Sunday Thunder in Michigan

For a brief couple of runs Thursday I had vague hopes for an accessible warm front chase on Monday. But that evening’s 00z GFS brought me back to reality, and ensuing runs of the NAM and GFS have painted a blander, cold front scenario for Michigan. As an amateur, decent but still quite formative forecaster rather than a professional meteorologist, I have the freedom to speculate and dream a little on this blog, with the understanding that five days out is fuzzy territory, often more wishcasting than forecasting.

With models coming together three days ahead, I think it’s safe to say that there ain’t nothin’ gonna happen around here on Monday. By then the system will have moved through with zilch to work with in the way of instability, and we’ll start seeing its chillier back end. I’m consigning myself to the compensation prize of a possible bit of thunder around here Sunday night, maybe very early Monday morning, as the cold front moves through. I’ll take that. This early in the season, it’ll be good just to see a little lightning. For that matter, it always is. Storms don’t have to be severe in order to be exciting, beautiful, and worth enjoying.

Looking ahead, more activity could be shaping up for the middle of next week. The Gulf is doing business and the time has come for me to follow the forecast models more closely.

August Reminiscences: My First Successful Storm Chase

Ah, August. In its own way, it’s a lot like February: a month whose respective season of the year has settled in and ripened into predictability. Upper winds are weak and storms are often the pop-up type, providing a quick flash-and-bang along with localized rainfall before fizzling out. Yet on the horizon, like the first cirrus wisps of a fast-moving cold front, you can see change coming.

This morning I awakened to the distant grumble of thunder, and when I opened the drapes, the sky was an odd, fish-flesh paleness with darkness moving in. Oh, joy! Upon hearing me stir, Lisa stepped into the room with a smile and told me that a squall line was approaching. Now, that’s the way I like an August day to begin! I fired up the computer and consulted GR3. It was a skinny line, but the NWS was saying big things about it’s being quite the wind machine. Eight miles up the road, the KGRR station ob reported heavy rain; yet here in Caledonia, we got just a mild spray of precipitation, the lightning called it quits, and the line which had threatened to enter like a lion left like a lamb. Now it’s no longer even detectable on the radar.

More thunder is in the forecast for today, though, and for the next few days, as a weak warm front sloshes back and forth and as air mass storms generate more boundaries to fire up convection. It’ll be a bland but enjoyable show.

While my attitude toward August may seem patronizing, this month is capable of producing an occasional potent surprise. On August 24, 2007, I was sitting in the Hastings library when a line of storms formed just to the west and drifted directly overhead. I had my laptop with me with GR3 running, but my forecasting skills and overall experience were still pretty embryonic, and I dismissed some telltale signs, both radar and visual, because forecast models indicated a straight-line wind event.

The storms matured overhead, blasting Hastings with rain and lightning, and then moved to the east and steered an EF-3 tornado through the town of Potterville. I could have easily intercepted it if I had known what the heck I was doing. There it was, a perfect chase opportunity, gift-wrapped with a large ribbon and dropped smack into my lap, and I was too dumb to untie the bow. Aaargh! Four years later, I could still whap myself alongside the head.

But God showers his kindness even on the ignorant. My first successful chase was eleven years earlier, back in August of, I believe, 1996. I don’t remember the exact date, but I can assure you that in those days, cluelessness was a level of expertise I had yet to attain. However, I had at least learned a few things about storm structure and a few concepts such as shear and CAPE. So when the morning blossomed into an exceptionally sticky day–dewpoints had to have been in the mid-70s–and when I noticed clouds in the afternoon leaning over and curling at the tips, I sensed that something was up.

Around 4:30, I happened to glance out of one of the wrap-around windows at the place where I worked and did a double-take. A wall cloud was forming just a mile or so to my south. Hot dang! I watched it for a bit as it moved eastward, then decided to do something about it.

