There are a few things to note about Island weather. The first thing, is that there’s often a breeze—being out in the ocean and exposed on all fronts means there’s nothing to stop the wind as it blows in from across the sea. This is especially true on D’Urville Island as it juts proudly out into the Cook Straight, the little gap between the North and South Islands that the weather often likes to hurl itself through.
And this week has been a spectacular example.
We’ve now had five days of wind speeds averaging between 45-65 km/h with gusts of up to 96 km/h. And, it’s been ranging in from the North-West, a direction that sees it flying head-long into our bay, slamming straight into the front of our house, and trying to punch out our window-panes whilst simultaneously lifting the roofing iron.
To put this into perspective, l refer to this handy table from the Met Service which, based on the Beaufort Scale, classifies the wind we’ve been having as ‘Strong’ and ‘Near Gale’. Whole trees have definitely been moving (and that’s not counting the gusts!)
This one’s not shifting!
Now, while this may not seem too note worthy—I mean it’s not been hurricane force, and it hasn’t ripped our roof off (yet)—it has definitely been the most sustained wind we’ve had since moving to the Island. Sure, we’ve had some pretty strong winter storms and spring squalls—back in October, Danny has fond memories of trying to hammer roofing iron back down while hanging on to the top of a ladder in 92 km/h gusts. But that storm, like all others, blew itself out after a few days, max.
Because that’s another thing about island weather: it tends to move through quickly.
Indeed, a couple of days of ferocious winds can hold a certain thrilling excitement, something to laugh and marvel over when it’s all blown out, something that puts you in touch with the sobering truth that is the power of nature. But this time, after nearly a week of pounding, we’re all well-and-truly over being blasted every time we step outside. There’s been the odd moment of teasing quiet, only for things to ramp back up into a night-time frenzy that feels like it’s trying to rip the house apart.
And so, resigned, it’s been a week of trying to enjoy indoor time. We’ve played a lot of Bananagrams and watched documentaries about Egypt; we’ve turned our kitchen into a pizza shop and a ping-pong tournament; we’ve done jobs in the big shed and the boys have worked on their motorbikes; we’ve even discovered the trick to hanging up washing without having to pick it out of the bushes later: at least three pegs per garment people!
Yesterday, in a bid to avoid the bickering, I first threw the boys out of the house—where upon they went off for a blat on their motorbikes—and then I threw myself out. I dragged Danny up the valley for a walk because I just couldn’t contain myself within four walls any longer. It was a wonderful, fresh walk, and as we got further up and around the valley, the wind actually started to die down. It impressed upon me the last, and perhaps most important, fact about Island weather: it’s all about direction.
With D’Urville Island rising to steep, rugged peeks along its centre, it means that if the wind is not blowing straight in towards you, shelter can usually be found. Indeed, I spoke to a friend that lives on the other side of the Island from us, and she reported that it’s merely been ‘a bit breezy’ this past week.
See, it’s all about direction!
And right now, on morning number six, I’ve climbed out of bed feeling like the wind’s been blowing directly into my scull all night, while Rowan claims to have been awake since dark. I can only imagine what sort of day we’re in store for. There’s really nothing left to do but banter about the truly horrifying Island stories that pertain to the wind, and remind ourselves that it could always be worse!
Passed into legend
Most of these stories originate from the thin peninsular of land at the top of the Island that juts furthest out into the Cook Straight. Up there, the road attempts to hug the hillsides as much as possible, but where the land drops away, vehicles are left unprotected on both sides. At this point, direction becomes irrelevant because the wind blasts through these breaks from whatever-whichway it’s coming from.
There are stories here of people being blown off motorbikes and then being unable to single-handedly lift them back to standing against the wind, of trailers being flipped over, of people having to simply leave hapless vehicles until things have died down.
A shocking (and slightly funny) little anecdote comes from the very tip of this peninsular, where the steep cliffs overlook Stephen’s Passage. It was here, mid-gale, where a farm dog innocently disturbed a sheltering Weka (a native flightless bird that resembles a brown chicken), causing it to take freight and instinctively jump into the air—only for it to be instantly snatched up by the wind and sailed off the cliff and out to sea! I like to hope it made it ashore with only a few wet feathers, but that wind…..!
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always windy here. Before this week we had a string of summer gems, crystal blue and shimmering, that had me counting my blessings and thinking there was, surely, no greater place to live. Wistfully looking forward to more of the same I’ve tried to stay away from the false hope (or gloom) of the weather forecast, but a sneaky glance this morning tells me it’s going to clear tomorrow—only to pick up again in a few days time.
Well, I suppose that’s Island weather for you. My plan? To use the calm to get some sleep and then build myself a hut up the valley!