Now is the time of year when waterspouts start putting in an appearance on the Great Lakes. I had largely forgotten about spouts until a few days ago when my friend and fellow weather weenie Mike Kovalchick mentioned them in an email. Bing! A light blinked on in my head: That’s right! Waterspouts!

I’ve never seen a waterspout. But then, until last year about this time with my buddy Kurt Hulst, I’d never made a point of going out after them. Kurt and I busted that day, but maybe this year I’ll get lucky, provided I increase my chances by taking more opportunities to chase spouts.

I have zero experience forecasting waterspouts. Thankfully, there’s a snappy little graph called the Waterspout Nomogram that simplifies the process. Developed by Wade Szilagyi of the Meteorological Service of Canada, the Waterspout Nomogram provides a quick visual aid for determining when certain critical parameters are in place for four different classifications of waterspout: tornadic, upper low, land breeze, and winter.

The tornadic variety is self-explanatory, and any storm chaser with some experience making his or her own forecasts should have a good feel for when that kind of waterspout is likely. Mike favors the 500 mb cold-core, closed low setup, which to my thinking may be a variant of the first in producing low-top supercells. The remaining two, land breeze and winter, seem to involve different dynamics. For all the waterspout categories, one of the constraints is that for spouts to occur, winds at 850 mbs have to be less than 40 knots, something I find particularly interesting in the case of supercell-based waterspouts.

In any event, I’m hoping that this year is my year to finally witness a spout or two. Michigan chasers and weather weenies, it’s time to pay attention to the marine forecasts. The “second season” can include action right along the lakeshore even when nothing’s popping anywhere else. Make sure you bring your shotgun just in case a waterspout gets too close for comfort (written with a wink and a grin).

It’s July 4, Independence Day. Happy Birthday, America! For all the problems that face you, you’re still the best in so many, many ways. One of those ways, which may seem trite to anyone but a storm chaser, is your spring weather, which draws chasers like a powerful lodestone not only from the all over the country, but also from the four corners of the world.

This has been an incredible spring stormwise, but its zenith appears to have finally passed for everywhere but the northern plains. And right now, even those don’t look particularly promising. That’s okay. I think that even the most hardcore chasers have gotten their fill this year and are pleased to set aside their laptops and break out their barbecue grills.

Now is the time for Great Lakes chasers to set their sights on the kind of weather our region specializes in, which is to say, pop-up thunderstorms and squall lines. The former are pretty and entertaining. The latter can be particularly dramatic when viewed from the eastern shore of Lake Michigan, sweeping in across the water like immense, dark frowns on the edge of a cold front. If you enjoy lightning photography, the lakeshore is a splendid place to get dramatic and unobstructed shots. Not that I can speak with great authority, since so far my own lightning pictures haven’t been all that spectacular. But that’s the fault of the photographer, not the storms.

The images on this page are from previous years. So far this year I’ve been occupied mainly with supercells and tornadoes, but I’m ready to make the shift to more garden variety storms, which may not pack the same adrenaline punch but lack for nothing in beauty and drama.

July 4th is a date that cold fronts seem to write into their planners. I’ve seen a good number of fireworks displays in West Michigan get trounced by a glowering arcus cloud moving in over the festivities. But tonight looks promising for Independence Day events. Storms are on the way, but they should hold off till well after the party’s over.  That means we’ll get two shows–the traditional pyrotechnics with all the boom, pop, and glittering, multicolored flowers filling the sky; and later, an electrical extravaganza, courtesy of a weak cold front. A Fourth of July double-header: what could be finer than that?

We were close to the tornado, roughly a quarter mile south of it, paralleling it as it tore an eastward course through the Illinois fields. Dirt and shredded corn swirled around its base like an aura. As Kurt Hulst and I  pulled aside and stepped out of the car to take pictures, we could hear the roar. It wasn’t loud, just audible and big, very big, an intensely focused sound like an immense blowtorch or a rocket engine. Yet, close as Kurt and I were to the tornado, we were out of its path and beyond the range of any apparent debris, and I sensed no particular danger.

A brief staccato of blue flashes suddenly lit up the base of the funnel, accompanied by a loud bang, and chunks of debris flew skyward and centrifuged out. The tornado had hit a structure out in the field, most likely an outbuilding of some kind.

