The shower doors clattered obnoxiously, waking us up. Wondering what our neighbors—normally so quiet—could be doing to at this ungodly hour, Dale climbed out of bed and wandered into the living room. Even in the dark, he could tell that the blinds and other objects were also shaking. This was no noisy neighbor; we were having an earthquake.
He roused me from bed, a smile on his face. Alaska has a lot of earthquakes, and we’d been waiting to experience a real one. Here it was! The disturbance started at 12:31 and continued long enough for me to pay attention to it. It wasn’t like in the movies, where the ground shakes so violently that pictures fall from walls and plates smash onto floors; everything rocked and rattled and clattered, but nothing tumbled from the shelves. I felt off balance, though, as the ground wobbled beneath my feet.
The tremors also lasted long enough for my mind to wander to the apartment above our heads and the abandoned orphanage uphill from us, damaged beyond repair in a decades-old, cataclysmic earthquake. I’ve long suspected that someday it will collapse and slide downhill, an avalanche of asbestos and sad memories.
After a minute or so, the movement stopped and the ground returned to its stable, quiet self. A real earthquake! Finally! It was exciting but not so powerful that it brought the roof down on our heads. Perfect!
We had to be up early, so the celebration was brief, and we quickly went back to bed. We had just settled in, however, when the tsunami siren went off.
Alrighty then. It must’ve been a bigger quake than we’d realized.
Seward sits on Resurrection Bay, which empties into the Gulf of Alaska. It, like all Alaskan coastal towns, are at risk for the tsunamis that sometimes follow earthquakes.
The tsunami warning siren is a familiar sound to Sewardites because it goes off once a week. A man’s voice always accompanies it, reassuring us that this is only a drill. The first few times I heard it I thought it was creepy and pessimistic, this searing alarm going off in the middle of the day, evoking images of air raid drills and the end of the world. But nowadays, I barely even notice it.
Hearing it in the middle of the night, however, was a whole different enchilada. We stepped outside to hear what the recording was instructing us to do. The siren stood in sharp contrast to the snow that was silently falling. The sound echoed off the mountains, the reverberations making everything feel disjointed and ominous. And the man’s calm, detached voice told us not that this was a drill but (and I loosely paraphrase here) that the shit had just gotten real. (Except he didn’t curse. Disembodied tsunami siren man would never curse).
The voice instructed us to listen to the radio, so of course we did what it said. We don’t own a portable radio (that’s being remedied), so Dale listened in the car to while I went inside to pack. He was informed that an earthquake with a preliminary magnitude of 8.2 (it was later downgraded to 7.9) had occurred in the Gulf of Alaska, hitting 181 miles south of Kodiak Island at a depth of 15.5 miles.
We were told to evacuate immediately to higher ground if necessary because a tsunami was potentially headed our way. A tsunami watch had been issued for coastal communities from the Aleutian Islands to British Columbia, with warnings as far south as California.
Dale and I live well above the inundation point, which is 50 feet above sea level, and so after some discussion we decided to stay put. Much of downtown Seward, however, sits below this point and many people evacuated. Over 100 went to Seward High School while others went to the hospital, and many arrived at my place of work, a complex that includes a nursing home and outpatient clinic. People drove to other high places as well, including our neighborhood. We watched as cars continuously drove up our street. The roads were lined with vehicles. Residents living in these high areas volunteered their driveways, and impromptu tsunami parties popped up. And numerous people who had planned to leave town diverted to the Pit Bar on Seward Highway instead, waiting out whatever was to come while having a drink.
Even though we had no plans to leave home, we quickly packed go-bags just in case. It was a strange thing to be scurrying around in the middle of the night filling backpacks with essential items, and I’m sure there are important things that I forgot. It was a slapdash packing job for sure, but I grabbed the most essential items—medications, food, and extra clothing. (I know it’s hard to believe, but I left the butter and chocolate behind.)
While I packed, I did other things as well, such as filling the bathtub with water (smart) and brushing my hair (probably not necessary).
