Scientists link Melissa's power to sea surface temperatures 2° C above normal. Data shows stronger storms predicted with global warming are now happening. Lessons learned in Jamaica 2025 matter for every coastal community. WATCH: 1 MINUTE AGO: Jamaica STRUGGLES After Hurricane Melissa — Experts Reveal the True Impact GeoNature Oct 29 report, transcript follows [More post Melissa coverage shortly at Heating Planet blog]
Just one minute ago, Jamaica was left reeling. Outside, floodwaters creep through silent streets, and the air still holds the memory of 185 mph winds. This was Hurricane Melissa, the strongest storm ever to strike the island. arriving on October 28th with a surge as high as a house and up to 40 inches of rain in just days. Nearly 1.5 million people are now at risk while 25,000 visitors cannot leave. The winds may have stopped, but what really happens after a hurricane shatters a country? Could the next danger be worse than the storm itself?
At 6:14 a.m. on October 28th, the eye of Hurricane Melissa crossed the shoreline near New Hope, unleashing the strongest winds Jamaica has ever recorded. 185 mph, enough to tear roofs from concrete and flatten entire neighborhoods in minutes. Along the coast, the ocean did not rise gently. It attacked. A wall of water as tall as a singlestory house surged inland. This was not a wave, but a storm surge. A massive ocean pushed by hurricane winds, swallowing streets, ports, and hospitals in seconds. 13 ft of water swept over the southern shore, leaving fishing boats stranded far from the sea and turning familiar landmarks into islands.
For communities in Portland and St. Mary. The surge erased the boundary between land and ocean. In the space of an hour, the coastline was redrawn by force. The term storm surge means more than flooding. It means the sea itself is carried onto land, driven by the full power of the storm. That is what met Jamaica at dawn.
Melissa did not just batter the coast. It soaked the heart of Jamaica. Across the island, rainfall measured between 15 and 30 in. Some locations saw as much as 40 in in less than days. In practical terms, that's more water than many towns receive in half a year.
Rivers overflowed, fields vanished underwater, and city streets turned into fast moving channels. The National Hurricane Center warned of catastrophic flash flooding, and the numbers show why. Nearly 1.5 million people, more than half the country's population, were in the direct path of the storm's most dangerous effects. For those families, the statistics meant waking up to water at the doorstep, losing power, and facing isolation as roads disappeared beneath the flood.
The scale of exposure was unprecedented. Behind every number is a home, a business, a school. Each one now facing the uncertainty of what the next hours might bring.
Airports across Jamaica shut their doors as Hurricane Melissa battered the island. Planes stood idle on flooded tarmacs. Departure boards frozen with canceled flights. For 25,000 international visitors, the journey home ended abruptly. Stranded tourists found themselves cut off. No flights, no fairies, no way out. The closure of Norman Manley and Sangster International Airports left travelers and Jamaicans alike isolated as air traffic controllers and ground crews sheltered from the storm.
Roadways leading to the airports were blocked by downed trees and landslides, making ground transport impossible. The Office of Disaster Preparedness and Emergency Management reported that even major highways in and out of Kingston and Montego Bay were impassible. With bridges washed out and secondary roads buried under mud, aid convoys and rescue teams struggled to reach those in need.
In the first hours after landfall, movement across the islands slowed to a crawl, leaving thousands waiting for news, unable to leave or be reached. The sense of isolation grew with every hour of silence.
Three deaths have been confirmed. Each number is a family, a neighbor, someone whose absence is felt in the silence that follows the storm. In a crowded shelter on the edge of Kingston, a mother holds her youngest child close. She describes leaving everything behind, clothes, photos, school books. When water rushed in before sunrise, we left with only what we could carry. The children couldn't sleep. They keep asking when we can go home.
Around her, dozens of families share thin mats and bottled water, waiting for news about their neighborhoods. There are not enough toilets and the air is thick with worry and exhaustion. On the coast in Port Antonio, a fisher stands beside his overturned boat, hands resting on the battered hull. His nets are gone, swept out to sea with the surge. We lost boats and nets. That's how we feed the family. Without fishing, we have no income.
The harbor is strangely quiet, just the sound of waves and scattered debris. For him and for many along the waterfront, the path to recovery is uncertain. The loss is not just material. It is the loss of routine, of purpose, of the daily work that sustains a community.
