Severe Storms, flash flooding! A soaking rainstorm coming for New Year’s Eve. Lightening, thunder!  Batten the hatches. For days, brightly colored weather maps forecast bands of rain moving from the mainland over Dauphin Island, where I am camped out. More maps showed bands of rain moving from the south in the Gulf of Mexico over Dauphin Island. Flash flood warnings scrolled across the TV, night and day. I took heed and covered things up, closed the bathroom vent, and lowered the TV antenna at night. I postponed kayaking for 4 days, concerned about choppy water and lightning.

The same weather reporters confirmed the passing of the storms, with photos of heavy rain and water roaring down roadways. Nothing unusual along the Gulf Coast. Mobile, AL, the closest city to me, is the rainiest city in the US, beating out Seattle.  Avg rainfall is 67 inches per year. Pensacola, the last city I camped near, is the second rainiest city in the US.  Here is the strange part. Almost none of the recent rain fell on Dauphin Island, AL.  At 40+ miles due south of Mobile across a 5 mile bridge, the island is not far from Mobile weather patterns.Yet, nothing here. 

I feel like I am on a deserted island, forgotten even by the weather. That is a good thing. I sought the solitude here. In fact, I could stay here forever in this bubble of a life except my kids are 2300 miles away and the weather will be hot in few months. Hot, hot, hot. Humidity? Near 100 percent, according to the experts, even in the winter. In the few weeks I have been on Dauphin Island, we experienced several days with  99% humidity, where the air weeps droplets of rain. This moisture in not rain from clouds, but dripping, sweaty air full of water. Today, already the humidity is at 89%. Thankfully, the temps have been in the 70s, so the humidity does not take my breath away or render me useless as it does on 90 degree days. I feel that moisture though and see it on my outside table, which has not dew but small puddles on the surface. My hand-washed clothes won’t dry after four days of hanging, unless the night before was cold enough for the small electric heater. I finally gave up and took damp dish towels and rags to the dryer here at the campground.

I wrote the above paragraphs yesterday afternoon, and I must have tempted the rain gods. Not long after the rain arrived on Dauphin Island. Boom, crash, heavy, drenching rain. Tango cowered under my chair. I unplugged the computer, TV, and sewing machine and diverted my attention from the flashes, which were followed by roaring thunder, only a second later. This morning, the air is clear and the sandy road in the park saturated with water.

Speaking of weather, as you might imagine, Dauphin Island has over the years been at the mercy of hurricanes. Here is a rundown of the most recent (from the Dauphin Island website):

• In 2004, Hurricane Ivan caused nearly one-fourth of the island to be covered with approximately two feet of water.
• On August 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina brought damage to parts of Dauphin Island. Some homes on the west end of the island were destroyed, and the Katrina Cut was formed as a channel splitting off the western part. However, most areas of the Central and East end of the island experienced little flooding from the storm surge. Unlike typical storm surge effects on a mainland coastline and affected waterways, on an island the surge moves around and over the land mass without the mounding up of water experienced on the mainland.

The approach road to the island fared better than expected. The damage to most East End beach front homes was limited to decks, stairs and storage buildings. In DeSoto Landing, a gated gulf-front subdivision on Dauphin Island, the main homes had no water entering the homes unless a window or roof system failed; many avoided surge waters entirely. Damage was limited due to Sand Island (Pelican Island), a large sandbar south of DeSoto Landing which broke the force of battering waves.

An oil drilling platform grounded near the island as the hurricane passed by. It was identified by its owners, Diamond Offshore Drilling Inc., as the Ocean Warwick, pushed nearly 60 miles (97 km) from its original location by the hurricane.