Leaving work early, I hopped into my little Nissan Sentra and blasted after the storm. I had no laptop, no radar, no weather radio, no experience, and very little knowledge. Instinctively I stayed to the south side of the storm. But as it neared Ionia, I could no longer make out cloud features. I wasn’t even certain that the storm still existed. I hit M-21 and traveled east a ways, then north, smack into the precip core. Yep, the storm was still there. But where was the wall cloud? Was there still a wall cloud?

Emerging from the rain, I headed back west, then south down M-66, effectively circling the supercell. As I approached Ionia from the north, the wall cloud came once again into view. Cool! The storm most definitely still had its teeth.

I tracked behind the storm down M-21, getting right to the rear edge of the circulation. Near Muir, a streak of white condensation shot suddenly out of the woods on the right side of the road half a mile in front of me. Was that a tornado? I wasn’t sure, but it looked mighty promising. Also a bit unnerving. I dropped back and put a little more distance between me and the updraft area.

A while later, somewhere in the open country around St. Johns, I parked and observed as the wall cloud reorganized east of me. While I didn’t realize it at the time, I was watching a classic supercell, as nicely structured and impressive as anything I’ve seen out in the Great Plains. It tightened up, with a nice inflow band feeding into it. Then, to my astonishment, a beautiful, slender white tube materialized underneath it a mile away. Extending fully to the ground, the ghost-like tube translated slowly to my right for a distance of probably no more than half a mile, then dissipated. I had just seen my first tornado!

At that point, the storm weakened. No doubt it was just pulsing, but I dropped it and headed for home. However, I soon discovered that another storm was right on the heels of the first one, making a beeline toward me down M-21.

What were the odds that it, too, would be a supercell? Plenty, of course, but to me at that time they seemed as remote as lightning striking twice in the same place. Nevertheless, something told me that I needed to exercise caution, a hunch that verified as I headed back into Muir. An evil-looking flying saucer meso was approaching the town. Hmmm…maybe it would be prudent of me to drop south.

A couple miles out of the path of the updraft, I parked, got out of the car, and stood on the roadside listening to the thunder grumble and watching as the mesocyclone drifted uneventfully over Muir and vanished off to the northeast. Then I climbed back into my vehicle and headed back to M-21, and west toward home.

I was stoked. I had witnessed my very first tornado! Wow! Thank you, Lord, thank you, thank you, thank you!

It was a milestone in my life so huge that hitting the deer just outside of Ada seemed like practically a non-event. Within a nanosecond, the yearling bounded out of the woods and into my path, driven by a powerful urge to bond with my radiator. Much to both of our chagrin, it succeeded.

But you know, I love a good story, and I recognized all the elements of a great one, a real red-letter day. Not only had I experienced my first successful storm chase, but to top it off, I had also collided with a whitetail and demolished my front end. It doesn’t get much better than that–or at least, it wouldn’t until fourteen years later on May 22, 2010, in South Dakota. That was the ultimate storm chasing experience. But that’s another story.

As for this story, all fun and excitement aside, I had learned a sobering lesson about the dangers of storm chasing. I had come face to face with the dark side of nature–with a force that, beautiful as it was, was also fearful, uncontrollable, and deadly, capable of wreaking havoc on a scale that beggars description. No question about it, deer are dangerous. I enjoy seeing them at a distance, just not up close.

The Cap Won

I don’t know why so many storm chasers decided to chase in northern Missouri this last Monday. I could have told folks it had “cap bust” written all over it–didn’t fool me for a minute, as you can see by reading my post written the day before.

Ahem…right, so I got snookered too. The GFS was spot on about the cap, and the NAM way underforecast it. As a result, Missouri chasers wound up sitting under relentlessly empty skies waiting for convection to fire. It finally did in northeast Kansas–after dark. Storms ignited along a boundary (the warm front? ) and a couple went supercellular and even tornado-warned for a heartbeat before the cap re-exerted itself and squenched them.

The real action, ironically, took place in central Illinois and Indiana, well east of where most folks–including me–had expected. Supercells cut a swath along the warm front through Terre Haute, Indianopolis, and parts east and southeast into Kentucky, and a number of purple boxes lit up the radar screen. Nevertheless, SPC storm reports list only one confirmed tornado that touched down near Hillsboro, Illinois, northeast of Saint Louis.

