This story, which juxtaposes a fictional account of "Hurricane Ernesto" with Delaware's actual evacuation plans, appeared in the July 2000 issue of Delaware Today.Delaware has never had to implement a full-scale evacuation of its coastal areas -- would it work?
By Terry Plowman
Monday, August 28, 2000 -- The sun is shining brightly in the kind of impossibly blue sky that foretells the coming of September. About 250,000 tourists frolic on the hot sands of Delaware's oceanfront resorts, barely aware of Tropical Storm Ernesto brewing in the Caribbean. Even if they were aware, most wouldn't let a storm a thousand miles away dampen their plans for the last week of summer, and the final fling of Labor Day weekend.
But in Delaware's new Emergency Operations Center in Smyrna, experts are keeping a close eye on Ernesto. They have to stay way ahead of the storm's curve up the Atlantic coast -- for they, in concert with other emergency officials, will have to recommend evacuation of the coast if Ernesto becomes a dangerous hurricane.
Delaware is the only Atlantic state never to take a direct hit from a hurricane -- but that good fortune has a dark side, as it fosters complacency among coastal residents who have never faced the terror of a full-blown storm.
According to renowned hurricane forecaster Bill Gray, of Colorado State University, there's an almost 40 percent chance that a major hurricane -- one with winds over 110 mph -- will make landfall somewhere along the East Coast in 2000. The forecast is significantly greater than the 100-year-average of 31 percent. Such news is part of a package of dire predictions:
* This hurricane season (officially from June through November) will bring seven hurricanes, three of which will grow to Category 3, with winds greater than 110 mph.
* A number of environmental factors, including ocean salinity, temperature and circulation patterns, suggest that the Atlantic coast is entering an era of greater storm activity -- one that will include not only more hurricanes, but stronger ones. Because population and housing have dramatically increased along the Atlantic coast, "we're going to see damage like we've never seen before," says Gray. "The East Coast and Caribbean have been very lucky the last 25 years as they've developed," he says. "They've become spoiled by (a) downturn in hurricanes. This luck isn't likely to last."
Joe Thomas, director of emergency operations for Sussex County, believes that a hurricane hitting Delaware is "not a matter of if, but when." "It's a false hope that we will never be hit," he says.
If a hurricane strikes at the height of the tourist season, it could take 36 to 48 hours to evacuate Delaware's coastal areas.
Says Sean Mulhern, director of the Delaware Emergency Management Agency, "The biggest problem is that you have to start the evacuation when the weather looks beautiful."
Try telling families who have waited all year for their week in the sun that they have to go home. And while you're at it, tell seasonal businesses that depend on every summer weekend for their survival that they will have an empty town during one of those weekends, even if the emergency is a false alarm.
Tourism may be one of Delaware's biggest industries, but Mulhern's top priority is public safety. A 23-year veteran of the Wilmington Fire Department, Mulhern has a lot of experience making decisions in emergencies. " I never let economics influence my decisions -- but it's still in the back of my mind."
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Wednesday,August 30, 2000 -- Ernesto's winds now top 74 mph, officially making the storm a hurricane. Islands in the Lesser Antilles are buffeted by winds and rain, but are spared damage because Ernesto is far north of them, and moving rapidly northwest -- toward the U.S. coastline.
Emergency officials in Smyrna, Georgetown and the coastal communities continue to monitor the hurricane on their computers, which receive updates from the National Weather Service every six hours. Their computers project possible tracks for the storm based on such variables as its speed and direction, and other weather factors. One of the tracks would bring Ernesto dangerously close to the Delaware coast.
Delaware officials use specialized software, called "Hurrevac," to help them decide if and when to call for an evacuation of coastal areas. The only problem is that its calculations are based on population figures from 1990 -- and anyone who's been to coastal Sussex County in the last 10 years knows that the population there has grown. (By about 30,000, according to the Delaware Population Consortium.)
"We have increased our (data) by a percentage -- it's not precise, but we have a ballpark figure of what we're dealing with," says Thomas. "I feel confident that we have (procedures) in place to get people to safety."
According to Joe Gavin of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, the Corps is updating population figures for all of Delmarva and revising computer models that predict storm surge heights. The goal is to develop more accurate "clearance times:" how long it will take to get people out of harm's way under various scenarios.
Another group that is looking at evacuation as a peninsula-wide concern is the Delmarva Emergency Task Force. The group of representatives from Delaware and the Eastern Shore counties of Maryland and Virginia joined forces about two years ago because evacuation routes obviously cross state lines: many people streaming out of Virginia's Eastern Shore would drive toward Maryland, and those evacuating north Ocean City, Md., would likely head for Delaware.
The task force will depend on the Corps' research as it coordinates plans for emergency evacuations. Yet Gavin says it's unlikely that new clearance times will be in use until after the summer of 2001 -- that's two hurricane seasons away. No matter what the new data show, officials already know that when Delaware's summer resorts are full, several hundred thousand people will have to move to higher ground if a hurricane threatens landfall there.
