Probably the most awe-inspiring picture I snapped during our epic storm chase today. More detailed narrative (and pretty pictures!) will follow later.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wedge
Probably the most awe-inspiring picture I snapped during our epic storm chase today. More detailed narrative (and pretty pictures!) will follow later.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Down Days
“Down days”. The bane of every chaser’s existence during the month of May in the southern Great Plains. And this feeling is intensified if you only have six days out of the year when you can chase...like me.
After a captivating experience last Thursday in eastern Kansas, the last three days have largely been devoid of thrills and chills. Except for when I was eating BBQ yesterday. That’s always good for something.
After the cold front blew through the plains Thursday night and Friday morning (and took along with it spring, apparently), no action was possible for several days until a more favorable airmass settled into place. Reed Timmer and Chris Chittick, the big cheeses from our tour group whom we’ve yet to meet, decided to chase in Indiana and Ohio Friday, only coming away with video of a wall cloud...and a few MORE minutes of fame on another Weather Channel interview.
Meanwhile, clearly in no hurry, we meandered back to Norman, Oklahoma, on Friday night in time to induce a food coma at the Olive Garden. (We’ve been eating quite well, in case you haven’t picked up on that. What else do you do in Oklahoma when it’s cold and there’s not a cloud in the sky?)
Our guide, a really cool guy named Dave Holder (who’s taking his last undergrad final tomorrow -- good luck, buddy), was nice enough to take us on a tour of the National Weather Center just off the campus of the University of Oklahoma on Saturday. Dave even agreed to pose with me in front of the national Storm Prediction Center, where all those severe watches anywhere in the country are issued:
Then today, a few cells popped up this afternoon in southwestern Oklahoma, so we decided to brush up once more on our photography (and car-sitting) skills prior to a big chase tomorrow. This is about as ominous as it got:
Speaking of ominous, however, the aforementioned Storm Prediction Center is forecasting big things for tomorrow. Even as early as last Wednesday, big things have been predicted for tomorrow afternoon, so it’s nice to see that none of that has lost any steam. The official wording:
SUPERCELLS WITH STRONG TORNADOES AND VERY LARGE HAIL ARE EXPECTED MONDAY LATE AFTERNOON AND EVENING ACROSS PARTS OF OK/KS INTO SOUTHWEST MO
Why, you ask? Warmth and moisture flowing up from the gulf tonight and tomorrow and a new system flying eastward from the Pacific will form a dryline in western Oklahoma that will march eastward tomorrow afternoon. Combine that with sufficient wind sheer and atmospheric instability, and you have what you need for rotating supercells.
The ingredients are in place; all I need now is a little luck, and 24 hours from now I will have seen a tornado. This is precisely why I'm wearing a t-shirt with a four-leaf clover on it tomorrow. Couldn't hurt...
All of this couldn’t have come at a better time. Morale has been slipping among us guest chasers, and we’ve gotten pretty anxious after three days of doing nothing truly meaningful. Why do you think I’ve written TWO blog entries today?
This all has been an incredibly educational experience...it's just been lacking in the action department. All of that will change tomorrow.
P.S. I want this:
After a captivating experience last Thursday in eastern Kansas, the last three days have largely been devoid of thrills and chills. Except for when I was eating BBQ yesterday. That’s always good for something.After the cold front blew through the plains Thursday night and Friday morning (and took along with it spring, apparently), no action was possible for several days until a more favorable airmass settled into place. Reed Timmer and Chris Chittick, the big cheeses from our tour group whom we’ve yet to meet, decided to chase in Indiana and Ohio Friday, only coming away with video of a wall cloud...and a few MORE minutes of fame on another Weather Channel interview.
Meanwhile, clearly in no hurry, we meandered back to Norman, Oklahoma, on Friday night in time to induce a food coma at the Olive Garden. (We’ve been eating quite well, in case you haven’t picked up on that. What else do you do in Oklahoma when it’s cold and there’s not a cloud in the sky?)
