When the Dock Breaks

 

One of the more frequently asked questions by visitors to the wharf is, “Does your house move a lot?” The obvious answer is, “Yes, of course, we live on the ocean and are in constant motion.” Like many things though, you acquire a tolerance through experience and become desensitized to the subtle movements. So much so that you might notice yourself swaying slightly when on solid ground. But there are a few nights a year, some years more than others, where regardless of your tolerance or experience on the water, the wind and rain and waves assault your sensory experience.

 

At these times, the winds become hostile. They rattle and howl. The gusts feel like they wrap around your house, gripping the home in their powerful gales and shaking the whole thing. The waves slap relentlessly at the sides of the homes, churning up between the docks and houses, straining ropes and snapping the vessels back and forth against tires and fenders attached to the heaving wooden docks. The docks themselves squeal as their wooden slabs rub against the pilings that hold them in place. The whole floating village undulates in motion, what I imagine a neighbourhood on land would look like with a seismic tremor rippling beneath it.

 

How to prepare for a wind advisory? Check and tighten any loose ropes, and batten down the hatches, literally. Secure anything outdoors that could catch wind (you’d be surprised what the wind is able to grab as it rips by) and take down anything indoors that is hanging. Depending on wind’s ETA, you may need to also prepare for a long, sleepless night as you listen closely for flapping, cracking, banging, snapping, and crashing. This is as close as it gets to the feeling of being out on the open waves, being sloshed about by the forces of nature.

 

There are some storms, however, that you just can’t prepare for.        

 

I’d only been living at the wharf for about four months. I seemed to be handling the learning curve that comes with a land-lubber living on the water, and was adjusting to my still unfamiliar lifestyle. Winter was upon us and the weather forecast had put out a wind advisory warning for the night and early morning, calling for gusts of 80 up to 100 km per hour. I had made it through a couple really windy evenings already, so thought I was prepared. I had no idea of the severity of the predicated gales.

 

I checked and tightened my ropes, took down some wind chimes outside and plants inside. I filled up a couple jugs with water and double checked for candles and a flashlight – you never know what inconveniences a storm will create, so better safe than sorry. Then, I rooted down with my dogs and prepared for what would most likely be a sleepless night.

 

The storm grew very quickly in intensity. The wind, like a banshee’s wail, encircled the float home and relentlessly tossed it around in the sporadic waves. An hour or so in I checked the ropes again, just to make sure, and noticed several of my neighbours were also out on the dock doing the same [Please note: It is best to ensure all ropes are tight and in good condition prior to a storm hitting - it is not advisable to tighten ropes in the wind unless absolutely necessary]. We helped each other and I learned even the dock veterans thought the winds were particularly fierce.

 

A group of about ten float home owners had made their way to the loading ramp above the docks where we were watching the storm take hold of the wharf. The winds seemed to come alive with their own life force. The gusts violently whipped across the water like snow sweeping across a prairie highway. The entire village was surging and swaying with the storm. Sail boats were flailing, their masts clanging and clapping an erratic beat. The docks moaned and groaned as the float homes tugged and twisted, pushed and pulled. We watched a house that looked like it was going to blow over onto its waterside; each gust slammed into one full side of the house causing us to gasp and the structure to list and lift out of the water. Were the ropes going to hold?

 

Then we heard it. A low moan and then a deep “clunk” sound. Someone shouted, “the dock just broke!” as I watched the middle of Dock Two shift about five feet to the right of where it should be. A set of pilings that held the dock together about half way down had snapped causing the central section of the dock to shift with them. What should have been a straight line was now a gently curved backwards “C”. My first reaction was, “I have to get the dogs.”

 

With a wide stance, I braced myself against the wind and pushed my way along the dock back towards my float home. The break had occurred just outside my front steps. The top half of the pilings were now leaning away from my home towards my neighbour’s across the dock. Smashing against the side of her house, the now angled piling was tearing into the float home’s flesh.

 

I quickly harnessed my dogs, grabbed my car keys and phone and a few other essentials for the night. I took a couple pictures not knowing what else would transpire but wanting to document something of the moment. We made our way to the parking lot and spent the rest of night crammed into the car. The winds continued to rattle and roar for a few more hours, but eventually a gentle calm wrestled its way into the early morning and I was able to catch an hour’s worth of sleep.

 

The offending night merged into a subdued dawn, and I unfolded myself from my car. Eager to assess the aftermath, I took the dogs for a quick pee and started to make my way home. At the loading ramp I was accosted by a TV journalist who wanted to ask me questions about the storm and broken dock. I was polite but curt and told him I just wanted to go home. He followed me part way down the dock, presumably in search of another casualty.

 

Although the pilings broke just outside my float home, thankfully my house did not sustain any real damage. Unfortunately, that was not the case for my neighbour across the dock. The GVHA arrived soon after to tow the homes away from the dock and secure the broken section. I had heard that earlier that spring recommendations were made to replace the aging pilings and docks, but instead the construction of a new fuel dock at the far end of the wharf was deemed a greater priority. This incident, however, convinced the GVHA to finally upgrade the docks and piling.

 

I take all wind advisories seriously and am vigilant about checking my ropes and the ropes of my neighbours. I have emergency preparedness kits for the “Big One” and have a few escape and survival scenarios worked in my mind. But deep down I know there is only so much I can do in the face of nature’s unleashed force and indifference.

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