|Stripped for Irene|
A couple of days before I had met Rick and Sylvia who were strolling the town dock. They offered a spare bedroom and fed me a delightful dinner and breakfast, all well above any conceivable high-tide line.
|Dinner and breakfast with new friends|
Yesterday, as if to to mark Irene's first anniversary, NOAA weather was stridently warning that I should, "seek immediate shelter on the lowest level of my building". Port Washington was in the path of a tornado. What is with this weather? I think of tornado alley as being well inland of the Bronx, Queens, and Manhattan. Even so, Doppler radar showed angry red rotation, the same movie we often watch in Atlanta. The one where you think, run, run as the slasher approaches.
|There goes the tornado|
Plus, now that the myth of sheltering under a highway bridge has been debunked, I wasn't sure where I might go anyway. The prospect of lashing myself to the dinghy dock as cows whirled by made staying aboard seem attractive.
As it turned out the worst of the blow passed by to the north and we didn't drag our extra-heavy-duty mooring. But there for a while, it was a spectacular show.
|Last year's flood in Havre de Grace|
I do hope I'm not greeted by a mob, swimming by torch light in pouring rain and determined to throw me overboard. No whales in the Chesapeake so it would be sink or swim.