Our guide, a really cool guy named Dave Holder (who’s taking his last undergrad final tomorrow -- good luck, buddy), was nice enough to take us on a tour of the National Weather Center just off the campus of the University of Oklahoma on Saturday. Dave even agreed to pose with me in front of the national Storm Prediction Center, where all those severe watches anywhere in the country are issued:
Then today, a few cells popped up this afternoon in southwestern Oklahoma, so we decided to brush up once more on our photography (and car-sitting) skills prior to a big chase tomorrow. This is about as ominous as it got:
Speaking of ominous, however, the aforementioned Storm Prediction Center is forecasting big things for tomorrow. Even as early as last Wednesday, big things have been predicted for tomorrow afternoon, so it’s nice to see that none of that has lost any steam. The official wording:
SUPERCELLS WITH STRONG TORNADOES AND VERY LARGE HAIL ARE EXPECTED MONDAY LATE AFTERNOON AND EVENING ACROSS PARTS OF OK/KS INTO SOUTHWEST MO
Why, you ask? Warmth and moisture flowing up from the gulf tonight and tomorrow and a new system flying eastward from the Pacific will form a dryline in western Oklahoma that will march eastward tomorrow afternoon. Combine that with sufficient wind sheer and atmospheric instability, and you have what you need for rotating supercells.
The ingredients are in place; all I need now is a little luck, and 24 hours from now I will have seen a tornado. This is precisely why I'm wearing a t-shirt with a four-leaf clover on it tomorrow. Couldn't hurt...
All of this couldn’t have come at a better time. Morale has been slipping among us guest chasers, and we’ve gotten pretty anxious after three days of doing nothing truly meaningful. Why do you think I’ve written TWO blog entries today?
This all has been an incredibly educational experience...it's just been lacking in the action department. All of that will change tomorrow.
P.S. I want this:
Klipsi
As colorful a personality as we all have here on Extreme Tornado Tours, our driver, clearly, is the most entertaining character of them all.
A Swiss limousine driver by trade, Olivier Steiger’s reputation as a photographer of solar eclipses worldwide (including near the north pole) has earned him the nickname “Klipsi”. Since 2000, he has abandoned his post in Switzerland for two months out of the year to chase storms, too. Not a bad gig.
The stories he’s told and the pictures/video he’s shared has been well worth the price of admission (see www.klipsi.ch). But his quirkiness (including an abnormally strong affinity for Applebee’s) and humor (consisting mostly of one-liners, almost always with some nerdy meteorological tie-in) have continually brought some colorful comic relief to the long hours on the road. The Swiss accent and the bellowing laughter that followed each joke is often half of why it’s funny.
You have to see/hear him to appreciate it, but I’ll try to recreate his humor in the confines of plain text. Some examples, along with brief meteorological explanations where needed:
The background: you probably know that tornadoes often take on a cone shape. In its last stages, it will begin to look elongated and emaciated, like a “rope”. Hence the term rope tornado, and the act of a tornado “roping out” as it fades.
The punchline: As he’s finishing off an ice cream cone he bought from a gas station as we’re waiting for action on Thursday, “Oh no! Ze cone, she is roping out. Ahahah-aaaa!”
The background: A new technique used by research terms has been to launch probes into nearby tornadoes using a cannon.
The punchline: “It vill bring whole new meaning to ze phrase, ‘Shoot with Canon. Not with Nikon.’ Ahahah-aaaa!”
The background: A tornado isn’t a tornado until it reaches the ground, so one of the best ways to determine the presence of a twister is to search for debris. After all, debris can only come from the ground, right? Commonly, when you see chasers trying to spot tornadoes, you’ll hear them exclaim, “We have debris!”
The punchline: Klipsi spoke of his experience in Australia years ago. After chasing a supercell in southwestern Australia, he and his companions chose to celebrate by hitting up a fancy steakhouse, where they ordered a fine bottle of Australian wine. Money was apparently no object, so they decided to get the finest assortment of cheeses along with it. The waiter was explaining all of the various cheeses, listing them off one-by-one, until getting to some really fancy Brie cheese. Klipsi says, “Oh look! WE HAVE THE BRIE! Ahahah-aaaa!”
Again, maybe you had to be there. Delivery is 75% of the joke. But he’s certainly brought some expertise on eclipse events, and he’s convinced me to go observe the annular eclipse in May 2012 from -- where else -- the Grand Canyon!