Fortunately, there was little real harm the twister could do out there in the broad Illinois prairie. Not yet, anyway. But a little way to the east lay Yates City, and two-and-a-half miles farther, the community of Elmwood…

The day had started off rather inauspiciously, with the previous evening’s aggressive SPC outlook degrading into a forecast for straight-line winds. The 12Z NAM, too, looked unpromising, and the RUC corroborated it, with mostly southwesterly surface winds veering with height to a unidirectional, westerly mid- and upper-level flow. A persistent batch of cloud cover from a mesoscale convective system threatened to minimize daytime heating and instability. In a word, the setup wasn’t one that suggested tornadoes.

But with a trough digging in from the west, rich moisture, great shear, and at least a semblance of clearing moving in from the southwest, Kurt and I decided to chance it anyway. Our friend and fellow Michigan chaser Ben Holcomb had alerted us the previous evening to the evolving weather situation, and after reading Friday night’s Day 2 Convective Outlook and scanning the NAM, which showed an impressive juxtaposition of the right ingredients, including high helicities stretching along I-80 from Iowa into Indiana, we knew that we had to go.

So off we headed for Illinois late Saturday morning. As Kurt pointed out, the forecast models don’t always have a good grasp on things. One thing we could tell from both the NAM and RUC, though, was that the best parameters now lay well south of I-80. Accordingly, we set our sights on Galesburg, and once there, we continued on, crossing the river at Burlington and heading west into Iowa.

I took a dewpoint reading of over 72 degrees on my Kestrel at New London. The air was juicy. But the clearing we had driven through in western Illinois was giving way to a an extensive mid-level cloud deck. Rather than continuing to forge farther west toward the cold front, we decided to backpedal eastward in the hope that convection would fire near the edge of the cloud shield. This idea became a moot point as the cloud cover rapidly expanded across the river into Illinois.  But better parameters still lay in our area. We were presently in an area of maximum sigtors and optimal 1 km helicity, and on the radar, a scattering of blue popcorn echoes suggested that localized convection was trying to get started. Anticipating that these features would all translate to the east, we drifted back in that direction.

We soon noticed a cloud base with a tower reaching up toward the higher cloud deck. It showed on the radar, as did another stronger one directly down the road from us. As we headed toward it, the second echo progressed from yellow to red. Not far to our northeast, we could see a rain curtain. Skirting it, we moved east of the developing storm cell, parked, and got our first good look at it.

The cell was organizing nicely and was already showing supercellular characteristics–nice separation of the  saucer-like updraft base from the precipitation core; a strong, crisp, tilted updraft tower; the first signs of banding, and a hint of an inflow stinger. Positioned on the southeast edge of the convective cluster in southeast Iowa, it was in a favorable position to ingest moist inflow unimpeded by other storms as it drifted at 30 knots toward Illinois.

This was our storm. We tracked with it back across the river, watching it develop, watching the base lower and the first hint of a wall cloud blossom and put on muscle, watching it tighten as the RFD notch wrapped around it.

Just southeast of  Maquon, Illinois, we saw it: a cloud of dust billowing up from the ground with brief, streaming tendrils of condensation forming and dissipating above it. Tornado! It was a brief appearance of maybe a minute’s duration, but the storm was just getting started, mustering energy for the next round.

We didn’t have long to wait. A minute or two later, as we proceeded down CR 8, a slender elephant’s trunk of a funnel probed its way earthward, intensified, and began gobbling its way through the corn, closing in to within a quarter-mile of us before turning straight east.

This turned out to be a beautiful, highly photogenic tornado, all the moreso for the amazing display of lightning that accompanied it. Kurt took some great video of it which will give you a much better appreciation for how electrified the tornadic environment was. At one point, at the 8:50 mark, you can see a bolt shoot directly from the funnel to the ground. I didn’t have the good fortune to witness the famed Mulvane, Kansas, tornado, but I’ve got to believe that this storm was similar in terms of its incessant lightning.

The funnel morphed through a variety of elegant formations, and the overall storm structure was beautiful. It was a stunning and mesmerizing sight, but with growing concern, Kurt and I realized that it was making its way toward Yates City and didn’t show any sign of weakening.

