Tornadoes and Common Sense

I set a new mark of dedication, or insanity, at the park today. In the end, the insanity tag will win...

I arrived at Perdido Key to assess the extent of the red tide fish kill at about 7:30 this morning. After fueling the ATV, I headed to the south shore to count live birds and dead fish. Within 5 minutes, I couldn't see again because of the brevetoxin still in the air. Ten minutes later, my boots were full of water and my three (yes, 3) raincoats were soaked through. All I needed was a bottle of shampoo to recreate my morning shower ritual.

Since I already gave up once this week, I couldn't give up again: I continued down the seven mile stretch. On Perdido Key, that means I left the road and any shelter behind as I traveled down the rather flat seashore. The rain came sporadically, at times drenching. Once or twice, the sun peeked out from a cloud; I seized the opportunity to turn the ATV north, away from the wind and toxic gulf, to scribble some field notes. By the time I reached the east end of the island, I had counted over 23,000 dead fish. These counts, from yesterday and today, are severely limited by my inability to see clearly with all the salt, sand and brevetoxin in the air -- I don't ride slowly or look closely enough to count anything under about 4 inches. I just can't tolerate the red tide. As it is, I'm pushing my body to unacceptable extremes for the third day in a row.

After surveying the eastern point around the ruins near Fort MacRae, I turned to assess the north shore. A gray-black cloud hovered between me and the Perdido bridge, several miles to the west; the western fringe of the cloud seemed to start rotating slowly in the sky. I didn't see a tell-tale greenish tinge so I didn't worry. In retrospect, I think that twisting fringe was the start of the tornado.

The north shore of Perdido Key is one of my favorite places in the park -- isolated, natural, in places, reclaimed by salt marsh, tide and the elements. There are still boats in the marsh from Hurricane Ivan, three years ago. It's a place I go to relax. I leisurely headed up the north shore, stopping at Spanish Cove to talk to some fishermen, suggesting they not consume the contaminated fish they were catching. I watched some plovers playing in the pools created by the receding tide and intermittent rain. When a tourist stopped me to chat about what was killing the fish, I firmly recommended he postpone his plan for a morning swim in the bay. While the red tide was still a factor, it was a relief to be away from the exacerbating effects of the rough surf and south wind on the opposite shore.

Around 10 AM, the skies grew dark as night, and the rain came down with a vengeance. I had hoped for a better end to my run, but at least the rain kept the red tide from being as bothersome. As lightning flashed and thunder growled, I decided to do a very cursory survey, only checking for stranded marine mammals and sea turtles. The birds would have to wait for a better day.

I made it back to the buildings thirty minutes later. My colleague, Kevin, opened the garage door as he heard my ATV approach and laughed as he watched the giant puddle grow under my feet in the dry garage. The rain was menacing. After chatting with Kev, I ran to my government truck to turn on the heater full blast and try to dry a little. I stripped to my uniform and basked in the warmth, clicked on NPR and listened to that annoying blare for the 'test of the emergency broadcast system', This time, it wasn't a test - a tornado had touched down about three miles from me while I was on the beach.

I waited in the truck 'til the tornado warning was lifted. As I sat with my thoughts, it struck me that I had taken a huge risk. I knew there were tornado warnings west of us that morning, but I shrugged it off in my need to just get things done. I often do that -- take unnecessary risks. I don't have dependents, a husband, or anyone that would notice if I didn't come back from this six month stint at Gulf Islands. Maybe that gives me an element of freedom, maybe it's a ticket to the Darwin Files.

I've lived this lifestyle for a decade or so, going where I want to go, taking risks, fully living my life. I'll fly to a job in Barbados or Thailand, travel in a war-torn nation, hit the beach not knowing about a tornado three miles away. No one really knows that I do these things, or thinks much of it if I tell them, so I never mention it and soldier on. I imagine I'll have to change this behavior if I do ever find a guy who wants to marry me, but until then, I'll still be a bit of a cowboy in Manolo's -- I'll push the envelope, trying to understand the sea and save it from the destructive humans that line it's shores.

After the tornado warning lifted, I drove through an eerily quiet Pensacola. Police cruisers sat at the sides of the road, lights on with no sirens. Rooster tails sprayed over the hood of my truck as I plowed through flash floods. Traffic was non-existent for a Thursday lunch hour in a Navy town. Street lights were either black or blinking red. The railroad trestle gate was down, with no train in sight or even scheduled. I drove around the gates and crossed the tracks -- how's that for nuts? Driving further, I saw a church in ruins, homes with no roofs, a marina in disarray, stunned people. I said prayers in rapid succession, praying for these people, and those trying to help them.

As I saw all of this, I wondered what my boss would say when I returned to the office. I deserved a reprimand. I know I took a chance too many today. I was in the worst possible place when the weather turned to hell. Add the red tide for good measure, and I was more than a fool. I could easily have been badly injured or killed, and put someone else at risk as they came to find me. Sometimes, I am too focused on the goal without regard for personal safety.

I don't think of myself as stupid or dedicated or brave, or out-of-the-ordinary. I'm just a girl, trying to save the sea. Nothing gets in my way -- even common sense. Guess I never had too much of that to begin with.

My boss didn't scold me, but as I walked in, he laughed at my sodden, weary appearahce. His humor echoed through his words: "You sure can pick 'em"