We’re cruising west on I-40 in Oklahoma trying to chase a tiny cell that maybe, possibly, (but not likely) turn severe. I better stop writing and start paying attention before I miss something. But first, a nice shot of the 2005 eclipse from the Pacific Ocean...courtesy of our driver:
Credit: www.klipsi.ch
A Swiss limousine driver by trade, Olivier Steiger’s reputation as a photographer of solar eclipses worldwide (including near the north pole) has earned him the nickname “Klipsi”. Since 2000, he has abandoned his post in Switzerland for two months out of the year to chase storms, too. Not a bad gig.The stories he’s told and the pictures/video he’s shared has been well worth the price of admission (see www.klipsi.ch). But his quirkiness (including an abnormally strong affinity for Applebee’s) and humor (consisting mostly of one-liners, almost always with some nerdy meteorological tie-in) have continually brought some colorful comic relief to the long hours on the road. The Swiss accent and the bellowing laughter that followed each joke is often half of why it’s funny.
You have to see/hear him to appreciate it, but I’ll try to recreate his humor in the confines of plain text. Some examples, along with brief meteorological explanations where needed:
The background: you probably know that tornadoes often take on a cone shape. In its last stages, it will begin to look elongated and emaciated, like a “rope”. Hence the term rope tornado, and the act of a tornado “roping out” as it fades.
The punchline: As he’s finishing off an ice cream cone he bought from a gas station as we’re waiting for action on Thursday, “Oh no! Ze cone, she is roping out. Ahahah-aaaa!”
The background: A new technique used by research terms has been to launch probes into nearby tornadoes using a cannon.
The punchline: “It vill bring whole new meaning to ze phrase, ‘Shoot with Canon. Not with Nikon.’ Ahahah-aaaa!”
The background: A tornado isn’t a tornado until it reaches the ground, so one of the best ways to determine the presence of a twister is to search for debris. After all, debris can only come from the ground, right? Commonly, when you see chasers trying to spot tornadoes, you’ll hear them exclaim, “We have debris!”
The punchline: Klipsi spoke of his experience in Australia years ago. After chasing a supercell in southwestern Australia, he and his companions chose to celebrate by hitting up a fancy steakhouse, where they ordered a fine bottle of Australian wine. Money was apparently no object, so they decided to get the finest assortment of cheeses along with it. The waiter was explaining all of the various cheeses, listing them off one-by-one, until getting to some really fancy Brie cheese. Klipsi says, “Oh look! WE HAVE THE BRIE! Ahahah-aaaa!”
Again, maybe you had to be there. Delivery is 75% of the joke. But he’s certainly brought some expertise on eclipse events, and he’s convinced me to go observe the annular eclipse in May 2012 from -- where else -- the Grand Canyon!
We’re cruising west on I-40 in Oklahoma trying to chase a tiny cell that maybe, possibly, (but not likely) turn severe. I better stop writing and start paying attention before I miss something. But first, a nice shot of the 2005 eclipse from the Pacific Ocean...courtesy of our driver:
Friday, May 7, 2010
Late-Night Core Punch
In retrospect, I compare Day 2 of my storm chasing expedition with a really good movie trailer: only a couple minutes of action, but enough to build unbridled anticipation for opening night.
As we packed the van at 9am, ready to depart western Oklahoma City for northern Kansas, we discover that a veteran chaser and videographer, active since ’74, will be joining the chase. His name? Jim Leonard, or “Cyclone Jim”. Really. Check out his website: www.cyclonejim.com. In addition to the mere quarter-mile wide twisters he’s seen in his day, he’s more renowed for intercepting hurricanes, those cyclones of the more 500-mile-wide variety. He has an impressive resume, including many of the storms from the 2005 hurricane season like Katrina, Rita, and Wilma. His ringtone is a tornado siren. And apparently, yesterday afternoon, the president of the National Hurricane Center asked him to be a friend on Facebook.
Good company.
Anyway, the models had predicted a pretty decent chance for action in north-central to northeast Kansas:
...including a 5% chance for tornadic activity:
Sounds small, but that 5% actually translates to a 5% chance of “one or more events occurring within 25 miles of any point during the outlook period.” Nice.
Many, but not all, of the ingredients were in place for something to happen: wind shear, atmospheric instability, strong jet stream, etc. But alas, the air was just too dry. Supercells aren’t likely to form unless dewpoints -- a measure of humidity -- are in the 60s or 70s. Dewpoints in the warned area as we’re leaving OKC? Mid-thirties. The result? Clear blue sky. Ideal conditions for blue jays to chill on street signs without a care in the world:
Luckily, strong southerly winds were blowing strongly into the region, dragging along with it moisture from the Gulf of Mexico. We parked at a gas station in Marion, Kansas, waiting for about 3 hours for something to get going. Not a whole lot going on in the sleepy town of about 2,000 people. In fact, some dude with a pad and paper happened to walk by to interview us. Turns out he worked for the local paper. Who knew we’d be so news-worthy?