Fortunately, the funnel veered slightly to the northeast, passing just to the north of the town. At that point, it was an intense drillpress spinning furiously a mile distant. We closed the gap and tracked with it as it headed toward the larger town of Elmwood, just a couple miles down the road.

What was the funnel doing? It appeared to be shifting to the right. Oh my gosh! Elmwood was going to get hit! The tornado was beginning to rope out, but not in enough time to spare the town. Taking a hard right, it plowed through the town center. Three-quarters of a mile ahead of us, power lines arced and transformers exploded, debris blasted into the air, and a large dust cloud billowed skyward.

It is a weird and awful feeling to witness a community get hit by a tornado. I’ve seen it happen twice before in Springfield, Illinois, and in Iowa City, but those were night time events. It’s different in broad daylight, when you can see what’s happening. The rather blurry photo shown here was taken just before the tornado crossed Main Street in downtown Elmwood. It’s not a very dramatic shot. You can see a few pieces of debris floating in the air and no more than a cloud tag to mark the presence of the tornado. But a second or two after the photo was taken, things got very nasty in that town. If there’s anything at all good to be said about what happened there, it’s that no one got killed or, as far as I’m aware, even injured.

A couple hundred yards south of Elmwood, the tornado dissipated. Gone, poof, vanished just like that. There’s a certain ugly irony about a force of nature that can wreak havoc in a community and then vanish a few seconds later without a trace. If the tornado had dissipated just thirty seconds sooner, a lot of people might have experienced just a good scare rather than a local disaster.

Kurt and I continued tracking with the storm as it made its way toward Peoria. The next tornado soon formed–a larger, bowl-shaped cloud with multiple vortices. This broadened out into a large tornado cyclone with multiple areas of rotation that produced, among other things, a brief but spectacular horizontal vortex. Sorry, I have no photos to show of it. It had gotten too dark, we were moving, and any picture I took at that point would have been blurred beyond recognition.

In Peoria, we got a bit snagged by roads and traffic, but thanks to Kurt’s great driving, we soon found ourselves heading east on I-74. As we crossed the Illinois River, I could see what appeared to be a large cone funnel to our north making its way across what was probably Upper Peoria Lake, silhouetted by frequent strobes of lightning.

Catching CR 115 at Goodfield, we headed north to Eureka, then continued east along US 24. We were still tracking with the storm, which was slowly weakening as the next tornadic supercell to its north began to dominate. It was still no pansy-weight, though, and at Chatsworth, in a final show of strength, it spun down a brief but well-defined rope tornado.

As our storm merged with the northern storm around Kankakee, Kurt and I caught I-57 and headed home. After May 22 in South Dakota, I really didn’t expect that I’d get another decent storm chase in. But this El Nino year, which got off to such a rotten start for storm chasers, now is paying dividends with some highly photogenic tornadoes.

And the season isn’t over yet. There’s no telling what the rest of June may hold. I doubt I’ll be making any more forays this year into the Plains, but if the Great Lakes region continue to light up, I’ve got my camera and laptop ready.

To see more photos from this chase, click here. And while you’re at it, check out the rest of my images of storms, tornadoes, wildflowers, people, and whatnot in my photos section.

Yesterday’s outbreak of supercells in the southeastern Great Lakes was no tornado breeder, but it made for an enjoyable chase. I left Caledonia around 10:30 with Bowling Green in mind as a target, noting that the SPC had outlooked a narrow, northern swath of northeast Indiana and northern Ohio with a 10 percent tornado risk.

I wound up rendezvousing with my long-time chase buddy Bill Oosterbaan in Ashton, Indiana, where Mike Kovalchick also joined us. (Note to self: that Baptist church parking lot on the west edge of town has a fantastic hilltop view to the west.) We dropped south to Waterloo, where I parked my car at a convenience store, then hopped in Bill’s vehicle, and we headed east, watching as a cumulus field began forming overhead. The warm front was moving in, and when we left Ashton, the chilly temps were already rising and bringing the dewpoints with them.

Farther to the east, we hooked up with Ben and Mike Holcomb, and CMU meteorology students Aric Cylkowski and Cort Scholten. Our contingent of four vehicles at the Sonic drive-in made up what was probably the first chaser convergence that Bryan, Ohio, has ever experienced, and probably the last.