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Friday, September 1, 2000 -- The official start of Labor Day weekend brings little change in the weather, other than stronger winds that create better waves for body surfing. Hurricane Ernesto has picked up speed and is veering well north of the Bahamas.
The National Weather Service issues a hurricane watch, but because the storm track is uncertain, few Delaware vacationers change their plans for Labor Day weekend. Less cavalier are state and Sussex County officials, who activate emergency procedures. They initiate conference calls with police and fire agencies, state transportation officials, municipal and county officials and agencies from neighboring states. They prepare to request an evacuation order from the governor, and they peer intently at their computer monitors, evaluating Ernesto's possible courses.
Until 1997 Delaware officials could not order a mandatory evacuation, they could only urge people to get out of harm's way. But because emergency workers would be at risk while rescuing hold-outs who were in danger, the law was changed to allow the governor to order people out of their homes. Such an order has yet to be made, but emergency officials feel more comfortable knowing the power exists.
Officials want to find that fine line between ordering an evacuation too soon, which people may ignore, and starting one too late, which may put evacuees in danger. The opportunity to issue a mandatory evacuation order may help them strike that balance.
One reason people may ignore hurricane warnings is their lack of experience with them. They may underestimate a hurricane's power or the amount of time it would take to get away from one, or they may doubt that one could really threaten Delaware.
It's true that the chance of a major hurricane making landfall in Delaware is statistically low, but experts point out that such rare occurrences can happen -- as with last September's Hurricane Floyd, a storm so unusual it would be expected to occur only once in 300 years or more.
Floyd dumped unprecedented rainfall, causing widespread flooding, more than 50 deaths and billions of dollars in property damage -- not just in North Carolina's 12 coastal counties, but in 32 inland counties as well. "The flooding was way above and beyond any public policy preparedness," says Billy Ray Hall, director of North Carolina's rural economic recovery program. "We prepared for hurricanes, we prepared for flooding, but we didn't prepare for a thousand roads being closed."
Delaware's 1995 "Hurricane Program Needs Assessment" includes several pages of probability calculations that predict fewer than one hurricane making landfall in Delaware in 100 years.
But it also warns: "Bear in mind, however, (that) areas such as Delaware with a low hurricane incidence may actually be at greater than anticipated risk to storm damage, due to less stringent building design requirements and lack of hurricane experience."
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Saturday, September 2, 2000 -- Hurricane Ernesto continues its rapid course parallel to the East Coast, packing sustained winds of 105 mph. Before daybreak, with computer models showing Ernesto skimming the Delaware coastline, officials in Smyrna, Georgetown, and the state's resort towns agree to seek an evacuation order from the governor.
Some tourists have already left the resorts because of predictions that the weather will worsen, but many thousands remain reluctant to sacrifice the last few days of vacation. To some, the thrill of riding out the storm is appealing, and some local bars plan "hurricane parties."
But on a more sober note, Rehoboth Beach and Bethany Beach begin the task of removing dozens of boardwalk benches and trash cans that had awaited the holiday crowds. Within hours the governor declares a state of emergency. Under partly sunny skies, the first test of a mandatory evacuation begins.
The Sussex County Long-Range Transportation Plan is grim in its analysis of the problems that would face the coastal areas during a major evacuation: "The waterfront communities face certain difficulties in the inevitable event of a serious storm, but the county and the peninsula lack the necessary infrastructure for a rapid and effective evacuation."
The 1995 Hurricane Program Needs Assessment notes that some of the main evacuation routes are among the most vulnerable: Route 1 between Dewey Beach and Indian River Inlet, Route 54 between Fenwick Island and Bayville, and several roads to the smaller Delaware Bay communities, for example. (The state has a $13 million project in the works to elevate the flood-prone sections of Route 54, but that won't be completed until the fall of 2003.)
In addition to potential problems getting people off the coastline, there's an obvious problem with where they could find shelter. According to the 1990 Delaware Hurricane Evacuation Study, "Shelter space is generally inadequate in Sussex County for in-county demand during a hurricane. This is due to the large number of mobile home residents." The Hurricane Program Needs Assessment assumes that more than half the evacuees would leave Sussex County. Others would stay with friends or family, and a few would find shelter in hotels. But an estimated 26,000 people would vie for space in public shelters that can hold a combined total of only 16,000.
Other concerns include uncertainty about the wind resistance of some designated shelters, the lack of emergency power sources, potential problems with water, sewer and telephone service, and the difficulty of making statewide or regional plans when many designated "public" shelters are owned by separate entities such as school districts. The report notes that even if designated shelters are safe, roads to them are likely to be flooded during a major hurricane.
Shelter capacity and traffic flow are among the issues to be evaluated during the Army Corps' Delmarva-wide evacuation study -- but that study will not be completed before this year's hurricane season.
