A multivortex tornado chases the chasers down the highway in northern Oklahoma on May 10, 2010. Photo by Chris Kridler, ChrisKridler.com
I have extensive archives from my early storm chasing years. I chronicled almost every day on the road, even bust days, at the old SkyDiary site, with lots of photos. In the interest of collecting everything in one place, I’m moving the highlights of the older chases – or quirky moments worth remembering – over to ChrisKridler.com. With that in mind, this post collects just a few of the posts from 2010 and a few photos to accompany them.
Jan. 6-10, 2010: Several nights of freezing temperatures shocked central Florida and its plants at the start of January. I caught a few photos of sleet and ice – a very strange thing to see in Brevard County.
On Jan. 6, 2010, our fountain froze, as it did many days during the cold snap.
I have to thank the neighbors and their gratuitous use of a garden hose for this ice sculpture Jan. 10, 2010, in Rockledge, Florida.
A shifting branch during the melt meant crooked icicles Jan. 10.
Another look at the neighbors’ ice fantasy – when hose meets tree meets freezing temperatures on Jan. 10, 2010.
Feb. 11-12, 2010: Right after one of New York’s Snowmageddons this winter, I got some snowy shots in and around Central Park.
It’s better to walk with a friend…
Hard-working horses.
A snowman suns himself.
May 10, 2010: This was one of those absolutely nuts, off-the-hook storm days. The models had suggested it was coming for days, so every chaser and media person you can imagine was out to see the disaster in the making. Then the Storm Prediction Center issued a high risk of severe storms, including strong tornadoes. The big problem for chasing: They were expected to haul butt northeast at highway speeds, meaning you couldn’t really chase the storms very well – you had to put yourself in front of them and hope. I started the day in Norman, Oklahoma, and picked Ponca City as a preliminary target. I ended up meeting up with Scott McPartland, Dave Lewison, Mark Robinson and Mark’s crew of meteorology types in Blackwell, in north-central Oklahoma, and we went after a storm that went up near Woodward. (From home, Steve Sponsler and Cheryl Chang both said it split.) We caught it as it put down a brief but pretty tornado. Churning east, suddenly, instead of northeast, it then put down a multi-vortex tornado. I regret not getting more video or stopping for longer than a few seconds, but it literally chased about a hundred chase cars down Route 11 at about 55 mph. NOT a good situation. As it finally eased north of the road, the radar hook on it indicated a big (if unseen and rain-wrapped) tornado. After that, I did a lot of stair-stepping east of I-35, trying to catch another storm, but it was darn near impossible. I hope my next chase is a slow one. Many, many tornadoes occurred today, costing lives and causing damage. It was a tough day and a sad one.
My new Element was ready to go on its first storm chase.
A tornado touches down briefly southwest of Wakita, Oklahoma (that’s the town destroyed in the movie “Twister”).
When I finally got far enough east, I grabbed a frame of the radar showing the storm’s classic hook, indicating a big tornado. If there, it was wrapped in rain. I’m the dot in the circle.
May 11, 2010: There are more people pictures than sky photos in this summary, because this was a classic storm chase in the sense that we ended up waiting around a lot for the cap to break. Today I took along a friend for her first chase, Tiffany Crumrine. We chased with Scott McPartland, Dave Lewison, Mark Robinson and crew, and met up with various folks along the way before becoming separated from them all (except for hearing them over the radio). What seemed like a significant storm potential and a lot of juice went to waste before sunset with little in the way of storms – except one pretty, tornado-warned corkscrew, below.
Mark and Brad use a knife and a napkin to properly read a hodograph during forecast discussions at the Guest Inn in Norman, Oklahoma.
Further forecast discussion at the Guest Inn. Note the newspaper on the table with headlines about the previous day’s tornadoes.
Here’s a parting shot of the storm, which soon shrunk out of existence.
May 12, 2010: Any hopes for isolated storms today were dashed pretty quickly once the line went up. A few remained discrete for a little while, and we followed one from Alva, Oklahoma, into Kansas, but we missed the rare tornadoes today. I chased with Scott McPartland and Dave Lewison, and Mark Robinson and his crew.
We made a stop at the Twister Museum in Wakita, Oklahoma, on the way to a chase target farther west.
The Twister Museum holds “Dorothy I,” the prop from the movie “Twister.”
