Running from the storm

The waters of Plymouth harbor in storms can be treacherous, as the crew of the General Arnold discovered in the 18th century when it ran aground in freezing weather, resulting in the agonizing death of most of her crew. — *Tropical Storm Ida, Stephen Fields Beach, Plymouth, Massachusetts*

I was living on Long Island, a hurricane was bearing down. The question was, would it strengthen or weaken? The consensus was it would weaken, so now evacuations took place. I had the weekend free, I wanted to be in New England for the storm. It was Thursday evening, I decided to be on the road by midnight.

I wasn’t far off. The hurricane had been downgraded to a tropical storm, but still packing a punch. Crossing the bridge into Manhattan the wind blew my Volkswagen Beetle into a completely different lane. That was trippy.

But once across the bridge, once on the highway into New England the wind died down. I was in Plymouth at sunrise. It was still calm. I wandered the streets, into the burial ground. Saw the clouds the clouds piling up over the ocean, felt the wind pick up, smelled the sea on the breeze. I moved on and spent some time Plimoth Plantation, wandering back in time to the earliest settlement here.

As I left the park I saw the waves churning and boiling in Plymouth harbor, and so made for it. I wanted waves, I wanted to see the power of the sea and it was as though the ocean was posing for me. My camera was to my eye, and you’re in a different world then, cut off from reality and only seeing the world through a lens. So I didn’t see the wave coming. I was soaked.

By the time I reached Salem the deluge was upon me. It was a wet weekend.