These are the faces of Melissa's aftermath. Each one carrying the weight of what the storm has taken. Rainfall on this scale does more than flood homes. It sets off a chain reaction across Jamaica's steep hills and valleys. In the Blue Mountains and the central highlands, slopes gave way. Landslides tumbling earth and rock onto roads, cutting off entire communities in moments. These slides can bury homes, block rescue routes, and leave families stranded for days.
Even as the water recedes, the ground remains unstable, and the risk of further collapse lingers with every passing hour. Rivers swollen with runoff carry tons of silt and debris out to sea. NASA satellites captured sediment plumes stretching more than kilometers offshore, clouding the water and choking coral reefs that support local fisheries.
Inland, the flood water seeped into wells and water tanks, mixing with sewage and salt. Health officials warned that many wells are now unsafe, forcing rural families to rely on bottled water or wait for emergency deliveries. Drinking from a contaminated source can mean weeks of illness just as recovery begins.
These are the hidden hazards.
Landslides that reshape the land, water that carries unseen dangers, and an environment left under stress long after the winds have faded.
Half a million homes and businesses went dark as Hurricane Melissa ripped through Jamaica's power grid. The Jamaica Public Service reported that nearly one in every two customers lost electricity. An outage stretching from Kingston to Montego Bay. Transmission lines lay tangled in flood water and substations stood silent, their circuits drowned by the surge. Without power, water pumps shut down, leaving neighborhoods to ration bottled supplies or wait for emergency deliveries.
Hospitals switched to backup generators, running low on fuel, while pharmacies and clinics struggled to keep medicines cold. Traffic lights blinked out and cell towers failed, cutting off families from the outside world.
In the first two days, repair crews worked in teams, navigating debris choked roads, but the damage was vast. Early government briefings warned that full restoration could take weeks. The economic toll is still being counted, but officials already speak in billions.
For small businesses, every hour without power means lost income. For families, it means spoiled food, stifling heat, and nights spent in darkness, waiting for a sign that the grid will come back to life.
The foundation for Melissa's strength was hidden beneath the waves. In the weeks before landfall, sea surface temperatures around Jamaica rose to levels rarely seen, 1 to 2° C above the October average, according to NOAA Coral Reef Watch. For a hurricane, this is pure energy. Warm ocean water acts as fuel, evaporating into the air and feeding the storm's core.
As Melissa tracked toward Jamaica, every kilometer over these heated waters allowed the system to draw more moisture and power. This wasn't random chance. Satellite maps from late October show a wide band of red, a signal of unusually hot water stretching across the central Caribbean.
Meteorologists at the University of the West Indies explained that even a single degree of extra warmth can make the difference between a strong storm and a record-breaker. In 2025, the Caribbean gave Melissa everything it needed to grow, setting the stage for what followed. Melissa's transformation from a strong hurricane to a record-breaking force happened with stunning speed. Over just hours, wind speeds jumped by more than 70 mph, twice what meteorologists define as rapid intensification. Warm ocean waters fueled this growth. But it was the collapse of steering currents above Jamaica that changed everything. Instead of moving quickly, Melissa slowed to a crawl barely 3 m per hour, as slow as someone walking. This stall pinned the hurricane over the island's southern coast, allowing rainbands to sweep over the same towns for hours.
The result, relentless downpours, rivers rising far beyond flood stage, and whole communities cut off by water. As one scientist at the University of the West Indies explains, when a hurricane stalls, all that moisture gets rung out in one place. That's why rainfall totals soared to 40 in. The storm's slow motion turned a powerful hurricane into a disaster measured in days, not hours.
Hurricane Melissa made landfall in Jamaica with sustained winds of 185 mph and a 13 ft storm surge.
Verified satellite images show sediment plumes stretching for tens of kilometers offshore. While government reports confirm multi-billion dollar damage to infrastructure and agriculture. Despite rapid emergency response, full recovery will take years, and the long-term effects on water quality and livelihoods are still being assessed.
Scientists have linked Melissa's power to sea surface temperatures 2° C above normal. But questions remain about how quickly climate adaptation can keep pace. What is clear, the data shows that stronger storms are now possible, and the lessons learned here matter for every coastal community. The storm has passed, but its mark will remain for-
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GeoNature
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[KE: Everything climate scientists predicted about global warming since the 1970s is coming true, only faster]
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