We waited a little longer -- with a frisbee to keep us company -- and sure enough, dewpoints climbed, and clouds were starting to fire up:
But, as our guides noted, the clouds were just a little too fuzzy-edged. We jogged a little farther east and ran into another chasing crew at a gas station, looking at some of the explosive clouds forming now at around 7pm:
And the shape of these were striking evidence of wind shear. Clouds billowed up from the south, but strong upper-level winds out of the west were blowing them over. It almost looks like a miniature supercell:
It’s this wind shear that causes storms to rotate. A good sign, but daylight was running out. The chase was a pleasant surprise, given my attitude the day before, but it was becoming clear nothing was going to happen.
Until it did.
We’re sitting in an Applebee’s (apparently a chasers’ favorite) in Emporia, Kansas, when Klipsi, keeping a close eye on his cell phone, says in his Swiss accent, “Guess vat? There is severe warning vest of here in Salina, Kansas.”
Given the upcoming down days in preparation for Monday’s outbreak, we reached a unanimous verdict to drive west (by now it’s 10pm) into the night and check it out. After a quick 30-minute drive, our guide, Dave Holder, learns the cell has just gone “tornado warned”.
We drive to within 2 miles of the point of interest and pull over onto the side of the road, brilliant lightning absolutely everywhere. We step out of the van to get a better look…something not advisable to those blessed with a functional brain. Each time lightning strikes, we can spot classic features of a supercell off to the northwest: wall cloud, rotations aloft, “striations”, and UFO-like structure. Not to mention winds blowing away from us, towards the center of the circulation, feeding the storm. The cloud base is too high for a tornado to form (although apparently it had touched down about 30 minutes before, damaging a house in Hope, Kansas).
The most surreal part of this whole experience was the silence. Lightning was everywhere, striking probably three times per second. But we didn’t hear a single clap of thunder this entire time. According to “Cyclone Jim”, this is natural: all of the rain, wind, elements, etc., basically absorbs all of the sound waves, given our position. North of the cell is a different story.
After a few minutes of observation, the storm has drifted westward enough that we get blasted with an extremely cold, probably 40-mph wind gust from what’s called the “rear flank downdraft”. Time to go.
Not quite satisfied, we catch back up to the storm for a “core punch”: basically driving straight through the most intense part of the cell. By now the storm has weakened quite a bit -- not surprising given it’s about 4 hours after sunset -- so the most exciting thing we see is a road covered in dime-sized hail.
And that was that. My photography skills are apparently too underdeveloped (and underequipped) to have caught anything from our night chase, but a more skilled photographer than I got a nice shot:
Credit: Paul Sherman, posted on stormtrack.org
Today, we’re on our way back to Norman, Oklahoma, for some down time before our big days on Sunday/Monday. Meanwhile, our buddies Reed Timmer and Chris Chittick (the main guys from tornadovideos.net) are hitting up northern Indiana and Ohio for what looks to be a pretty solid scenario for tornadoes. That’s too far for us to drive today, but maybe we’ll at least be able to live vicariously through them. Or at least watch their live streaming video: www.tornadovideos.net/live.
As we packed the van at 9am, ready to depart western Oklahoma City for northern Kansas, we discover that a veteran chaser and videographer, active since ’74, will be joining the chase. His name? Jim Leonard, or “Cyclone Jim”. Really. Check out his website: www.cyclonejim.com. In addition to the mere quarter-mile wide twisters he’s seen in his day, he’s more renowed for intercepting hurricanes, those cyclones of the more 500-mile-wide variety. He has an impressive resume, including many of the storms from the 2005 hurricane season like Katrina, Rita, and Wilma. His ringtone is a tornado siren. And apparently, yesterday afternoon, the president of the National Hurricane Center asked him to be a friend on Facebook.
Good company.
Anyway, the models had predicted a pretty decent chance for action in north-central to northeast Kansas:
...including a 5% chance for tornadic activity:
Sounds small, but that 5% actually translates to a 5% chance of “one or more events occurring within 25 miles of any point during the outlook period.” Nice.