Brad, Mark, Scott and Dave snapped into action to change a tire before the line of storms could overtake us.
Our caravan lines up to watch the outflow boundary in motion.
May 16, 2010: I was on my own today. I drove from Carlsbad, New Mexico, to Odessa, Texas, and got an oil change, expecting that I might have a chance to chase whatever popped up later in that area. But by the time I was done, the biggest severe storms were going up in Oklahoma. That was out of reach, and I liked the boundary and bit of moisture convergence in eastern New Mexico, near Clovis. I started heading in that direction when just a few compact storms started to pop. Despite less than ideal conditions, a couple went severe, slowly moved southeast, and made for a fun and photogenic chase.
One can imagine this building’s better days.
The hail shaft had a deceptive, tornado-like appearance.
The heavy precipitation core, the sunset and a nascent wall cloud.
May 18, 2010: I started the day in Lubbock, Texas. It seemed to me the best conjunction of moisture, wind profiles and other factors pointed to the Oklahoma-Texas border in the northwest Texas panhandle. As I drove into Amarillo, I heard the old crew (Dave Lewison, Scott McPartland, Mark Robinson and friends) on the radio and met up with them and with Bill Hark in Dumas. We went to Dalhart to wait for a likely storm, and a blip on radar near Dumas quickly became an amazing, isolated supercell. Our crew split up, but I met them later. I say I saw “at least one” tornado today because one was obvious. Another sure looked like one, but I’m waiting for confirmation. And who knows how many I filmed in the dense hail/rain core without knowing it. There were a lot of “scud bombs” hanging from the storm that probably prompted reports, too.
Bill Hark, right, flew in from Virginia for the chase. We waited around Dalhart, Texas, until the first blip went up on radar.
At this point, the wall cloud may have been on the ground – that is, a tornado! My video shows strong rotation, and a series of video grabs shows what looks like dust on the ground. I can’t confirm it was, however, because I wasn’t close enough.
If it wasn’t a tornado, it should have been.
Then the storm formed an unquestionable tornado.
A Vortex 2 probe zooms down a ranch road near Stinnett, where a large tornado was reported in the precip core as the sirens blared.
Mark and Brad scan the storm outside Stinnett at dusk as we let it slip by.
May 19, 2010: I started the day with Scott McPartland, Dave Lewison, Bill Hark, Mark Robinson and crew in Shamrock, Texas. We drove to Weatherford, Oklahoma, to wait for storms to fire. A couple did and almost immediately produced tornadoes, but we were nowhere near them – and then, as the storms went more high-precipitation and we caught up with the one near Leedey, it provided awesome structure but not much in the way of tornadoes unless you were in the hail or flying a news helicopter (one got great footage of a tornado near Kingfisher). It was still a fun chase. We split up as we caught up with the storm. I chose to stay south of it and got some nice pictures of the rotating mesocyclone, the hail core and a funnel west of Guthrie, where the tornado sirens were screaming as I drove through. I ended the day with a fantastic sunset in Arcadia, as the storms moved east and my Plains storm chase winds down.
Brad and Dave discuss their options.
We caught up with this storm near Leedey shortly after it produced a tornado. The convection was impressive.
I stopped at Pops in Arcadia, an awesome gas station/restaurant/shrine to soda (with 500 types). Josh Wurman was getting interviewed in front of the giant bottle sculpture.
Our group met up again in Shawnee to share tales of hail, tornadoes, muddy roads, and chaser follies.
Pops on old Route 66 northeast of Oklahoma City on May 19.
September 2, 2010: It’s been an excruciatingly dull summer in terms of weather, but distant Hurricane Earl generated photogenic waves off east-central Florida as it neared the Carolina coast. These shots were taken in Satellite Beach.
May 6: Colby, Kansas
Our priority became getting out of the path. We also had to navigate out of the hail, so we headed east out of Harper. Check out this NWS photo of 5.24-inch hail from this storm!
I last wrote on May 15. On May 16, we chased with George in Kansas, but didn’t see much … just some mushy storms and a few lightning bolts. And my car’s odometer turned over 100,000 miles somewhere near Liberal, Kansas.
