On Saturday, southern France was pretty well paralysed by the biggest storm for a decade. Immensely strong winds swept across the country, felling trees and tearing bits off buildings.
By lunchtime the préfet of our département, the Aude, had ordered the closure of all large shops and banned all traffic from the roads. The instruction to the population was not to leave home except in an emergency.
Of course, we had not been listening to the radio, and were in blissful ignorance of the dramatic meteorological events unfolding around us. A power cut had even stopped us checking the internet for information. Late morning, having allowed some time for the heavy rains from the preceding day to soak away, we set off up the hill to the llamas. Our house is remarkably sheltered from a westerly wind, so even with the wind gauge in our garden, we were unprepared for the onslaught of the gales. And these really were gales – later we found that they had probably exceeded 150 kph!
The first thing I noticed as we climbed the road out of the village was the noise. The pine wood on the hill was roaring and crackling. Then I spotted the power lines thrashing about between the pylons, and we decided not to hang around. Unfortunately, we were now heading into the teeth of the wind, and progress was becoming very difficult. At times we were literally being blown backwards, and it seemed that we might actually not be able to stand up for long.
Had it not been for our concern for the llamas, we would now have headed home. But a wind that could blow us over would surely put the rickety field shelters at risk? So on we battled . . . .
At the breeders’ field, it was evident that we had not escaped unscathed. A couple of trees had been blown down across the fence of the catch pen, ripping the iron wire mesh as if it were paper.
Despite this worrying start, all was well with the llamas. They didn’t seem too worried by the wind, and they had happily gathered in the (still standing) field shelter to eat out the storm. Val had some problems giving them any concentrate, as food buckets blew all over the field.
The walkers’ land is much more exposed to the westerly wind, and it took me quite a while to battle my way around the vineyards to the gate. Much to my delight, the rapidly erected field shelter was holding firm against the battering of the storm. The llamas popped their heads out to greet me and I dived in to join them. All thoughts of llama-walking abandoned, I spent a few minutes sharing their shelter and they happily relieved me of the concentrate and carrots I had brought. They barely gave me a second glance as I struggled back out into the wind to rejoin Val and flee for home.
So perhaps we can build a decent field shelter after all. They may look a bit ramshackle – but they’re still standing! Which is more than can be said for a lot of things around this part of France . . . . .