Many, but not all, of the ingredients were in place for something to happen: wind shear, atmospheric instability, strong jet stream, etc. But alas, the air was just too dry. Supercells aren’t likely to form unless dewpoints -- a measure of humidity -- are in the 60s or 70s. Dewpoints in the warned area as we’re leaving OKC? Mid-thirties. The result? Clear blue sky. Ideal conditions for blue jays to chill on street signs without a care in the world:
Luckily, strong southerly winds were blowing strongly into the region, dragging along with it moisture from the Gulf of Mexico. We parked at a gas station in Marion, Kansas, waiting for about 3 hours for something to get going. Not a whole lot going on in the sleepy town of about 2,000 people. In fact, some dude with a pad and paper happened to walk by to interview us. Turns out he worked for the local paper. Who knew we’d be so news-worthy?
We waited a little longer -- with a frisbee to keep us company -- and sure enough, dewpoints climbed, and clouds were starting to fire up:
But, as our guides noted, the clouds were just a little too fuzzy-edged. We jogged a little farther east and ran into another chasing crew at a gas station, looking at some of the explosive clouds forming now at around 7pm:
And the shape of these were striking evidence of wind shear. Clouds billowed up from the south, but strong upper-level winds out of the west were blowing them over. It almost looks like a miniature supercell:
It’s this wind shear that causes storms to rotate. A good sign, but daylight was running out. The chase was a pleasant surprise, given my attitude the day before, but it was becoming clear nothing was going to happen.
Until it did.
We’re sitting in an Applebee’s (apparently a chasers’ favorite) in Emporia, Kansas, when Klipsi, keeping a close eye on his cell phone, says in his Swiss accent, “Guess vat? There is severe warning vest of here in Salina, Kansas.”
Given the upcoming down days in preparation for Monday’s outbreak, we reached a unanimous verdict to drive west (by now it’s 10pm) into the night and check it out. After a quick 30-minute drive, our guide, Dave Holder, learns the cell has just gone “tornado warned”.
We drive to within 2 miles of the point of interest and pull over onto the side of the road, brilliant lightning absolutely everywhere. We step out of the van to get a better look…something not advisable to those blessed with a functional brain. Each time lightning strikes, we can spot classic features of a supercell off to the northwest: wall cloud, rotations aloft, “striations”, and UFO-like structure. Not to mention winds blowing away from us, towards the center of the circulation, feeding the storm. The cloud base is too high for a tornado to form (although apparently it had touched down about 30 minutes before, damaging a house in Hope, Kansas).
The most surreal part of this whole experience was the silence. Lightning was everywhere, striking probably three times per second. But we didn’t hear a single clap of thunder this entire time. According to “Cyclone Jim”, this is natural: all of the rain, wind, elements, etc., basically absorbs all of the sound waves, given our position. North of the cell is a different story.
After a few minutes of observation, the storm has drifted westward enough that we get blasted with an extremely cold, probably 40-mph wind gust from what’s called the “rear flank downdraft”. Time to go.
Not quite satisfied, we catch back up to the storm for a “core punch”: basically driving straight through the most intense part of the cell. By now the storm has weakened quite a bit -- not surprising given it’s about 4 hours after sunset -- so the most exciting thing we see is a road covered in dime-sized hail.
And that was that. My photography skills are apparently too underdeveloped (and underequipped) to have caught anything from our night chase, but a more skilled photographer than I got a nice shot:
Credit: Paul Sherman, posted on stormtrack.org
Today, we’re on our way back to Norman, Oklahoma, for some down time before our big days on Sunday/Monday. Meanwhile, our buddies Reed Timmer and Chris Chittick (the main guys from tornadovideos.net) are hitting up northern Indiana and Ohio for what looks to be a pretty solid scenario for tornadoes. That’s too far for us to drive today, but maybe we’ll at least be able to live vicariously through them. Or at least watch their live streaming video: www.tornadovideos.net/live.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Tornado! (Part One)
I’m not insane. I have my reasons for wanting to get within 100 yards of a tornado, as I explained earlier. Anyway, there’s no turning back now, as I’m now sitting in a motel in western Oklahoma City, awaiting the first chase day tomorrow.
A chronology of the events leading up to this night, on the precipice of my first-ever storm chase, follows:
1. The Yazoo City tragedy.
A couple of weekends ago, a tornado hit Yazoo City, Mississippi, demolishing homes and lives as far as the eye can see. But this was an unusual event, as the statistics show: 170 mph winds, 1.75-mile wide width at one point, and a damage path length of nearly 150 miles. And 10 people lost their lives, while others had their lives merely turned upside down and emptied like the morning trash. Staggering.