After a brief lightning show at our hotel in Denison, Texas, we got a little sleep and got psyched for Sunday, May 20. The Storm Prediction Center’s discussions of the day’s potential included all kinds of signs of doom, and the other data seemed to bear out the potential for tornadoes. We hovered on the Texas-Oklahoma border at a truck stop, checking data on the laptop, then headed into Oklahoma to Atoka in the early afternoon to get nearer to where the action was, in the PDS tornado watch box – or “particularly dangerous situation.” A quick Internet radar check revealed a couple of storms had already gone up north of us, on the boundary. We started heading that way.
Ahead of us on Route 75 were two Doppler on Wheels trucks. We took this as a good sign, but the circumstances were not good. Chasing in eastern Oklahoma is challenging, to say the least. There are massive hills and lots of trees. It’s very difficult to see storm structure. And rain makes it even worse, and boy, did we get rain – but not yet.
Certainly, we were in a tornadic circulation, if not just south of a tornado, and my adrenaline was high. It’s the first time I ever felt truly in danger from a storm. In town, the sirens were screaming. Some guy was poking along ahead of me as if he was out shopping for flowers. I flashed my lights and he moved over. At a red light, I stopped, made sure no cars were coming, then went through with my blinkers on. Dave was aghast. I said, “It’s a #&%*$ tornado, Dave, I’m running the red light!” As we pushed through town, rain curtains ahead of us were clearly rushing from right to left, wrapping around the area of rotation. We were in the “bear’s cage,” no doubt about it.
May 27 was a blast, or, you might say, a sandblast. Dave, Bill and I met up with Steve Sponsler and headed up into Kansas. We had hopes for supercells, but most storms were going up early and beginning to merge in a messy line. At a truck stop in Sublette, we looked at radar images and weighed our options as the sky outside became more and more ominous. By the time we headed north, it was too late to get individual cells … the whole mess had merged into a great line, a dramatic shelf cloud rolling toward us, kicking up brown dirt underneath it as it went. We stopped by a radar dome and got video and stills as it approached. Then the first dust hit. It was a haboob, a Dust Bowl storm, a roaring animal.
Upslope storms – the kind that form on the higher elevations near the mountains – seemed the best bet for May 28. The phones were out in the hotel, which was a very plush Super 8, I might add, so we got the basics on the day’s outlook from Jay Antle and began meandering west. We met up with Ed Roberts from Kansas City and some other chasers in Guymon, Oklahoma, who kindly shared some data files they’d pulled, and we headed farther west. In Dalhart, Texas, a nice woman at the Holiday Inn Express let us plug in for a few minutes to get more information, and we headed for Clayton, New Mexico. If you’re counting, that’s three states already.
Last Thursday, Dave and I targeted northeast Iowa. Low pressure was moving into the area, which would cause the surface winds to come from the south or southeast, while upper-level winds were streaming in from the west. The result: shear in the atmosphere, meaning if a storm went up — and it was likely where the warm and cold fronts met — it would probably rotate.
Going backwards in time to May 16 — the day before — we played what seemed iffy chances for supercells in western Nebraska. We thought the action would be in extreme western Nebraska or even eastern Wyoming, especially after checking data and running into chasers Keith Brown and David Fogel (again in Ogallala). As we zoomed west, it became clear that this was going to be a major chaser convergence. Translated: A circus of idiot drivers. Now, obviously, I don’t think all chasers are irresponsible, but there are definitely chasers who are giving the rest of us a bad name. They are also becoming incredibly ostentatious, with loads of silly equipment on their roofs, including (in my opinion) useless marine radar units. What, are they going boating in their Ford Expeditions?
We saw the storm from when it was a pup, a little towering cumulus. It exploded and soon became a big bad dog — isolated. Huge. Multiple overshooting tops. But it was SCREAMING southeast, way ahead of us. It zoomed into Arkansas (Richard left us in mid-chase because of the hopelessness of the pursuit), and we had to listen to hail reports and spotter-reported tornado warning(s) as we tried to pursue it. We ended up in Arkansas, just east of Fort Smith, with a photogenic bomb that formed on its backside — very pretty, though it croaked at sunset. We met David O. Stillings, the Lightning Stalker (that’s just how he introduces himself, too, at rat-a-tat speed) and Jason Persoff, both Florida chasers traveling with a Pioneer Productions TV crew, as well as a couple of Arkansas chasers — Jason Politte and Scott Blair. We’re all part of a strange, little mobile community that keeps meeting on the grassy banks of farm roads in the middle of nowhere.