From there, we dropped south toward the warm front, which had stalled over the area. Temps had been in the lower 70s in Bryan, with east-northeasterly winds and dewpoints around 59 degrees; farther down the road, at our new location in a parking lot next to a cemetery, we gained another degree of dewpoint and the surface winds veered. On the radar, one discrete cell to our southwest began to take on supercellular  characteristics. We decided to intercept it, and the chase was on.

But another cell formed southwest of our storm, and in its tail-end position, it rapidly evolved into the main player of the day. So we left the storm we were on and headed toward the new one, which was hooking nicely. A couple miles south of the town of Paulding, we encountered one of the most flat-out beautiful hailstorms I’ve ever seen. It moved toward us in shifting, pearly strands across the fields. I tinkered frantically with the settings on my camera in order to get a fast enough shutter speed for snapping pics from our moving vehicle–there was no shoulder to the road, and no stopping–but by the time I finally had what I needed and Bill had found a turn-off, the amazing nuances and texture of the hail shaft had blended into a homogeneous sheet (click image to enlarge). I took a couple quick photos which nowhere near capture the essence of what we had seen just a minute or two prior; then, with maybe thirty seconds to spare from getting cored, we beat a hasty retreat.

Out in the field just to our southwest, we could see a crapload of dust being kicked up by the rear flank downdraft. We pulled aside and let it pass 100 feet or so in front of us. In the photo, notice how the dust fills the ditch to the right. I’ve read some discussions about the wisdom of the longstanding advice to abandon one’s car during a tornado and seek shelter in a ditch. Maybe that’s a best option in a worst-case scenario, but judging from the photo, it looks to me like the wind is doing a pretty good job of invading the ditch. Depending on the depth of a given ditch, tornado-force winds could conceivably just scoop a person up and launch them into the main air stream.

But I digress. The hail and RFD were the highlights of the day. From then on, it truly was a storm chase, and a futile one. With the storm rocketing to the east-northeast at 70 mph, we had a choice of barreling eastward and losing the storm to the north, or northward and watching it vanish to the east. We pursued it longer than we should have, but we had a fun time of it. The roads in that part of Ohio are great, the countryside is flat and open, and overall, the territory is fabulous for chasing. But when storms are moving at such breakneck speeds, the best road grids in the country–and these probably qualify–can’t compensate.

I managed to get a few shots of a cool, bell-shaped wall cloud as the storm moved away from us. Eventually, though, we called the chase off and started on our way back. West of Paulding, we encountered significant wind damage–large trees snapped off at their bases and pieces of outbuildings scattered across the fields at a couple farms. Could have been weak tornado damage, but it was likelier the work of straight-line winds.

I should probably mention the rope funnel that hung down from a small storm as we headed back toward Waterloo. Okay, it wasn’t really a funnel, just evidence of what wishful thinking can do with a snaky-looking cloud.

Back in Waterloo, I picked up my car, hit I-69 north, and headed home.

I noticed that Illinois-based storm chaser Adam Lucio was also on these storms, and appreciated his Facebook comment that you don’t need tornadoes in order to have an enjoyable chase. I wholeheartedly agree. Yesterday was a great chase, particularly for the Great Lakes, and that hail shaft near Paulding alone made my day.

Of course, everyone has been rumbling about the big event shaping up for Monday in the Plains. Wish I could go, but it’s not in the budget. Best wishes to everyone who heads out. Stay safe, get good photos and video, and have fun.

Yesterday I took the kids out of the refrigerator, where I’ve kept them in bags since December, and have been busy burying them in dirt one by one. Before you pick up the phone in horror and dial the authorities, let me explain that the “kids” are my carnivorous plants, and refrigerating them is essential for meeting their dormancy requirement. As I think of it, the fact that, in addition to being fanatical about tornadoes, I also have a sizable collection of carnivorous plants probably seems fairly ghoulish in its own right, but the truth is, while I may be eccentric, I’m fairly harmless.

For that matter, compared to some members of the International Carnivorous Plant Society, I’m just a dabbler at a fascinating hobby that can be taken much farther than I have the money or the room for. My modest, apartment-balcony-sized collection is nevertheless something I take much delight in. At present it consists of all eight Sarracenia species, including a few subspecies and varieties, and a whole brigade of Venus flytraps.