I’ve heard chasers talk about the emotional swing associated with their profession. You’re barreling down the highway with this gorgeous funnel descending from the sky, lightning dancing all around. The ultimate adrenaline rush. Then, you drive through the town the tornado just tore to shreds, and you realize what power they’re capable of. It’s really sobering.
But I guess it also provides extra motivation to keep the chases going, so we can better understand the nature of these beasts, ultimately leading to the prevention of such disasters.
Not to mention the floods in Tennessee last weekend.
But on a lighter note…
2. My suddenly paternal-like employer’s words of “reason”.
So I’m sitting in the office the other day, when my boss was made aware of my upcoming venture and the 6 days of vacation that came with it. (And when I say “made aware” I mean “reminded him again”. I swear, I reminded him more times than I have fingers.) His reaction was like most people I’ve told: somewhat surprised and not without the obligatory “You’re crazy!”, but all in all very positive. What was funny was yesterday afternoon, when he popped his head around the corner to give me the following words of advice:
“You're probably going to be the one with the most common sense out there, so please don't let them talk you into something that isn't safe. I mean, if you’re headed straight into a tornado, speak up."
Yes, daddy.
I think he’s missing the point. It’s because I left my common sense 180 miles behind back in Dallas that I’m even going on this trip. I’m not SUPPOSED to have common sense. In fact, I don’t even WANT to have common sense.
And even if I did listen to that voice, what would I do, demand to turn around and go home? I would imagine that chasing a tornado is like that moment when you're going up a roller coaster, and you sure as hell don't want to drop a thousand feet, but you're about to and you have no choice. You’re GOING to fall a thousand feet. Not being able to turn around is the THRILL of the ride.
I guess it is nice to know he values my life -- or at least my contributions as an employee.
3. First impression: this is going to be a LOOONG week.
In my amateurish attempts to analyze the weather patterns for the coming week this morning, I noticed the only day that the Storm Prediction Center at the National Weather Service even hints at severe weather activity is NEXT Monday. Complicated chart:
Bummer. And it didn’t exactly help that I saw not one cloud in the sky today. And I’ve been in two states. (If Oklahoma counts as a state. Boom!)
Now I’m thinking, what’re we gonna DO with all this time? Remember, I’m getting to OKC on a Wednesday, and the first chance of action isn’t until Monday? That’s four solid days of NOTHING. In OKLAHOMA. As you can imagine, this was a disappointing finding. I was dealing with this reality all day, all the way through the whole 35-minute flight from Dallas to OKC. (By the way, I wish I could fly everywhere in 35 minutes. That was pretty awesome.)
*gloomy sigh*
4. Next impression: this week is going to be TOTALLY NUTS.
I arrived at the Clarion Hotel a tad skeptical for our “meet and greet” at 6pm. My tune did a 180 quite quickly.
I met a couple of our guides and my fellow tourists, all very awesome people. First of all, I hear the plans for the week. The patterns have changed a little, and we’re now going to NORTHEAST KANSAS first thing tomorrow, because there’s a near-moderate risk of severe activity. This is news to me...
Second, all of these guys are a total blast. At the risk of saying this prematurely, I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’m going to be tired of everyone after seven days of chasing. One guy even has a Swiss accent, nicknamed "Klipsi", because he travels the world following solar eclipses! (More on him in a later post, I'm sure.)
The meet-and-greet was followed by a three-hour drink-Bud-Light-and-get-to-know-each-other session at a bar across the street conjoined to a very plain-looking La Quinta Inn. The perfect spot for such an occasion. All with the anticipation of a 5-and-a-half hour drive tomorrow towards Manhattan, Kansas, in search for the first supercell of the week.
And oh, the icing on the cake? That “slight” risk on next Monday predicted by the NWS I mentioned earlier? Yeah, everyone here is abuzz, because that is now apparently looking like the “BEST SETUP OF THE YEAR SO FAR”.
Sure, maybe they’re exaggerating. But does that really matter? Even if they are, these guys are giddy at the mere possibility of such an event next Monday, just like me.
And really, hanging out with those types of people is 90% of the reason why I did this.
More tomorrow from Kansas.
