STORM TRACK: May 31, 1983 (Volume 6 Issue 4)
Now, the Editor digresses for a moment from the recent trend in ST to become a little "stodgy", reflecting its growing circulation and increasing sophistication of the readers. The following fanciful journey will be keenly appreciated by veteran chasers, who will see through the smug central character to all the real disasters and frustrations that can befall. So settle back and relax. This one turns out just right.
After a restful night's sleep at the opposite end of the motel from the all night Quik-stop (gas, gobble and go) store, our peerless chaser arises late (anytime after 7:30 AM) and tunes in the last John Coleman (ABC-TV) weathercast of the morning. He notes with satisfaction that, the right corner of his bed is ia the exact center of a "moderate" risk area for severe weather. After a relaxed breakfast of ham and eggs, coffee, juice, and melon wedge, he stops for gas at the local station that just opened for the day's business with no line. Without asking, the thoughtful attendant checks the radiator, battery and tires and cleans all the windows -- and bug screen.
Our prepared chaser new goes to the local airport and drives into the last remaining parking space beneath a large, old cottonwood. Leaving film and cameras locked in the cool shade, he proceeds to the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration) flight service station. During an extended lull in pilot briefings, he moves to the display table, copies "hourly" station reports from the ungarbled teletype and plots a detailed surface analysis at the free desk which is volunteered for his use. He then goes next door to the NWS (National Weather Service) office and reviews upper air maps from any of the three AFOS machines, which have been operating continuously (without breakdown) for the past 30 minutes. After receiving several consecutively verifying LFM forecasts over as many days, he notes with quiet satisfaction the "14" center, approaching ominously on today's map. Impressed by his obvious savoir faire, the MIC (Meteorologist-in-Charge) requests a copy of the modest chaser's analysis, at which he whips out a silver-handled rubber stamp and time/dates and signs his forecast. Reholstering the stamp, he resolutely strides out, as someone whispers "I've never seen him before without his mask."
Our intrepid chaser drives all of fifty (50) miles to the center of his forecast area. Seeing no buildup in his area and confidently ignoring the first--= penetrating-top 100 mile anvil just to the north of it, he calmly drives to the nearest small town and stops at the local Dairy Queen, conveniently upwind--- from the state's largest stockyard. Inobtrusively, he takes his lemonade at a shaded table next to the annual Sunflower High School cheerleaders picnic (in costume).
Thoroughly refreshed, he spies the first small cumulus in his watch area building in 70 deg F dew point southerly winds, gust ahead of a 40 deg F dry line. Leaving town, be takes the east-west highway leading directly toward the easterly drifting cumulus towers, and drives to an optimum photographic position overlooking a small valley, with picturesque farms and cattle.
Pulling off on a conveniently paved shoulder, he nods at the passing Bear, who's been tailing him for the last 30 miles right at 55 MPH.
Placing his fresh film supply (expires in 15 months) within easy reach, he sets up a tripod for the 16 mm Bolex and begins filming time lapse pictures as the cumulus towers shear and start to anvil, along the outflow boundary of the previously noted storm, now hailing out northeast of his watch area. He also records the storm on a wide-angle Hasselblad and telephoto Leicaflex. After setting up the portable barometer/hygrometer/ slung psychrometer, he decides to relax a few minutes and is lulled into a classical reverie by his 8 track stereo of Moussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition". Startled by a nearby lightning strike, he looks about and belatedly sees a newly formed wall cloud, which has developed to the southeast. Now 15 miles out of position, he quickly gathers up the equipment and takes off, driving hard toward the wall cloud down a two lane country road, through pouring rain -- and immediately three farmers pull over to let him pass.
Finally, the radio issues Kansas City's tornado watch, verifying that they finally have enough VIP 5 echoes to draw their box (incidentally, verifying our chaser's forecast made 8 hours earlier).
Stopping just east of the wall cloud, our fearless chaser pulls off on a convenient side road, perpendicular to the storm. Comfortably seated in his car, he begins photographing a rotating rain curtain across a row of telephone poles ablaze with St. Elmo's fire. Next, baseball hail is photographed one mile to the north as it catches the low sun angle to etch thousands of white stars, dropping against a dark rain curtain. Four symmetrical suction vortices begin to rotate around a slowly condensing F3 tornado, while the chaser snaps dozens of perfectly exposed slides, and his window mounted, electrically driven Bolex grinds away smoothly. As the first tornado lifts, a second F4 twister thunders down, framed in each camera's aperture by two ball lightning discharges, moving along a rail fence, between the chaser and the tornado. As the second vortex lifts over the efficient, chaser (who has just changed lenses for the 10th time without dropping or smudging a glass), he incredulously looks straight up through the rotating cylinder to clear sky at the top of the storm and takes the first picture ever of a Lear Jet with Ted Fujita looking straight down.
The third tornado drops down five miles east of the chaser, tastefully complemented by an iridescent double rainbow, immediately to the left in the rain laden downdraft, wrapping around the tornado circulation. As the last of the twelve (12) tornadoes fades in the receding light, the setting sun illuminates an enormous anvil in gold and bronze, with mile-wide mammatus, Finally, sheet lightning begins to take over and crackle silently (at a distance) through the great anvil, as our enterprising chaser records this final display on the last of his 15 rolls of slides and 500 feet of movie film shot this day.
At last, he puts away his gear and turns toward the darkening horizon. Having "glut his maw" (Beowulf) with storms, our exhausted chaser drives back through starry skies to the lilting strains of Sheherazad -- into town that night just in time to secure the last available room in the only motel within 50 miles. Arriving at the local steak house five minutes before it closes, he orders a sumptuous repast of prime ribs, potatoes au-gratin, fresh corn and a nice, light Chablis and reflects on a day that is now history.
Stopping at the same NWS station later that night for a final report on the day's severe weather, he finds the local -- and harried -- MIC still there, receiving and sorting storm reports on a chaotic clip-board. Stopping just long enough to get the information, he empties a few ash trays and brings a can of pop to the grateful official. Then, turning and walking out the door, he looks back and shrugs to the MIC's question ..."But, how did you know?"
Later, as our tired chaser reaches for his bags and walks to the ground floor motel room (at the opposite end from the all night truck stop, next door), he pauses to look up at the stars and sees in the distance blue-green curtains of northern lights silently shimmering in the night sky. He collapses into bed to sleep and dream of future storms -- like Hemingway's "Old Man and the Sea", who dreamed only of the lions in Africa and the endless surf from an endless ...endless ocean.