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Sunday, September 3, 2000 --As Hurricane Ernesto clears Cape Hatteras, N.C., its course shifts slightly northwest. Having not touched land, its undiminished winds now clock in at 113 mph, making it a Category 3 hurricane. Such hurricanes push a 9- to 12-foot storm surge ahead of them, high enough to inundate the entire barrier island from Fenwick Island to Dewey Beach, much of the area east of Route 1 and deep into the communities along the western side of Little Assawoman, Indian River and Rehoboth Bays. And that would occur hours before the 113-mph winds arrive in full force.
The evacuation that computer models predicted would take 36 hours has been under way for almost 24. Traffic is moving slowly but steadily westward and northward. Traffic signals have been adjusted to allow maximum flow, police and fire personnel are stationed at many intersections, and disabled cars have been pushed off roadways, but motorists are tense as wind and rain from the hurricane's leading edge batters their cars.
Hurricane parties have been canceled, and resort business have boarded up for what looks to be the first-ever Delaware landfall of a hurricane. National Guard troops have been activated for post-storm access control, looting prevention and other grim duties.
A Category 3 hurricane, like 1996's Fran, packs winds between 111 mph and 130 mph, torrential rain and a dangerous storm surge. A Category 3 hurricane can destroy houses, rip down power lines and flood escape routes, as Fran did in North Carolina. USA Today reported that Fran "submerged beach towns, ripped steeples off churches and snapped trees like sticks."
Category 4 hurricanes, like 1995's Felix, Luis and Opal, carry winds between 131 mph and 155 mph and a storm surge 13 feet to 18 feet above normal. Rare Category 5 hurricanes, like 1998's Mitch and 1988's Gilbert, have winds greater than 155 mph, and a storm surge more than 18 feet above normal. Such a storm would cause catastrophic damage wherever it hit.
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Monday, September 4, 2000 -- Labor Day dawns not to the usual record number of tourists along Delaware's coast, but to a surreal scene from a disaster movie. Resorts are virtual ghost towns when Hurricane Ernesto crashes ashore at Rehoboth Beach.
Though its winds have dropped to 100 mph, they still do considerable damage to homes and businesses throughout the region, tearing off roofs, blowing out windows and ripping off siding. Mobile homes suffer the most damage, as expected. Boats are tossed out of the water in local marinas, billboards are flattened, trees and shrubs are uprooted, and all low-lying areas are flooded from Fenwick Island north to Slaughter Beach and west to Millsboro. Electric power is out everywhere.
But no deaths are reported, as evacuation officials manage to work through problems that arise: a crush of vehicles unlike any ever seen on Route 1 on the busiest outlet shopping day; cars trying to use the shoulders, then creating a bottleneck where the road narrows at bridges; numerous fender-benders; flooding that cuts off some escape routes; and generally frantic evacuees. Public shelters are overwhelmed, but evacuees crowd into them with little complaint, grateful tobe safely off the road.
Officials who hope for a safe and orderly evacuation of hundreds of thousands of people have to face two seemingly opposite problems: too few evacuees and too many. The traditional worry has been that people will ignore evacuation orders, only to be injured or killed as a result.
"Complacency is our greatest enemy," says Wendy Carey, a coastal processes specialist with the University of Delaware College of Marine Studies, and a member of the Delmarva Emergency Task Force. Sussex County's Joe Thomas, also a task force member, notes that officials must be cautious about crying wolf so that people don't ignore future evacuation orders.
But studies of the massive evacuation for Hurricane Floyd -- what CBS News called "the biggest peacetime evacuation ever, and probably the biggest traffic jam" -- revealed a new problem, dubbed "shadow evacuation:" when people who do not need to leave join the exodus anyway. Because the Red Cross believes that half of those who evacuated before Floyd did not have to leave, the organization recommends that evacuation orders be very specific, and that people stay where they are until told to evacuate. But when staring down a hurricane with more-than-100-mph winds, most people choose to err on the side of caution.
However, the Red Cross warns that, "The more people leaving an area, the more likely the roads will become gridlocked. If roads are gridlocked, there is a huge chance of people becoming trapped on the roads and injured or killed by flooding rains and high winds of a landfalling storm."
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Would a late-summer evacuation of Delaware's coast go smoothly, with motorists moving steadily away from harm? Would the plan to order evacuation in phases reduce gridlock? Would people get out of low-lying areas before flooding trapped them?
DEMA's Mulhern acknowledges that because the state has never implemented a major evacuation, "We don't know where the chinks in our armor are." But he's confident that people will get to safety -- as long as they pay attention to warnings and heed evacuation orders. "It's not the people who use common sense that have problems. It's the people who aren't aware, who aren't paying attention." They put themselves in danger, he says, by leaving too late and trying to drive across flooded roads -- the reason some people were swept away during Hurricane Floyd.
Mulhern's advice: Stay tuned to local radio or TV. Pay attention to official advice. And get out when ordered to do so -- even if the sun is shining and the sky is blue.