Them’s the breaks. I didn’t chase that day, and I’m glad that I didn’t because I’d almost certainly have gotten skunked in Missouri when I could have driven straight south down US 41 to Terre Haute, not even having to mess with Chicago traffic, and waltzed on into the sweet zone.

Ah, well. I chased today–if chasing is what you can call a guaranteed grunge fest–down toward a warm front by the Michigan border. The trip was my compensation prize for not heading out when it really counted these past few days. The SPC had outlooked a five percent tornado risk this afternoon, and supercells were making their way northeast across Illinois toward Indiana. I figured that if they held together, I might catch them, but not surprisingly, they mushed out.

That was okay. I was chasing blind, with no radar and few expectations other than the hope that I’d at least see some lightning. I did, and called it good. The main storm season is still on the way, and there’s no need to fret over spilled milk when the cow is just priming its udder. It won’t be long now.

Lightning over Lake Michigan

The storm system that has been in the models for the past week produced a fast-moving squall line that blew from Wisconsin across Lake Michigan. Kurt Hulst and I were there on the shore just north of Holland, Michigan, to catch the action.

Kurt is a great lightning photographer. Look for his photos of last night’s storm on his blog.

As for me, I’m a neophyte when it comes to lightning. Shooting at night, the problem I encounter is focus. Unfortunately, most of my shots were too blurred to crop, and since I was shooting wide angle, cropping is essential. However, a couple shots didn’t turn out too badly. The one shown here is the best of the lot. Click on it to enlarge it.

Storms Next Week: Is There Hope?

I love this balmy, blue fall weather. But down inside me, not too far from the surface, convective starvation is gnawing away. Does 2009 have a “second season” in store? Judging by this year’s insipid, ridge-robbed primary storm season, there’s reason to wonder, but I sure hope so.

There may be a flicker of hope for a week from now, at least if you go by the ECMWF.

090914162010

ECMWF 500 mb winds for Sunday night.

As for the GFS…mmmph.  More zonal flow, though the sea level pressure map suggests a hint of troughing for the northern CONUS. Not anything to pique one’s interest, though. And here’s the SPC’s 4-8 day outlook:

VALID 171200Z - 221200Z

   ...DISCUSSION...
   GENERALLY BENIGN CONDITIONS -- WITH RESPECT TO THE POTENTIAL FOR A
   SUBSTANTIAL SEVERE EVENT -- ARE FORECAST THROUGH DAY 5-6 /I.E. FRI.
   AND SAT. SEPT. 18-19/...AFTER WHICH SOME FAIRLY SUBSTANTIAL MODEL
   DIFFERENCES BECOME APPARENT BETWEEN THE GFS AND ECMWF.  THOUGH SOME
   HINTS THAT SEVERE POTENTIAL COULD INCREASE FROM DAY 6
   ONWARD...CONFIDENCE REMAINS QUITE LOW ATTM.  UNTIL THEN...SEVERE
   POTENTIAL APPEARS LIMITED AT BEST...AS SLOWLY PROGRESSIVE PATTERN
   ALOFT KEEPS THE MUCH OF THE U.S. UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF LONGWAVE
   MEAN RIDGING.  GIVEN THE LACK OF APPRECIABLE SEVERE POTENTIAL DURING
   THE FIRST HALF OF THE PERIOD...AND LACK OF CONFIDENCE IN MODEL
   GUIDANCE BEYOND...NO SEVERE THREAT AREAS WILL BE HIGHLIGHTED THIS
   FORECAST.

I’m rooting for the Euro. It sure would be nice to see some storms. Any kind of storms. Just some decent lightning would be much appreciated right about now.

As I’ve said more than once this year, I’m crossing my fingers but I’m sure not holding my breath.

August Lightning

Kurt Hulst and I got together to chase a little lightning last Sunday, August 9.  With dewpoints in the low to mid 70s, temps in the low 90s, and CAPE around 3,000, there was plenty enough gas in the convective tank. Borderline bulk shear and unidirectional winds meant that tornadoes wouldn’t be the order du jour, but it was nice to just get out and watch some storms.

