The short answer: no
by Rob ParsonsAugust 13 , 2009
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As
I write this, the remaining bluster of former-Hurricane Felicia is
churning steadily toward Hawaii. It shall soon be known whether it will
smack Maui with tropical storm fierceness, or if we're merely in for a
few wet days.
Much like Hurricane Flossie two years ago,
Felicia's lack of stamina may be lulling the community and disaster
preparedness experts into a false sense of security. Sure, we stocked
up on canned goods, batteries, candles and TP. But really, hurricanes
hit Hawaii only once in a blue moon, right? And even when one does hit,
with all the emphasis on renewable energy and food sustainability,
surely we're prepared for the worst, aren't we?
It's been 17
years since Iniki buzz-sawed houses and resorts on Kauai, changing life
on the Garden Isle for years. But we are early in the tropical storm
season of an El Nino year—the same weather cycle that brought
Iniki.
With that in mind, it's time to examine our ability
to cope with a weather disaster, and to draw lessons from the last time
a sizeable tempest shattered our paradisiacal tranquility.
The
"Storm of 1980" was a potent winter gale, a Kona low-pressure cyclone
that brought Maui and all of Hawaii to its knees. The severe weather
warnings went out over the nightly news, in the days before the
Internet allowed us to view Doppler radar, wind speed projections and
satellite photos. As a Maui malahini of a mere two years, I had little
clue as to what was in store.
After my day job waiting tables in
Wailuku, I drove my old Toyota back to Kuau, as skies darkened and
winds began to howl. A roommate called to tell me the restaurant was
closing for dinner to brace for the storm. However, he said, they were
starting a poker game, and he urged me to drive back to town to join
them. Against my better judgment, I did exactly that.
My
decision saved me—or rather, my car. Shortly after I left, a neighbor
later told me, a huge eucalyptus branch came down on the driveway where
I had been parked. By the time the poker posse disbanded, the rain had
become a steady downpour.
The storm raged throughout the night,
knocking out power. Then, the following day, the skies cleared. This
Kona storm wasn't over—not by a long shot—but the break did give us a
chance to go out and investigate the damage.
High Street leaving
Wailuku toward Waikapu was coned off and closed. Winds sweeping down
from the West Maui Mountains had toppled a row of utility poles, and
they leaned over the highway at a precarious angle. In Olinda, the
eucalyptus trees lining the road had become a massive game of pick-up
sticks, played with chain saws and backhoes. Power wasn't restored in
Olinda or Hana for 10 days. Tragically, a man was killed when the front
lanai of his house collapsed upon him.
Meanwhile, 20-foot surf
battered the Kihei and Lahaina shores, plucking boats from their
moorings and tossing them onto the beaches. Word came that a co-worker,
celebrating his birthday, had tried to pass through flooding near Suda
Store. Police were limiting access to vehicles with four-wheel drive or
high suspensions. But they couldn't dissuade our friend, driving the
used Mercedes-Benz he had just shipped from California, from attempting
to reach his party.
As he drove through the intersection, a
surge of water from the Upcountry gulch swept him into the drainage
outflow and toward the crashing surf. Bobbing like a cork, water
cascading over his hood, he soon realized he had to get out of the car
or be washed out to sea. He tried to open the door, but water gushed in
and slammed it shut. With all his strength, he put his shoulder to the
door like an offensive lineman to a tackling dummy, and pushed. The
next thing he remembered was being helped into dry clothes in an
oceanfront condo, where passers-by had pulled him from the surf. His
car is still out there, 30 years later, and has become a curiosity to
scuba divers.
What would it take for Maui to truly be prepared
for the impacts of a hurricane-strength storm? A de-centralized
electric grid would help, with more sites providing regional power
generation. Likewise, underground transmission lines, not susceptible
to dropping limbs or falling trees, should be installed. Maui
Electric's version of "hurricane-proof" facilities are 65-foot towers
that march up Kaahumanu Avenue and out Honoapiilani Highway, marring
our otherwise scenic vistas.
Water catchment systems could
provide backup if water supply lines shut down; many communities also
distribute rain barrels to help conserve potable drinking water
supplies.
West Maui's main roadways are only feet from the ocean
in places, and alternate routes must be built. Of course, people have
said that for well over 30 years.
East Maui is similarly
vulnerable, and there are dozens of places where heavy rain could bring
landslides down upon the Hana Highway—or send the road itself tumbling
down the precipitous slopes.
Hospital space is tight, and
emergency food supplies are slim at best. A new administration would be
wise to assist residents in establishing backyard, community and school
gardens, with surplus designated to the Maui Food Bank, as the
Haliimaile Community Garden is now doing.
On the bright side, empty hotel rooms could double as emergency quarters for those who lost their homes to hurricane winds.
There's
one other item that can't be overlooked in a crisis: beer. Could it be
time to open a shop with home-brewing supplies, just in case we need
backup for what Anheuser-Busch ships in?
Thankfully it looks like Felicia won't be hitting Maui hard. Shoots brah, you like one 'nutha Bud?