The wind had become so furious, our path was starting to look more like green shag carpet than asphalt. Every few seconds our headlights would catch a glimpse of flying debris. I was certain a giant fir or power pole would lose its footing and land right on our car. I tried as best i could to guide us through the falling chunks of tree, as Don took pictures for our morning newscast. But perhaps more powerful than the pictures, was that sound -- that low growl, laced with high-pitched shrieks.

Just then, we saw the flicker of a flashlight. It was a young man in his 20's who was outside checking his waterfront home for damage. He invited us onto his back deck to show us how the surf was battering his surf-side windows.

Indeed. The waves had been catapulting rocks and wood toward his house.
But looking out into the Straight of Juan de Fuca, there was just darkness and it was tough to make out any water at all. But you could hear that unmistakeable hiss of a churning surf.

The young man told us it had been a long night filled with sounds for him too.

"All you hear is the waves just hitting the window," he said. "Like a hurricane.... I don't know, I'm from Minnesota... It sounds more like a tornado, almost."

I've never heard a tornado before, but I'm from Washington, and like all of us in this great state, I've had my fill of nasty weather lately.