We Ignored the Storm Warning for a Live Stream — Then We Saw What Was in the Water

Part 1

We should have checked the weather before dragging a thousand dollars of electronics to the pier.

Tyler was already shivering, his jacket zipped up to his chin.

I adjusted the tripod, trying to ignore the ominous grey clouds rolling in from the west.

We were doing a live broadcast, a stupid game where we guessed country flags for our viewers.

It seemed like a great idea when we planned it in my warm living room.

Now, standing on the damp wooden planks with the wind howling, I was starting to doubt my own sanity.

The viewers were already rolling into the chat, completely oblivious to our impending doom.

They were warm in their beds, probably drinking hot chocolate.

Meanwhile, I was desperately trying to keep the wind from knocking our microphone into the ocean.

Tyler rubbed his hands together, blowing into his cupped palms.

He shot me a look that clearly communicated his displeasure with my location scouting.

I pretended not to notice, adjusting the focus ring on the lens instead.

We started the game, pulling up the first image on the tablet.

It was a flag with a machete and half a gear wheel.

I stared at it blankly, my brain freezing in the coastal wind.

Tyler leaned in, squinting at the screen.

He muttered something about Saudi Arabia, but I knew that was wrong.

Someone in the chat typed out the answer before we could even form a guess.

It was Angola.

I nodded to the camera, pretending I knew it all along.

The wind picked up another notch, rattling the metal legs of the tripod.

I gripped the main pole, my knuckles turning white.

The sky was getting darker by the minute, swallowing the afternoon light.

We moved on to the next flag, a blur of red and yellow.

My fingers were getting stiff, making it hard to swipe to the next image.

Complaining that his ears were freezing off, Tyler begged to go inside.

Determined to finish the segment, I stubbornly urged him to endure the cold for the broadcast.

With a frustrated grunt, my co-host just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

We hit a streak of easy ones, identifying Argentina and Austria without too much trouble.

But the weather was not interested in playing fair.

The first drop of rain hit my nose, cold and sharp.

I wiped it away, hoping it was just a stray drop from a passing seagull.

It was not.

Within seconds, the sky opened up, unleashing a steady, freezing drizzle.

Tyler immediately suggested we pack it in and go find a pub.

I refused, fueled by a stubborn determination to finish the segment.

We huddled over the camera, trying to use our bodies as human shields against the rain.

The chat started filling up with people laughing at our misery.

They called it random ditch rain, whatever that meant.

I tried to laugh along, but my teeth were starting to chatter.

We pulled up a flag with a dragon on it, which was undeniably cool.

Bhutan, the chat informed us.

I wished we had a real dragon to breathe some fire and warm us up.

The rain was coming down harder now, soaking through my thin sweater.

We were a pathetic sight, two grown men hunching over a piece of glass and metal in a storm.

I looked at Tyler, seeing the misery etched into his wet face.

He was right, we needed to find shelter.

But just as I reached out to turn off the broadcast, the wind shifted.

It wasn’t a gentle breeze.

It was a sudden, violent gust that nearly knocked me off my feet.

The tripod swayed dangerously, threatening to topple over the edge of the pier.

I grabbed it with both hands, planting my feet wide.

The sound of the wind rushing past the microphone was deafening in my headphones.

I looked out past the pier, trying to gauge how bad the storm was getting.

The water, which had been relatively calm an hour ago, was now a chaotic mess of whitecaps.

I squinted through the rain, trying to make sense of a shape out in the waves.

It took a moment for my eyes to focus through the downpour.

The grey waves were churning with a violence I had never seen before on this coast.

I could taste the salt spray in the air, mixed with the biting chill of the rain.

Tyler yelled something over the noise of the storm, but his words were ripped away by the gale.

He pointed frantically at the chat on our waterproof monitor.

Our viewers were practically screaming at us to get inside.

Some joked that we were going to get swept out to sea.

I yelled back at the camera that we were fine, just experiencing a little local weather.

My shoes were completely soaked through, the cold water pooling in my socks.

I shifted my weight, trying to find a stable stance on the slippery wooden planks.

We were only halfway through our list of flags.

I stubbornly swiped to the next image, a horizontal tricolor of blue, yellow, and red.

Chad, a regular in our chat, immediately identified it as Chad.

The irony was not lost on us, despite the freezing conditions.

I gave a thumbs up to the lens, acknowledging his quick answer.

But the victory was short-lived as another sheet of rain washed over us.

It felt like standing under an icy waterfall.

I huddled tighter over the equipment, my back taking the brunt of the storm.

Tyler bumped his shoulder against mine, seeking any kind of warmth.

We were a unified front of misery, broadcast live for the world to see.

The chat began spamming emotes, a cascade of umbrellas and crying faces.

I wiped a stream of water from my eyes, blinking rapidly.

We were running out of time, and out of luck.

Then, out in the violent swells, I spotted a small yellow water taxi fighting a losing battle against the waves, and my stomach dropped.