As deadly Hurricane Milton moved toward my wife and I in the early afternoon, the heightened tension was almost unbearable.
With a countdown of less than three hours to landfall, we still didn’t know whether or not our four-bedroom house would take a direct hit from 125 mph winds.
We had held out a timid hope amid the rollercoaster of information pouring out of local television coverage for days, and had raised it as the harrowing deadline approached.
I needed to head south, toward our home in a quiet enclave in northwest Tampa Bay, to avoid the deadliest and most destructive path, a five- to 10-mile-wide strait of unbearable terror.
Then Milton did the unthinkable. At least, the unthinkable for us.
Flooding at Tampa Bay Downs racetrack, near the home of DailyMail.com’s Greg Woodfield, who described the “unbearable tension” as he waited to see if Hurricane Milton would hit his home.
A dog is rescued amid high water on Memorial Highway in Tampa after Hurricane Milton
With about 180 minutes left (yes, we were counting it so precisely) a shadow suddenly turned north.
The moment occurred in real time on television as we watched the path of the National Hurricane Center, that damn little black line that seemed to hold our future in its hands.
Our anxiety level naturally increased as we watched the development from the modern hotel in downtown Tampa where we had tried to endure this, along with hordes of other “refugees” who had left their homes at the mercy of nature.
But for others among the roughly three million who live in the Tampa Bay area, there must have been a spark of relief at that change of course. For them, a bump to the north gave them hope.
One person’s escape is potentially another person’s catastrophe in the hurricane business. We know this because four other hurricanes have devastated Florida’s west coast since we moved there three years ago from Miami.
And that feeling of relief only creates a genuine fit of guilt among Floridians who come together in these times of deadly emergency, helping their neighbors with good deeds and kind words.
Then, with a few hours left, it seemed that Milton was beginning to return to us again with vengeance in his dark heart.
If it continued to swing like that, our previous faint hopes of escaping the worst might be lost, along with the normal dreams any couple has for their home and future.
It was a sleepless night for the couple as they worried whether their home would survive as the area was hit by 129 mph winds.
“As we stayed glued to the TV, the winds outside our hotel began to blow at around 50 mph and the rain that had begun in the morning as a preview of what was to come intensified alarmingly,” Woodfield writes.
Whatever the clue, we were in the “cone of uncertainty,” which meant gale-force winds regardless of Milton’s final mercurial mood. We could do nothing but watch, listen and wait.
As we stayed glued to the TV, the winds outside our hotel began to blow at around 50 mph and the rain that had begun in the morning as a preview of what was to come intensified alarmingly.
Woodfield and his wife, Luz Stella, fled their four-bedroom home and took refuge in a hotel.
Milton then hit as a Category 3 storm with wind speeds up to 129 mph at 8:30 p.m. local time. The central destructive band crashed into Siesta Key, a barrier island off Sarasota and just south of Tampa Bay.
Ultimately, I won’t say we were relieved. So far, eleven people have lost their lives because of Milton or his influence. Four died in tornadoes, while two others perished in St. Petersburg, just north of Sarasota.
Our hotel barely shook as we stayed awake through the worst of it, despite the incredible roar of gale-force winds outside that intensified into the early hours of the morning. Even through the hurricane-resistant windows, the noise was deafening. My wife couldn’t sleep until 5:30 in the morning (she tells me).
In our house, the story was slightly different. Overnight, I received an “extreme wind warning” message on my phone for our specific area. Local television meteorologist and hurricane guru Denis Phillips had warned that if you get one of those, it’s serious.
Our area was now in the spectacular and super powerful “northern wall” of the eye. This turned out to mean 110 mph wind gusts that blew our house away and a staggering 10 inches of rain in just a few hours.
Teary-eyed, we fearfully left our hotel through increasingly flooded roads. As we turned a corner through the community’s electric gates, we both looked at each other with expressions that said, ‘This is it.’
Woodfield writes that he and his wife are among three million people who lost power and have “no idea” when it might come back on.
The gusts knocked out windows of a high-rise building in downtown Tampa. Woodfield and his wife were at a local hotel and described the ‘incredible roar of the gale-force winds outside.’
Splashing through floodwaters, this man intended to save his dog
Many Tampa residents were still dealing with the impact of Hurricane Helene, which turned everyday objects into rubble.
The couple received an “extreme wind warning” on their phones when the storm hit, but some people still found relief with macabre humor, like this sign on a home along Memorial Highway.
We had already been through enough emotions. Packing the car to escape with our most prized possessions, plus all the essential documents to get on with life if all else was lost, was already an ordeal.
Much like filming the house for insurance purposes, we realized this might be the last time we see it like this.
However, we are still standing, even though the fences have been torn down. The house itself was undamaged as far as I can see, so we’re grateful for the relatively recent new roof and hurricane windows, despite the hit to the bank balance.
We dodge the real bullet. My neighbors were not so lucky. Right across the street they lost a large part of their roof. Meanwhile, the local 7-11 gas station was vandalized.
The concern for us now is flooding. We are far from the effects of the storm surge, which did not occur as feared, but we are at the mercy of a local water system that has flooded the nature reserve next to our house and now covers a large portion of our lawn.
The road leading to our community had at least a foot of water in some places and is still there as I write. Only one SUV had any chance of getting through it early this morning.
At the nearby Tampa Bay Downs racetrack, it looks like a decent-sized lake: gushing water is still feeding the flood. Other nearby businesses are flooded and roads are impassable.
Tampa was still recovering from deadly Hurricane Helene, which hit just two weeks ago. Now, some residents who were inundated by up to nine feet of storm surge in that horrific event are battling fresh flooding outside their homes.
The force of the winds was so strong that in some parts there were trees uprooted
A downed business sign seen on the sidewalk of N Nines Avenue
The flooding at the local racecourse was so bad that a couple turned up with a canoe, Woodfield writes.
A truck battles flooding on West Hillsborough Avneue in Tampa. Woodfield describes how residents returned to living their normal lives “within hours”
The force of the winds has uprooted giant trees in the coastal area of Dana Shores, which was devastated by Helene. Although the houses themselves seemed to have escaped a second wave.
And although many areas of Tampa Bay are recovering from another hurricane, parts of the city appear untouched. No downed trees, almost no debris and no flooding. That’s the fickle nature of these beasts.
We are among three million people currently without power and there is no idea when it might be restored. After Helene, some people have recently reconnected.
Within a few hours of Milton, people in my community returned to the pickleball courts. And at the race track, a couple showed up with a canoe to make the most of the new aquatic facilities. Crazy? After all, it is Florida.