Dale paused outside the bathroom to ask me, “Why are you brushing your hair? You don’t need to brush your hair!”
I merely shrugged. Of course I was going to brush my hair. I had bed head. And it was easy for him to say. He has no hair! Men.
In the midst of all of this, my sister, who is in Texas, called. It was 4:30 Texas time, several hours before she normally gets up. Her husband was watching TV when he saw the news alert—Alaska had experienced a major earthquake and was under a tsunami watch. He woke her up, and she immediately called me, concern in her voice. I assured her that we were on high ground and that I would keep her posted.
We threw our bags in the car and then sat in the front seat, listening to the local radio station. I texted back and forth with friends and monitored Facebook feeds. Our friend Janet, who has lived in our neighborhood for some time, assured us that we were well above the inundation zone, and Jingyi sent us this alert:
The predictions were chilling: the waves would hit Kodiak at around 1:45, and we were next, at 1:55, the location of the quake making the tsunami a straight shot up Resurrection Bay.
The two radio broadcasters, local guys who were probably doing this on their own time, offered voices of reassurance. They had little solid information, however, and it was interesting to listen to them search for information just as we were.
The Kodiak Police Department posted on Facebook regularly, but the gist of their updates was along the lines of “we’re still under a tsunami alert, so don’t go home.” Government websites that might’ve been useful, such as FEMA, NOAA, and the National Weather Service, were not being maintained due to the government shut down.
People on Facebook, of course, posted a steady stream of information, but it wasn’t always helpful or correct. Rumors spread that the bay outside of Kodiak had gone bone dry, the water sucked out into the gulf, just waiting for its cue to rush back in and obliterate everything in its path. The number 35, as in 35-foot waves, was also thrown around, because a buoy had registered a 35-foot wave in the Gulf of Alaska. Dale and I looked at each other and shook our heads. That was a big wave.
Our thoughts rested on Resurrection Bay. Of course we couldn’t see it now; it was the middle of the night and snowing to boot. But our minds went there, nonetheless. I pictured our beautiful little bay poised to receive a tsunami. Would it soon be retracting and then expanding, spilling water on the downtown buildings that suddenly seemed so small? We thought of all the places we love along the waterfront—the park, our favorite restaurants (Zudy’s and The Cookery), and the SeaLife Center, which gives a home to injured sea animals.
But 1:45 came and went, and there was no sign in Kodiak of these giant waves. We waited and waited, our eyes burning with fatigue. More than once Dale said, “I’m going to bed,” but I insisted that we stay up. We might have a tsunami headed our way! We had to be alert!
Finally, at about 3:30, when the bay still remained quiet, we headed inside. Either it was going to hit or it wasn’t, but it now seemed unlikely. Indeed, the tsunami warning was cancelled sometime after 4:00 with no reports of injuries or significant damage, and those people who were still in shelters went home to catch a few hours of sleep before getting up and starting a new day.
Alaska, the land of earthquakes
A website that actually was useful Tuesday night was the Earthquake Center at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks. It was useful mainly for its shock value, illustrating to us just how unstable this area really is. Alaska has thousands upon thousands of earthquakes every year, and the website includes a real-time graphic showing the location of the quakes that have registered across the past two weeks (it also includes the categories of “Glacial Event” and “Explosions” for good measure).
The earthquakes are represented by dots on an Alaskan map, a dense spattering of yellows, oranges, and reds. Seeing the graphic for the first time brought to mind Dippin’ Dots ice cream, or bubbles, but in reality it’s more like autumn-hued chicken pox that’s spreading across the face of Alaska. That’s gonna leave scars.
Alaska is one of the most seismically active regions in the world and has thousands of earthquakes every month. 11% of the world’s earthquakes happen in Alaska. Last month alone, the Earthquake Center identified 2,960 earthquakes. (That’s 95 a day!) 12 were greater than or equal to a magnitude of 4.0.
