Tornado Chasing for Dummies -- 2005

Thursday, June 2, 2005. With a forecast of moderate to severe storms "guaranteed" for Denver and points east, it was time to set out once again and venture forth into the maelstrom. Unlike my two previous efforts in '04, I opted this year to base my operation from the town of Bennett, Colorado, right off I-70. Bennett had been a source of a couple of near-misses in '04, and offered an excellent road net for pursuit in all directions.

Upon my arrival there, I was reinforced in my decision by the presence of a couple of professional storm chase vehicles. I wasted no time in chatting with the pros, and made good use of the time availed as we awaited storms that were still building up on the foothills west of Denver. One patient pro noted my vehicle of choice -- my '03 Saturn Ion -- and suggested that it might not fare well on the dirt roads hereabouts, once the rains turned them into "grease". Not having experienced the dirt roads hereabouts after a good rain, I didn't necessarily heed or dismiss his observation, but I did have cause later to remember it. Despite my lack of equipment and formal training, the chasers didn't object to my following along as far as I'd be able to.

Soon it became time to move: with a terse "the approaching storm is developing faster than the radar could track", the scramble was on to head north, and position to "ride it out". During this 'hurry up and wait' mode, I made some notes on tips the storm chasers imparted to me:

--patience is a storm chaser's best friend

--backside pursuit is the idea; plowing into a storm head-on is unduly risky and usually unprofitable (aka, my 2004 experiences)

--know your area road net well (I had a map, albeit a 15 year old one...)

--be mindful of not only the road net, but the terrain around the road net, to avoid getting into a situation before one can get out of it (ya learn as ya go...)

--get some equipment and get some training from SkyWarn (their little suggestive dig for a six-fingered amateur).

Additionally, I had my own lesson to include: a catheter, or at least a bottle to pee in ;-)

The storm came up and dumped on us: rain, at times torrential, with pea-sized hail and strong, buffeting winds. The storm chasers stood pat riding it out, and then took off with some urgency to the north. As I would learn later, their on-board computer's doppler indicated a classic 'hook echo' setting up to the N/NE of us, on the now backside of the storm. Soon they came to a dirt road intersection, and turned east in pursuit.

At least it'd been a dirt road before the downpour: now it was exactly as the storm chaser had warned me: it was 'grease'. As their 4x4s continued to barrel east at near highway speeds, my Saturn was sliding all over the place, and beginning to sarcastically 'oink' at me. My speed necessarily fell away in a hurry, so I could remain on what remained of the road surface. The storm chasers were quickly out of sight, and there was no way I could catch up to them in the slime of this road. With the lesson sloppily learned, I regretfully found a place to turn around, and eased my way back the four miles to the hard surface highway we'd left, with my Saturn sardonically oinking all the way at me.

The car and I would have a heart-to-heart later.

Once again on solid road, I was mocked by a tornado warning near Hoyt, Colorado -- a few miles down the road I had just abandoned. Instead, I returned to Bennett, then headed east on US 36 toward Last Chance, Colorado. Plenty of storm activity was still brewing all along the I-70 corridor, and out this highway I had plenty of room to maneuver and see whatever was coming, going or breathing hard (ducking a few boos and throwd items).

Running east, a few miles SW of Last Chance, I knew I was closing on something: I passed two storm chase vehicles off to the side, along with a half-dozen other vehicles, including two tractor-trailers. Obviously, something was out ahead of them. Forgetting the patience lesson, I plunged on, intent to close with whatever it was. In the distance -- perhaps ten miles -- I could see what appeared to be a funnel cloud, though it was too far away to effectively shoot with my camera.

At that time, a decision needed making: the radio announced that another storm had gone tornadic NE of Kiowa, and was moving E/NE, toward Limon, on the I-70 corridor. I was approaching Colorado Highway 71, with a straight shot south to Limon, about 45 miles away. One last glance to the east -- whatever had been there, was gone -- and I decided it was Limon or bust.

Once again, I forgot to heed the tip about patience: I headed south to try to get into Limon before the storm did. I did consider pulling up short of Limon and letting the storm pass; but I didn't know how big the storm was, and there was nothing much out here north of the town. I decided to gamble and go for Limon ahead of the storm.

I lost.

Several miles north of Limon, I met the leading edge, as I began taking rain and some rather ferocious crosswinds. Winds that were stout enough to challenge my staying on the road a few times. Moreover, in various spots, where field accesses to the road existed, I noted tumbleweeds crossing the road. Like missiles. In one case, I swear I saw a prairie dog hanging onto a missileweed, screaming as it blew by.

Okay, so that's a bit of an embellishment: the prairie dog was probably too terrified to scream. It was probably just the wind, or my car; it never much cared for rodents, flying or otherwise.

Now came the hail: one-inch diameter, hitting the car with sufficient force to make me wince. The car's earlier sardonic oinking was replaced with epithets of its own, probably regarding my lack of patience.

A mile north of Limon -- I could see the town from my vantage point -- I cleared the hail, and found myself amidst another group of storm chase vehicles. All eyes thereabouts were glued to a rotating, swirling wall of clouds, mottled in a deep, black-green, approaching low and fast from the southwest, less than a mile away. The clouds looked as if they were 'tumbling' toward us. From that angle, I had never seen anything like it (the two photos above don't do the motion justice, trust me).

I had a notion that running, one way or another, might just make sense. But I was too busy shooting photos to exercise it. Ominous as it appeared on its rapid approach, it didn't sweep us or the town of Limon off the map; but I did watch a somersaulting cloud go tumbling by us at little more than an eighth of a mile. That was a new one for me. No one held up score cards, so I don't know how well it did on presentation and technique.

I then learned from one storm chaser that the storm had "flattened out", and lost it's tornadic punch. He couldn't exactly explain what we had just witnessed, either; but he had "awesome" video of it. "Perhaps my professor can explain it", he mused.

With the storm "flattened out", I had little more to accomplish here, and with dusk settling in, I wasn't equipped for night chasing, so I again -- tornadoless -- turned for home.

The storm might have "flattened out", but it hadn't yet "emptied out".

About six miles west of Limon, it began to rain. Eh. I continued on at 70 mph. For about a quarter of a mile. Then the skies just flat opened up (see photo you can't see in, above). I took that photo after my speed had dropped to 25 mph....it was the heaviest rain I've ever run into in Colorado in the 34 years I've been here. I began to hope I wasn't going slower than the Queen Elizabeth II, in case she was out here somewhere.

At least the Saturn didn't know the theme from Jaws to further taunt me with.

Again, no tornadoes. But I'd learned a few things, including (a) my car knew how to taunt me audibly (b) I might have witnessed a screaming prairie dog, or not (c) I had seen something meteorologic that I'd never seen before and (d) I would have to work on those tips I'd been given by the storm chasers. The future would show how well I enacted them.

UPDATE: in a later email (about a week later) from one of the chasers I'd chatted with early on, I learned that my decision to turn back when I did in the muck was one of the rare wise decisions I'd made that day: about three miles east of where I'd turned back, the chaser's vehicles had bogged down in the mud, caught between two flood plains. Took them two hours to dig out and wait for the water to recede. So they missed the Hoyt tornado, too. I didn't ask if their 4x4s were oinking at them as well...

Next up: TCfD III -- 2006