Narrow escape

LAGUNA LIFE

This is the second of a two-part story of columnist James Pribram’s

adventure in Puerto Vallarta through hurricane Kenna.

I was there down on the beach when the first tidal surge hit. It

was a 4-foot high wave with steps of water behind it that had such

velocity that it didn’t break, it just surged forward up the beach.

I began slowly running (ditching my cup of coffee) with the sound

of crunching and crashing intensifying with my every step. I was now

sprinting up the beach. The tidal surge demolished a two-story

playground just feet behind me, not slowing for a moment, and

continued forward through the oceanfront bungalow restaurant and

directly into the lobby of our hotel.

The first screams rang out as I backpedaled toward the restaurant

to make sure everybody was OK. Everyone got out and high-tailed it

into the lobby, which was quickly filling up with water.

Amid the chaos, I too scurried into the lobby. The electricity was

out, meaning the elevators were stuck and the lobby was now dark. It

grew even darker outside with each passing minute. Everything was

happening really fast, but at the same time it was so surreal to me

and, I assume, the others. It was as though we were in a time warp;

fast yet slow.

Once in the lobby, I ran into Greg Long. We tried to get upstairs,

but the stairwell was locked, so we tried another and it too was

locked -- they all were.

The two of us started running around to get help in opening the

stairwells, but no one who worked there “knew anything.” I mean stop

for a minute and think about it; a Category 5 hurricane is coming

right for us, and they were serving breakfast in their ocean front

bungalow restaurant, while the lobby is filling with water and the

stairwells are all locked? The elevators are stuck. Not to mention

the waves in front of hotel had gone from flat to 10 feet to 15 feet

in minutes.

At this point, Greg and I split up. I soon grew tired of the south

of the border attitude, as the water was now knee high and people

were beginning to freak. I kicked a door with everything I had --

“Boom!” It didn’t so much as move, but it sent someone running over

to me with a pair of keys to open the stairwell.

We got all the stairwells open except one that Jeff Flindt was

trying to open with his credit card. Some people from inside of the

stairwell opened it for him. That was pretty funny, but it would be

days before I would laugh about it.

I ran up the flight of stairs like monster Kenna was right behind

me, only stopping at my room momentarily. I put on a pair shoes,

grabbed my backpack, putting in it a bottle of water, whatever food I

could find, my plane ticket, my passport and my first aid kit. I

pretty much had the basics of survival in my backpack if needed. In

the process of this, I told Bron to get the flicking frick out of bed

(he was sleeping off his wounds from the night before.) I remember

looking out the window and tripping on how big the waves were

getting. The ocean now resembled a huge twisting and churning glass

of chocolate milk that thundered with every closeout.

I went back down to the lobby through the stairwell (I think with

Matt, Timmy and Bron.) I opened the lobby door and saw an 8-foot high

river going through it, complete with a palm tree and a kitchen sink.

This was perhaps 45 minutes into our ordeal.

At this point, everyone agreed we needed to find another way out

just in case it came to that. My biggest fear was being stuck in

there with no way out. (After all, who knew how long Kenna would

last?) The four of us were on a mission to find a way out, but every

option we had lead directly back down to the lobby. At one point we

were standing on a roof, the wind was howling and the rain was at a

steady downfall. Our hotel was now engulfed by water. Cars that were

parked in the lot now had water up to the doors and some beyond that.

We went back inside and tried another stairwell. This one lead

onto a balcony through a glass door marked “in case of a fire or

emergency only” (it seemed like one moment that door was there and in

the next, smashed). The door lead to an outside staircase. That took

us down to the ground level.

I told Matt to run back up and tell the others we had found a way

out, that we were leaving and that I would scout it and come back. As

Timmy and I were waiting for him, we watching the waves in front of

the hotel and estimated that they were now a solid 25 feet. At no

point in all of this did I feel safer because of my swimming

capabilities; those waves would have eaten me alive and anyone else

for that matter.

Once the OK came back from Matt, we booked it and got out through

waist-deep water, crossed a couple of streets that were like small

rivers and headed for the hills, where we found a hotel that was so

isolated from the storm you wouldn’t even know a hurricane was taking

place. I would estimate that it was mile and a half away from the

other hotel. Along the way, Matt and Tim said a couple of prayers.

I borrowed Tim’s cell phone, called my Dad and told him where I

was and what was going on.

His first words were, “Get out of there!”

I calmly told him that it was too late, and a few tears escaped

from my eyes.

In the hotel room, I set my backpack down and said I was going

back for the others. Timmy and Matt didn’t agree with what I was

about to do, but I was gone before they could say much more than that

I was crazy for going back. But I had to.

The entire time I was running back to the hotel, all I could think

of was this Nike commercial that aired two years ago in which a guy

goes out running on New Year’s Eve 1999 and everything around him is

blowing up and flooding. That was all I was really thinking about

while I was crossing these small river-like streets, listening to the

police yelling “alto” to me and noticing that the wind didn’t seem as

strong. I made it back to the hotel, but didn’t recognize it at first

because there was twice as much water now.

I stood at the corner of the hotel where the staircase lead back

into the hotel. There were now little waves breaking on it. I yelled

up to the hotel twice to no answer. I took two steps backward,

thought about the worst-case scenario and went back into the hotel.

It took me almost 20 minutes to find the others, and soon after

the hurricane had blown past us. We huddled in a hotel room for a

couple of hours more in a state of disbelief. As quick as Kenna came

calling, he left us, thank God. But not before he decimated the first

couple of floors in our hotel. We walked around for a while.

I remember one couple in particular that was looking through the

debris (which was so bad it looked like a tidal wave or two had swept

through). They were looking for their baby’s bottle. Thing’s could

have been worse, much worse. There were millions of dollars in

damage, but no deaths. We all made it out safely, with a good story

to tell.

Next time, I’m bringing a camera.

Peace.

* JAMES PRIBRAM is a Laguna Beach resident, professional surfer

and co-founder of “They Will Surf Again,” a nonprofit foundation

assisting people with spinal cord injuries. He was also a member of

the Water Quality Advisory Committee.