Strong thunderstorm south of Lansing.

Strong thunderstorm near Lansing.

Strangely, even though Kurt and I both knew that it probably didn’t make much difference where we went, north or south–there were a lot of storms to choose from–we had a hard time choosing where we wanted to go. I guess there’s always something that lurks in the back of my head that thinks, I know there won’t be any tornadoes, but just in case, where would one be likeliest to form? It’s dumb, but it’s what goes on in my head and probably what goes on in Kurt’s too, and it tends to needlessly complicate simple choices.

Anyway, we opted to head north and wound up near Saint Johns, where we parked and let a gust front munch us with high winds, spotty but heavy rain, and infrequent lightning.

A lightning bolt strikes outside of Saint Johns, Michigan.

A lightning bolt strikes outside of Saint Johns, Michigan.

Evening colors tinge receding storm clouds.

Evening colors tinge receding storm clouds.

Afterward, we dropped south on I-69 to Charlotte and caught another cell moving in. Kurt got at least one nice lightning shot. I didn’t get anything at that location, but I didn’t mind. The sunset was extraordinarily beautiful, with melon-colored light filtering through wandering rainshafts and turning the sky to a patchwork of clouds, some catching the sunset rays and others concealing them, like a wardrobe filled with glowing garments and gray rags.

Later that night, a second batch of storms blew through Caledonia, and these ones were most sincere. The lightning was nonstop, but the time was late, I was in bed, and I decided to forgo trying to shoot lightning from my balcony and simply lie there and enjoy the show.

The Wisdom of Not Chasing Storms in February (or, Gee, I’m Glad I Practiced My Sax Instead!)

When it comes to chasing early-season severe systems, I’m getting better about reining myself in. Today was the big test. With a whopper of an H5 jet max–upwards of 120 knots–pushing through northern Kentucky into southern Indiana and Ohio, it was tempting to make the drive down to Xenia and parts thereabouts. True, the whole thing looked to be a massive straight-line wind event, but you never know, right? Particularly when you’ve been cooped up all winter with a nasty case of SDS (Supercell Deficiency Syndrome).

I’m patting myself on the back for not going. In fact, I didn’t chase squat today, not even the grunge that was drifting north from the border and offered at least the possibility of a little lightning. That would have been nice to see in February, but I just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm, and now I’m congratulating myself for my restraint.  The wind event did in fact materialize, but way to the south, down in southern Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, and on to the east, and not a solitary tornado report do I see in the whole batch of SPC storm reports. So I’m very glad I managed to ward off the temptation to grasp at straws. Not only am I not presently driving the long 350 miles home, wondering what on earth I was thinking that brought me down there in the first place, but I invested my time into practicing my saxophone, a much more profitable activity.

I worked with my new copy of Emile and Laura De Cosmo’s book The Diatonic Cycle, which arrived today in the mail. It’s fun to work with a practice book again. These days, I do so much of my practicing straight out of my head, and the De Cosmos‘ well-conceived, organized, and interesting approach comes as a welcome new way to work on my scales and keys. It should keep me occupied for a few months as I work my way through all twenty-four major and harmonic minor scales as presented in the book.

Opting for practicing my horn over chasing storms was a smart move today. Yesterday, on the other hand…well, if I lived 500 miles closer to Oklahoma, I’d have been all over yesterday’s severe weather. Sadly, that weather marked the year’s first tornado fatalities. It appears that the sirens weren’t working as a large, violent wedge rototilled the town of Lone Grove, Oklahoma, west of Ardmore, doing EF4 damage and taking fifteen lives. According to reports, some people were caught out in a parking lot. How awful. February is not a time when folks in the Great Plains expect such things, and I’d imagine that many people were caught off guard.

Looking ahead, the Gulf of Mexico appears to be opening up for business in Dixie Alley, but we won’t be seeing any of that moisture this far north again in the foreseeable future.  Tonight we plunge back into snowy conditions. This is, after all, February in Michigan.