A chronology of the events leading up to this night, on the precipice of my first-ever storm chase, follows:
1. The Yazoo City tragedy.
A couple of weekends ago, a tornado hit Yazoo City, Mississippi, demolishing homes and lives as far as the eye can see. But this was an unusual event, as the statistics show: 170 mph winds, 1.75-mile wide width at one point, and a damage path length of nearly 150 miles. And 10 people lost their lives, while others had their lives merely turned upside down and emptied like the morning trash. Staggering.I’ve heard chasers talk about the emotional swing associated with their profession. You’re barreling down the highway with this gorgeous funnel descending from the sky, lightning dancing all around. The ultimate adrenaline rush. Then, you drive through the town the tornado just tore to shreds, and you realize what power they’re capable of. It’s really sobering.
But I guess it also provides extra motivation to keep the chases going, so we can better understand the nature of these beasts, ultimately leading to the prevention of such disasters.
Not to mention the floods in Tennessee last weekend.
But on a lighter note…
2. My suddenly paternal-like employer’s words of “reason”.
So I’m sitting in the office the other day, when my boss was made aware of my upcoming venture and the 6 days of vacation that came with it. (And when I say “made aware” I mean “reminded him again”. I swear, I reminded him more times than I have fingers.) His reaction was like most people I’ve told: somewhat surprised and not without the obligatory “You’re crazy!”, but all in all very positive. What was funny was yesterday afternoon, when he popped his head around the corner to give me the following words of advice:
“You're probably going to be the one with the most common sense out there, so please don't let them talk you into something that isn't safe. I mean, if you’re headed straight into a tornado, speak up."
Yes, daddy.
I think he’s missing the point. It’s because I left my common sense 180 miles behind back in Dallas that I’m even going on this trip. I’m not SUPPOSED to have common sense. In fact, I don’t even WANT to have common sense.
And even if I did listen to that voice, what would I do, demand to turn around and go home? I would imagine that chasing a tornado is like that moment when you're going up a roller coaster, and you sure as hell don't want to drop a thousand feet, but you're about to and you have no choice. You’re GOING to fall a thousand feet. Not being able to turn around is the THRILL of the ride.
I guess it is nice to know he values my life -- or at least my contributions as an employee.
3. First impression: this is going to be a LOOONG week.
In my amateurish attempts to analyze the weather patterns for the coming week this morning, I noticed the only day that the Storm Prediction Center at the National Weather Service even hints at severe weather activity is NEXT Monday. Complicated chart:
Bummer. And it didn’t exactly help that I saw not one cloud in the sky today. And I’ve been in two states. (If Oklahoma counts as a state. Boom!)
Now I’m thinking, what’re we gonna DO with all this time? Remember, I’m getting to OKC on a Wednesday, and the first chance of action isn’t until Monday? That’s four solid days of NOTHING. In OKLAHOMA. As you can imagine, this was a disappointing finding. I was dealing with this reality all day, all the way through the whole 35-minute flight from Dallas to OKC. (By the way, I wish I could fly everywhere in 35 minutes. That was pretty awesome.)
*gloomy sigh*
4. Next impression: this week is going to be TOTALLY NUTS.
I arrived at the Clarion Hotel a tad skeptical for our “meet and greet” at 6pm. My tune did a 180 quite quickly.
I met a couple of our guides and my fellow tourists, all very awesome people. First of all, I hear the plans for the week. The patterns have changed a little, and we’re now going to NORTHEAST KANSAS first thing tomorrow, because there’s a near-moderate risk of severe activity. This is news to me...
Second, all of these guys are a total blast. At the risk of saying this prematurely, I’m pretty sure there’s no way I’m going to be tired of everyone after seven days of chasing. One guy even has a Swiss accent, nicknamed "Klipsi", because he travels the world following solar eclipses! (More on him in a later post, I'm sure.)
The meet-and-greet was followed by a three-hour drink-Bud-Light-and-get-to-know-each-other session at a bar across the street conjoined to a very plain-looking La Quinta Inn. The perfect spot for such an occasion. All with the anticipation of a 5-and-a-half hour drive tomorrow towards Manhattan, Kansas, in search for the first supercell of the week.
And oh, the icing on the cake? That “slight” risk on next Monday predicted by the NWS I mentioned earlier? Yeah, everyone here is abuzz, because that is now apparently looking like the “BEST SETUP OF THE YEAR SO FAR”.
Sure, maybe they’re exaggerating. But does that really matter? Even if they are, these guys are giddy at the mere possibility of such an event next Monday, just like me.
And really, hanging out with those types of people is 90% of the reason why I did this.
More tomorrow from Kansas.
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