Not only did the roots of most of my plants grow quite a bit last year, but most of them have also subdivided, which has necessitated my purchasing more and larger pots this year. This has been particularly true of the Venus flytraps. You just wouldn’t believe how the things multiply. I started with five plants a few years ago and now have 2.5 million of them. At least, it seemed like that many back in December when I had to remove them from their pots, wash them off individually, separate their corms at their growth points, remove all of the dead leaves and anything that could rot, wash them in sulfur solution to prevent mold, wrap them in sphagnum moss, spray the moss with fungicide, place them in bags, and finally, stick them in the refrigerator. If that sounds like a tedious process, pat yourself on the back for figuring it out. It took me two evenings to process five freezer bagfuls of flytraps.

Now I face the joyous prospect of unbagging my Venus flytraps and repotting them, and I’m not even sure how many I actually have. Probably somewhat fewer than 2.5 million, but still a lot. The good thing is, planting them will probably take considerably less time than I spent preparing them for the fridge.

As for the pitcher plants, I finished potting the last two bags tonight. Yahoo! I can hardly wait to see how big my Sarracenias will get this year in the bigger pots, particularly since they’re getting a month’s head start on last year. April 2009 was cold the entire month; this year, we’ve already hit the mid 60′s these past few days. And the plants had already begun growing in the refrigerator, sending out pale leaves and white flower stalks. Now that they’re getting some warmth and sunlight, I have a hunch that at least some of them, if not all, are going to go absolutely gonzo.

If you want to meet some of the kids, go to my wildflower and outdoors photos and then click on the sundews, North American pitcher plants, and Venus flytrap galleries. The photos are from 2009. Keep an eye out in a month or two for updates. By then, a lot of the plants will be in flower. This year ought to be a spectacular display, so stay tuned.

I was hoping, really hoping, that this Thursday would shape up as my first chase day of the year out in Illinois. The NAM sure looked promising for a second, but now, like Dante’s inferno, it has “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” written over the door.

The GFS was never very positive to begin with, but at this time of year, Great Lakes chasers are optimistic out of sheer desperation, and I guess I wasn’t the only one who was rooting for the NAM with its bullish CAPE of up to 1,500 j/kg and sweet lapse rates.

But it’s gone, all gone. Yesterdays NAM runs weakened the CAPE and shuttled it south and east. A nice cold core setup in southeast Iowa/northwest Illinois materialized long enough to whisper sweet nothings, but nothings are probably all they were. The 500 mb low has since slunk apologetically back west toward Kansas City, with its -25 C temperature minimum well displaced from the surface moisture lobe. The setup could still change, but unless it bumps back east and stacks back up, I’m not going to drive that far to find out.

I will, however, very likely head toward the Michigan border around New Buffalo. Moisture looks to be ample with mid- to upper-50s dewpoints augmented by evaporation, backed surface winds, and precip breaking out by 21Z if this present NAM verifies. If it does, there could be a bit of lightning and thunder, and at least the slim possibility of a brief spin-up; if not, it’ll have been a pleasant break-in drive for chase season 2010.

Back in December I wrote a post speculating how El Nino might affect the moisture fetch from the Gulf of Mexico. I wrote as a non-expert, which is always my position regarding weather related stuff, but it appears that my concern about the influence of cooler sea surface temperatures on return flow actually held water.

Tornado season normally begins ramping up in Dixie Alley in February, solidifies in March, peaks in April, then begins to decline in May as the action moves west and north toward traditional Tornado Alley.

Last year the tornado total for February, 2009, was 43. It consisted of six tornado days, two of which were outbreaks of 12 and 21 tornadoes.

This year, the tally for February was a statistically unprecedented zero. That’s no, nada, zippo tornadoes at all last month. Instead, the South experienced record-breaking cold weather, with snow in virtually all of the southern states and a series of brutal winter storms lashing Oklahoma, Texas, and parts of Dixie Alley.

Now we’re into March, and the snow seems to finally be behind us. As I sit here writing, I can look out the sliding doors of my apartment at a beautiful day with temperatures climbing into the mid forties. I’ll take that with a smile, along with the warming trend that’s in store for this coming week here in West Michigan. But at the same time, sampling buoys across the Gulf of Mexico, I see water temperatures in the low to mid fifties and some really horrible dewpoints. It looks a lot like what the ENSO sea surface temperature table has predicted, namely, cooler-than-average temperatures.

