Gulf of Mexico Sea Surface Temperatures and the 2013 Storm Season

Every year, the same question inevitably comes up: What is the upcoming tornado season going to be like?

The only truly definitive answer is no definitive answer. No one knows for sure till spring arrives, and the best any of us can go by are guesses, some better informed than others. I’m prepared to offer a few thoughts on the matter, but that’s all they are: thoughts, sheer speculation, items for consideration, not convictions or predictions; and they are those of a layman, not a professional meteorologist or a climatology expert.

With that caveat clearly stated,  I have some hopes that this year will offer a few more “big” chase opportunities than 2012. True, the horrible drought that put the kibosh on setups last year after April 14 hasn’t gone away, nor does it show any sign of letup. And without any evaporative boost from moist earth or vegetation, dewpoints are apt to mix out in the Great Plains. That’s no news to anyone.

ENSO 2013 SST Forecast MapsHowever, I have noticed that sea surface temperatures in the Gulf of Mexico are above normal, and the CPC’s (Climate Prediction Center) ENSO maps forecast them to remain so. Below are the most recent maps, current as of January 28,  covering the period from February through June, 2013. Click on the image to enlarge it. At the top right, you’ll see the Gulf of Mexico shaded in orange, indicating an average temperature deviation of 0.5 to 1.0 degree Celsius above normal closer to shore, and normal farther out.

These are coarse approximations, of course. But you can drill down a little further by checking out current buoy observations against average station temperatures, courtesy of the NODC (National Oceanographic Data Center). Below is their table showing current station obs for February 3 to the far left; and, extending to the right of the obs from some of the stations, average normal monthly temperatures.* A quick glance will tell you that SSTs were well above average for this date, and in light of the ENSO maps, it seems reasonable to think that they will remain so. In fact, today’s and yesterday’s readings seem to be about a month ahead of the game, though granted, those are just two days, and there are bound to be plenty of  fluctuations through the rest of the month.

NODC Current and Avg SSTs

What I feel safe in saying is that the overall higher SSTs in the Gulf of Mexico suggest a better moisture fetch than last year’s generally anemic return flow. Maybe the Midwest will benefit most from it, and I for one won’t weep if there are some decent setups closer to home. I can’t think of a better place to chase storms than the flatlands of Illinois.

However, it seems to me that Tornado Alley also stands a better chance of action as well, provided the polar jet cooperates this year by showing up farther south, where richer incursions of moisture can get at the energy. Neutral conditions that favor neither El Nino nor La Nina this spring strike me as more promising than last year’s La Nina.

I weigh the above information against recent (i.e. January 29) CPC drought maps, which don’t paint the rosiest of pictures for most of the Great Plains but look good farther east and in the northern plains. Below is the most current drought monitor maps, released January 29; and the drought outlook, valid from January 17 through April 30.

CPC Drought Info 1-29-13

Again, I’m neither a climatologist nor a meteorologist, just someone who likes to piece information together and see whether it bears out. Maybe it won’t. My original hunch was that, because of the drought, our storm season would be a repeat of last year’s, starting early and dying young. And maybe that’s the way it will be. But if I correctly understand the implications of warmer-than-normal GOM temperatures, it seems to me that this year could be at least modestly more active than last year’s abysmal storm season and might even hold a few surprises. It certainly can’t get any worse.

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* Station observations shown are for the western Gulf. Obs for the eastern Gulf are also available at the NODC site.

Christmas Day Severe Weather and Tornadoes in Dixie Alley

I hadn’t planned to post today, but with the severe weather that the NWS has been forecasting for several days now already underway in east Texas and conditions ripening across southern Dixie Alley from lower Louisiana into Alabama, I thought I’d pin a few of today’s 12Z NAM forecast soundings to the wall to let you see what the squawk is about. I’m focusing on Louisiana because it seems to me that, from a storm chasing perspective, that’s where the best chances are for daylight viewing–not that I think there will be a whole lot of people chasing down in the woods and swamps on Christmas, but I need some kind of focus for this large and rapidly evolving event. Remember, the sun sets early this time of year.

