Hurricane Erin Is Heading Out to Sea. People Are Riveted Anyway.

The descriptions of the storm were ominous and pulsing with urgency. Hurricane Erin was churning, cranking and lashing its way up the Atlantic Ocean, edging toward Category 3 territory, forecasters cautioned. It would be a “big wind maker, a big wave maker,” as an anchor put it on the Weather Channel.

Erin is also a hurricane with virtually zero chance of making landfall anywhere. But more than a few people were watching closely anyway.

At the Lucky 12 Tavern in Nags Head, N.C., the Weather Channel blared “Large and dangerous hurricane.” Tomás Houser, 29, said his parents in Virginia had peppered him all week with text messages, asking him what was happening.

Nothing to worry about, he replied.

It’s the first storm to reach hurricane strength, he said, “so people are like, ‘Oh no!’”

Even on its current trajectory, Erin is not completely devoid of peril or the potential of unleashing disruption.

Up and down the coast, officials have taken precautions and urged residents to be mindful of the possible dangers. Gov. Phil Murphy of New Jersey warned of possible high surf and rip currents, coastal and flash flooding as he declared a state of emergency on Thursday.

In North Carolina, officials have ordered limited evacuations and warned that even from a distance, the storm could produce waves that are more than 20 feet high, threatening to inundate protective sand dune structures and render parts of Highway 12 — a corridor connecting coastal communities — impassable for days.

But the interest in the storm has not been limited to coastal pockets that might experience powerful waves and wind. In recent days, according to Google search data, Hurricane Erin was one of the subjects that attracted the most attention.

That’s how it goes during hurricane season, especially when the first major storm arrives. It can be a jolt, especially for those who know firsthand the destruction and hardship that a hurricane can unleash: The time to be vigilant was upon them once again.

“It seems like when something gets a name, people pay attention,” said Ryan Ellis, a science and operations officer with the National Weather Service in Newport, N.C.

In a more analog time, people living in hurricane-prone places would pick up printed tracking charts, often sponsored by local television stations and distributed at supermarkets, updating it based on the forecasts on the evening news.

Many are hooked because they know the grave implications of any shift.

“There’s the question marks around it: Is this a significant event? If so, where is it going to land? What’s it going look like? Who’s going to be affected?” said Simon Dickinson, a researcher at the University of Plymouth in Britain studying the production and consumption of the livestreaming of extreme weather. “All of those things sort of turn into a little bit of a drama.”

And with a changing climate, more and more people have had their own run-ins with destructive weather events, said Maggie Sugg, a professor at Appalachian State University in Boone, N.C.

“Any extreme weather is really retraumatizing,” said Dr. Sugg, who researches how extreme weather affects the mental health of young people.

She had her own traumatic experience with Hurricane Helene, which unleashed deadly and devastating floods that swept through western North Carolina last year.

“I’m sure that for me, when I feel that, I’m more likely to click on that link,” she said.

In North Carolina, the forecasts have yielded a familiar tension: existential anxiety versus the jaded confidence of experience. That clash that can exist in families, and even within an individual.

In Ocracoke, on an island reachable only by boat, known as a destination for summer tourists and its distinct “high tide” accent, the evacuation order was being interpreted by many as a suggestion — which they did not plan to heed.

Vince O’Neal, 65, parked his vehicle on a steep hill as a precaution, but that was about it. “But you never know,” said Mr. O’Neal, a commercial fisherman who also makes and sells wooden birds. “You can’t let your guard down, either.”

Egypt Assad, 52, had just reeled in an Atlantic croaker.

“Lots of my neighbors have fled,” Mr. Assad said. “But even more have stayed. We’re not nervous. Look, I’m relaxed and fishing.”

Brian and Bridget English, who were hooking bait right next to Mr. Assad, said they had been booted from their rental because of an evacuation order in Dare County. Rather than leave, they just found another place in Nags Head.

“If you don’t watch the TV, it seems fine,” Mr. English said.

Finishing his drink at the Lucky 12 Tavern, Mr. Houser listened as the meteorologist on TV mentioned a “low-level spin.”

“Low-level spin, man,” Mr. Houser repeated.

“You know, they got me even excited,” he said. “I’m going home and watching the weather.”

Judson Jones contributed reporting.