I took the screen shot below today as a follow up to Tuesday’s quake (which happened on January 23). Dozens of aftershocks occurred after the big one and are still occurring. Also check out the top of the graphic. Alaska has had 1,654 earthquakes in the past two weeks!
Here are some facts about Alaska from the Earthquake Center:
- The fault lines below the Alaskan mainland and the Gulf of Alaska exert immense force on the region. As the Earthquake Center describes it, these fault systems are “compressing the land in a north-south direction and shearing or tugging southern Alaska to the west.” Multiple fault systems crisscross Alaska and contribute to all that compressing and shearing and tugging. (Can’t you just picture it? Such great verbs!)
- The subduction zone on which Alaska rests produces some of the world’s largest earthquakes, including four of the 15 largest on record.
- Earthquakes of a magnitude 6-7 can happen almost anywhere in the state.
- The Earthquake Center registers an average of one quake every 15 minutes, and in 2014 they registered a record 40,000+ earthquakes in Alaska. That’s in part because their expanding network of seismic monitoring stations allows them to detect smaller earthquakes.
- The center identified 150,000+ quakes in Alaska over the past five years, with 31 having a magnitude of 6 or greater and four with a magnitude of at least 7.
- Of the 877 earthquakes of magnitudes 5 or greater that occurred in the United States from 1995-2015, 85% of those occurred in Alaska.
Finally, the second largest earthquake in recorded history occurred in southern Alaska in 1964. Known as the Great Alaskan Earthquake, it registered a magnitude of 9.2 and was legendary in its destruction, devastating Seward and many Alaskan coastal towns. Its legacy hangs over Alaska to this day. We wrote about it here.
In the end, a tsunami did hit Resurrection Bay, but it was only a few inches high. The highest wave, which measured about nine inches above the tide level, was recorded in Old Harbor on Kodiak Island.
At work that day, we were bleary eyed but excited to tell our stories. Some long-time residents said that this was the strongest quake they’d ever experienced (excluding the great quake of 1964 of course, but I don’t know anyone who was here then). Those on the top floor of multi-story houses experienced a great deal more turbulence than we did. A few people described a sensation of their homes swaying. Another described the distress of having to decide how to rescue both her children from different bedrooms in the middle of the quake. We all expressed relief that ultimately it had come to nothing and that the town that we love is still intact.
Even though it had no ill-effects on Alaska, Tuesday’s earthquake was a very big one, about the same magnitude as the temblor that destroyed San Francisco in 1906. The tremors were felt as far away as Fairbanks and Washington State.
And it was right to enact a tsunami alert, because earthquakes of this magnitude are often accompanied by tsunamis. Why, then, didn’t we have one this time? It had to do with the type of earthquake that occurred.
All earthquakes are caused by the shifting of the earth’s tectonic plates, but different types of movement can happen. Tuesday’s earthquake was of the “strike-slip” variety, which consists of side-to-side movement caused by the plates moving horizontally. These are not as common as subduction earthquakes, which occur along zones where one plate is pushing underneath another in a process known as subduction. When one plate thrusts underneath another, vertical movement occurs that can displace large amounts of water and generate tsunamis. Lucky for us, however, strike-slip quakes don’t generally create large tsunamis.
I talked to my mom a few days ago and told her about the earthquake.
Her response? “I think it’s time you move back to Texas.” Which she followed with, “But that’s not going to happen, is it?”
I’m not going to lie; sitting in the car in the middle of the night, processing the fact that a tsunami might be headed toward us, was pretty disconcerting. But this makes us love Alaska more, not less. It’s exciting. It’s different. It’s challenging. If Alaska was an easy place to live, everyone would be headed this way.
There are always trade-offs, no matter where you live, and here, the landscape is as grand as the geology. The wildlife, the people, and the sweeping views of mountains and ocean all make it a spectacular place to be. It’s worth the possibility that the ground may shake beneath your feet every once in a while.
Update, 02/03/2018: The Alaska Earthquake Center now has a continuously evolving research section devoted to this quake, which they’re calling the Offshore Kodiak Magnitude 7.9 Earthquake.