We’re presently looking at  systems moving through the Plains that might be tornado breeders if they weren’t starved for moisture. It’s hard to get excited about dewpoints that barely scrape into the low to mid fifties pretty much everywhere except waaay down in southern Texas and Louisiana.

Okay, it’s only March. What’s a bit scary is to think that the Gulf may not be up to snuff till as late as May. Click on this image of the Climate Prediction Center”s ENSO sea surface temperature anomaly forecast, updated March 1, and you’ll see what I’m talking about. The first two tables are the ones you want to pay attention to. That blue in the Gulf of Mexico doesn’t look too promising.

I hope I’m wrong, and it could be that I am. A quick glance at water temperatures west of the Florida peninsula shows some temps into the seventies well out into the Gulf, so maybe things will pick up more quickly than the map suggests. The ENSO update does indicate that El Nino is weakening:

•A majority of the models indicate that the Niño-3.4 temperature departures will gradually decrease at least into the summer.

•The models are split with the majority indicating ENSO-neutral conditions by May-July 2010 and persisting into the Fall. Several models also suggest the potential of continued El Niño conditions or the development of La Niña conditions during the Fall.

–Page 27, March 1, 2010, CPC-NCEP ENSO Update

That’s a good sign, kind of. The last part leaves us hanging, but as always, time will tell.

More immediately, I wonder, as I did three months ago, whether we won’t see a delayed storm season. I think, I hope, that when it does finally arrive, it will be a stellar one.  There’s reason to be hopeful, considering the ample ground moisture available for evapotranspiration throughout Tornado Alley, including areas that languished last year under a severe drought. No such problem this year. I hear some chasers talking about West Texas, and I’ll bet they’re right. Once the Gulf finally does set up shop, whether sooner or later, I expect to be making some trips out west. See y’all at the edge of the meso.

Here’s some news that will put joy in your heart: skunk cabbage days are almost here! (And all the people shouted, “Hurrah!” and donned their festive garments.)

It’s true. Sometime within the next three weeks or so, the odd, purple cowls of Symplocarpus foetidus will start pushing up through the mud and matted leaves of the wetlands where they grow, generating enough heat to melt their way through the ice and snow and provide a microclimate for early insects. Here in the Great Lakes, the skunk cabbage is the year’s first wildflower, and I always get happy when I see it begin to show. It’s a charming little plant, though there’s nothing particularly pretty about it. This plant doesn’t care about “pretty.” It’s all about character and nail-toughness. Skunk cabbage has the grit of a pioneer.

It also has the smell of a pioneer, as you’ll find out if you ever hold a piece of the broken flower or leaf up to your nose and get a whiff. It smells a lot like an armpit that hasn’t been washed in a month. Taken all around, this is not the kind of wildflower you’d feel inclined to gather a bunch of and take home to stick in a vase. But, appearing with the robins and redwing blackbirds, it is nevertheless a welcome harbinger of the warmer months. I’m surprised that some Michigan town hasn’t claimed it and instituted an annual skunk cabbage festival. Not too surprised, though.

Speaking of warmer months, they don’t seem to be in any hurry to put in an appearance, and I’m starting to wonder whether Punxatawney Phil might not have been conservative in his forecast of another six weeks of winter. Another major winter storm is poised to dump another 6-10″ of snow on West Michigan this evening through tomorrow, and more snow is in the forecast for the next ten days.

Snow, snow, and yet again snow. If you like the stuff, just stick around. Sooner or later, Michigan always delivers.

By now we can all agree that this has been one wild winter, with wave after wave of major winter storms pummeling large sections of the nation.

According to an NCDC (National Climatic Data Center) snowfall map, the state of Maryland saw as much as 48 inches of snow this past week, between February 5 and 11. Southern Pennsylvania got even more snow, up to 54 inches.

