounter with the unwanted visitor. The projected path continued to point at our island.

The news was sporadic; even the Australian television news did not give much coverage; no news people on islands holding on and trying to avoid being blown over in the gale force winds; no camera coverage of damage on islands already hit; no scary stories of past natural calamities. Either the Aussie public didn’t care or the media was not as reckless as their American cousins.

That night the wind blew in waves from hard to ferociously hard. The gusts drowned out the sounds of crashing waves on the beaches below and rain from above. But the house held without noticeable breaks.

In the morning, we received some good news. According to my Blackberry internet browser, the storm seemed to be moving slightly east toward open ocean. We all took turns squinting at the miniature picture of the cyclone’s path on the small Blackberry screen. Yes, we all agreed, even those of us with questionable eyesight, there was movement off course. We seemed no longer destined for the 280 k/hour winds at the eye of the storm.

Finally some news on the limited selection of television stations on this island. Hamish was indeed moving away from the coast; high winds and rain would continue for most of the day but Hamilton Island was no longer directly in the path. We drove around the island later as the rain abated; there were few others about but we did meet a woman who told us the island was under curfew and many of the residents had been evacuated to the conference center and were not yet allowed to leave. Later, they opened the doors and everyone was outside looking at the limited storm damage and wondering what the big deal was. By the next morning, the stores were open and we were packing to leave the island paradise to be experienced some future trip.

Once again, the Aussie attitude of “No worries Mate,” came out like the winner, although I fear the day when people do not take threats seriously. And for Gene, Glenn, and myself, we finished our long island weekend without once worrying about banks, or debts, or even issues at home. And Gene and his children bonded; and Glenn and Mary shared an unforgettable experience together.