Tsunami

On Saturday morning I awoke to the phone ringing at 5 am.  It was our guests, worried about what they’d seen on the news about a possible tsunami coming to Hawaii following the massive earthquake in Chile.  At six o’clock the tsunami siren sounded.  I got out of bed quietly and crept out into our living room.  The room was still shrouded in darkness and I could hear the surf pounding.  A siren by nature is a harrowing sound and it filled me with fear.  The sirens are tested once a month, but we’ve never actually heard one used for-real.  Both Ken and I did some quick research online and found that indeed Hawaii was under tsunami warning status, and that a tsunami was expected to hit the islands at around eleven a.m. 

We already knew that, were a tsunami to hit our shore, we would not need to evacuate, being that we are perched on a hill at 300 feet above sea level.  The best plan of action, seconded by the civil defense, is for people above shoreline areas to stay put.  Their concern is people panicking, leaving their homes unnecessarily, clogging up roads and not allowing the folks who really do need to leave, to leave in a timely fashion.  We planned to stay put, watch the news, and keep our eyes on the water. 

As the morning unfolded, the sun came out, the siren continued to sound hourly, and we checked in with the local news.  I served breakfast to our guests, we did maid service, answered the phone, and proceeded with our normal work.  Eleven am came and went, as did twelve, as did one and two and three.  We have a massive view of the coastline stretched out before us and watched the ocean constantly throughout the day.  There was no discernable shift (on our side) in current, color, level, or wave pattern.  The Kona winds picked up and the afternoon was sunny and clear.  In Honolulu, people panicked and flooded grocery stores and gas stations, but here, it was an extraordinarily quiet Saturday afternoon.

By evening the warning status had been lifted and there was an almost palpable feeling of relief in the air.  We could hear a stream of traffic heading down the road as the folks who live along the water returned home.  I heard people out on their lanais laughing and playing music loudly.  The sirens stopped, the threat was gone, and the islands endured no damage – thankfully.