A Snowman in Dallas

Spectacular as the Winter Weather Olympics have been out east, they’ve by no means been the only show in town. Oklahoma, Tennessee, even Texas, have gotten clobbered over these past few weeks with a smorgasbord of every conceivable type of winter precip, from freezing rain to record snowfalls to blizzard conditions. Yesterday, my brother Brian, who lives in Dallas, sent me a photograph of my little nephew, Sam, standing next to a big ol’ snowman in the front yard. In Brian’s message, he wrote that this has been the first time that enough snow has fallen in Dallas to make a snowman since he moved to North Texas over 25 years ago.

But Wait! There’s More!

All of the above is just this week’s weather. Farther back, from January 27-30, a nasty weather system rolled through the South and East, providing plenty of entertainment for folks from the Texas and Oklahoma panhandles, to Nashville, to Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, DC. According to the NCDC, “Snowfall amounts greater than 10 inches (25 cm) were reported in New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, North Carolina, Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland. Freezing rain of over 1 inch (2.5 cm) was reported across Oklahoma and Texas, with many locations also receiving several inches of snowfall and sleet in addition to the ice.”

As I write, the bridge over Lake Ponchartrain in New Orleans has been closed due to winter weather, and…hold it, we have a news flash…0.2 inches of snow has fallen at the airport in Mobile, Alabama, the first measurable snowfall there in twelve years.

Meanwhile, while we up here in Michigan are staring out at a decent blanket left by Tuesday’s snowstorm–10 inches fell in the Caledonia area–yet overall, we’ve gotten nothing like last year’s 200-inch winter. Rather, according to the NCDC, Michigan has experienced its eighth driest January on record.

Blame It All on El Nino

From what I can see, this year’s history-making weather anomalies are the result of a classic, strong El Nino. Weather patterns get flip-flopped during El Nino years. Generally speaking, the South gets cooler-than-average temperatures and abundant precipitation, while north-central states see above-average temperatures and less precipitation. My state, Michigan, lies somewhat in no-man’s land, shifting between normal to warmer, drier conditions.

One thing is certain: for those living in drought-plagued areas, their problems have ended, at least for a while. From the Southeast to the Southwest, there’s no lack of moisture. Last year, central Texas was in the throes of a severe drought; today, its cup runneth over. All indications are that, whatever issues this year’s storm chasing season may encounter, anemic dewpoints won’t be one of them.

We’ll be finding out for sure soon. In a little over two weeks, March will be here. Meteorological spring. Can you feel it in your blood? Frankly, I have a hunch that the early convective season isn’t going to be very eventful, but it’s good just to know that Big Thunder is on the way. It may not be exactly knocking on the door just yet, but it’s only a couple blocks down the street and getting closer every day.

We may not get socked with anything quite as bad as the three feet of snow that got dumped on Maryland a few days ago, but lower Michigan is poised for a major snow slam starting tomorrow morning. The current warning text from GRR reads as follows:

A WINTER STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 7 AM TUESDAY TO
1 PM EST WEDNESDAY.

HAZARDOUS WEATHER...

 * 6 TO 12 INCHES OF SNOW IS EXPECTED FROM DAYBREAK TUESDAY THROUGH
   WEDNESDAY MORNING.

 * THE HEAVIEST SNOW IS EXPECTED TOWARD THE INTERSTATE 94
   CORRIDOR WHERE 8 TO 12 INCHES OF SNOW IS EXPECTED. THE
   INTERSTATE 96 CORRIDOR WILL SEE 6 TO 10 INCHES OF SNOW...
   WHICH INCLUDES GRAND RAPIDS AND LANSING.

 * SNOW WILL BEGIN TUESDAY MORNING AND BECOME HEAVY FOR LATE
   TUESDAY AFTERNOON AND TUESDAY NIGHT.

 * BLOWING AND DRIFTING SNOW IS EXPECTED TUESDAY EVENING THROUGH
   THROUGH WEDNESDAY MORNING AS NORTH WINDS INCREASE TO 15 TO 25
   MPH.

Here’s what the NAM-based F5 proprietary snowfall total shows for Wednesday at 18Z. (Click on the image to enlarge it.) The GFS moves things more to the south and probably is a bit more in line with the NWS forecast. But either way, tomorrow is going to be very different from the beautiful day we’ve had here today in West Michigan.

Well, what else can we expect? It’s early February, after all, and the groundhog probably was spot-on in his forecast for six more weeks of winter. I guess that explains why there’s open season on groundhogs in Michigan.