Disaster struck with no warning out of a faultlessly clear blue sky. I was taking my morning swim around the island that my brother Geoffrey, a businessman, had bought on a whim...
WELIGAMA, Sri Lanka — Disaster struck with no warning out of a faultlessly clear blue sky.
I was taking my morning swim around the island that my brother Geoffrey, a businessman, had bought on a whim a decade ago and turned into a tropical paradise 200 yards from one of the world’s most beautiful beaches.
I was a quarter of the way around the island when I heard my brother shouting at me, “Come back! Come back! There’s something strange happening with the sea.” He was swimming behind me, but closer to the shore.
I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. All seemed peaceful. There was barely a ripple. My brother’s house rests on a rock 60 feet above the level of the sea.
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Then I noticed that the water around me was rising, climbing up the rock walls of the island with astonishing speed. The vast circle of golden sand around Weligama Bay was disappearing rapidly, and the water had reached the level of the palm tree-fringed coastal road.
As I swam to shore, my mind was momentarily befuddled by two conflicting impressions — the idyllic blue sky and the rapidly rising waters.
In less than a minute, the water level had risen at least 15 feet, but the sea remained calm, with barely a wave in sight.
Within minutes, the beach and the area behind it had become an inland sea that rushed over the road and poured into the flimsy houses on the other side. The speed with which it all happened seemed like a scene from the Bible, a natural phenomenon unlike anything I had experienced.
As the waters rose at an incredible rate, I half expected to catch sight of Noah’s Ark.
I grabbed a wooden catamaran that the local people used as a fishing boat. My brother jumped on the boat next to me. We bobbed up and down on the catamaran as the water rushed past us into the village beyond the road.
After a few minutes, the water stopped rising, and I felt it was safe to swim to the shore. What I did not realize was that the floodwaters would recede as quickly and dramatically as they had risen.
All of a sudden, I found myself being swept out to sea with startling speed. Although I am a fairly strong swimmer, I was unable to withstand the current. The fishing boats around me had been torn from their moorings, and were bobbing up and down furiously.
For the first time, I felt afraid.
I swam in the direction of a loose catamaran, grabbed the hull and pulled myself to safety. My weight must have slowed the boat down, and soon I was stranded on the sand.
As the water rushed out of the bay, I scrambled onto the main road. Screams were coming from the houses beyond the road, many of which were still half full of water that had trapped the inhabitants inside. Villagers were walking, stunned, along the road, unable to comprehend what had taken place.
I was worried about my wife, who had been on the beach when I went for my swim. I eventually found her walking along the road, dazed but happy to be alive.
She had been trying to wade back to our island when the water carried her across the road and into someone’s back yard. At one point she was underwater, struggling for breath. She finally grabbed onto a rope and climbed into a tree, escaping the waters that raged beneath her.
The waves raged around the island for the rest of the day, alternately rising and receding.
It took us many hours to realize the scale of the disaster, because we could see only the tiny part in front of us. The road from Weligama to Galle was cut in many places. The coastal road was littered with carcasses of boats, dogs and even a few dead sharks. Helicopters flew overhead and loudspeaker vans warned residents to leave low-lying areas for fear of more tidal waves.
My brother’s little island, called Tapbrobane after the ancient name of Sri Lanka, was largely intact, although a piece of our gate ended up on the seashore half a mile away. The water rose about 20 feet toward the house.
We have no water and no electricity and are cut off from the rest of Sri Lanka. It is impossible to buy food. We are existing on cold ham and turkey sandwiches, leftovers from Christmas dinner.
The holiday that we planned and dreamed about for many months is in ruins, but we feel fortunate to be alive.