“The wind is scary from here,” said Michelle’s email this morning. “How are you doing? Call me (if we haven’t talked already) I’m worried about all this wind.”
Aly and I had just burst into the cabin, out of breath, cold, and very happy. We’d just come down from the hill, where I’d laid out flat on my stomach to reach into a dark, duff-filled hole to turn on the faucet to the winter water tank. Aly stood over me, holding the box lid so it wouldn’t crack me on the head. I’d almost lost feeling in one hand from the cold, but the wood stove warmed the cabin wonderfully, sunlight streamed in through the windows, and I still had the second of two cups of fresh coffee ahead of me. We’d managed to switch the water just before losing the summer water flow to freezing. It was a big accomplishment, and we felt justified in relaxing in the warm cabin for the rest of the day.
Not that Michelle worried needlessly. From our friends’ house where she’s keeping their kids, she can see the wind whip Lynn Canal. The forecast called for sustained winds to 60 knots (69 mph) and gusts to 75 knots (86 mph). We’d already decided to brake the wind generator the night before, because it had stuck in the furled position. Even so, we were able to turn it on for a while toward evening, and never had any lack of power throughout the day.
I don’t think we saw the 12-foot seas the forecast warned of, but I found myself staring out at the water most of the day. Whipped into confusion, with spray and mist flying, it was quite impressive, as were the sea lions who passed frequently, seeming to enjoy the wild waves that surrounded them.
We expected the wind to drop to a calmer 35 knots overnight. The temperatures are supposed to creep up a bit too. That’s good, because today we have to hike out to go to town. Having places we need to be change our tolerance of this wild weather considerably.