To summarize the situation, a vigorous trough is digging through the South, overlaying the moist sector ahead of an advancing cold front with diffluence across Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. Shear and helicity are more than adequate for supercells and strong tornadoes, with forecast winds in excess of 100 knots at 300 millibars, 80 at 500, and 45-50 at 850, ramping up to 60 at night per the Baton Rouge NAM.

I’ll start with three soundings in southwest Louisiana at Lake Charles. It’s obviously a potent-looking skew-T and hodograph, with over 1,600 J/kg SBCAPE and more-than-ample helicity. No need for me to go into detail as I’ve displayed parameters that should be self-explanatory; just click on the image and look at the table beneath the hodograph.

What I do find noteworthy is the very moist nature of this sounding, suggestive of overall cloudy conditions and HP storms. This changes quickly around 20Z (second image), with much drier air intruding into the mid-levels.

From there on, temperatures at around 700 mbs begin to warm up until by 23Z (third image) they’ve risen from 1.5 degrees C (18Z) to 5.9–a gain of nearly 4.5 degrees–and a slight cap has formed and becomes strong by the 00Z sounding (not shown). Note how the surface winds have veered, killing helicity as the cold front moves in. End of show for Lake Charles.

Farther east in the Louisiana panhandle, you get much the same story at Baton Rouge, except the more potent dynamics appear later and more dramatically, with 1 km helicity getting downright crazy. I’ve shown two soundings here. The first, at 18Z, has a dry bulge at the mid-levels but moistens above 650 mbs, and by 20Z (not shown) it has become even moister than its Lake Charles counterpart, to the point of 100 percent saturation between 600 and 800 mbs. Helicities are serviceable but less impressive than to the west.

There’s a big change in the second sounding, this one for 00Z. The dewpoint line sweeps way out, and look at that wind profile! With a 60 kt low-level jet, helicities are no longer also-rans to the Lake Charles sounding; at over 500 m2/s2, they’re hulkingly tornadic, and the sigtor is approaching 13.

Mississippi is obviously also under fire, and I hope the folks in Alabama have taken the 2011 season to heart and purchased weather radios that can sound the alert at night.

To those of you who chase today’s setup–and I know there are a few of you who are down there–I wish you safe chasing. But my greater concern is for

the residents of Dixie Alley who live in harm’s way and aren’t as weather-savvy, and some of who–despite the NWS’s best efforts–may not be aware of what is heading their way this Christmas Day.

Having just glanced at the radar, I see that the squall line is now fully in play. I’ll leave you with a screen grab of the reflectivity taken at 1725Z.

Have a blessed and safe Christmas.

ADDENDUM: In watching the radar, it’s obvious that the 12Z NAM was slow by an hour or so. Can’t have perfection, I guess.

Winter System Hits the Midwest and Great Lakes

As I write, a 988 mb low is passing just south of me, and with it, a major winter storm is covering areas west of me with snow while in the Southeast, several states are under a 5 percent risk of tornadoes per the Storm Prediction Center.

I’m not going to write a lot. I just want to tip my hat to this system as it moves through, because it is a humdinger. Here in Grand Rapids, we’re presently getting a lot of wind and rain, and the rain will change to snow later tonight.

Snowfall here looks to be minimal, an inch or less, but not a whole lot farther north, conditions promise to worsen quickly, with accumulations up to eight inches or more over the next 24 hours. The first map is a 12Z NAM snowfall map, courtesy of F5 Data; click on it to enlarge it. Below it, to demonstrate the contrasting weather conditions, is the SPC Day 1 tornado risk.

Mini-Tornadoes: Defining a Microscale Mystery

In Europe they have mini-tornadoes. There was a time in my callow, formative years as a storm chaser when I was unaware that there was such a thing, but one learns. Besides, even veteran American chasers could make the same mistake as I, and probably have done so many times. From the reports, photos, and videos I’ve seen, a mini-tornado so closely resembles a standard-issue tornado in appearance and effect that here in the United States, most chasers would find it impossible to tell the difference.

However, Europeans–newscasters and reporters in particular, who are largely responsible for disseminating the mini-terminology–are more discriminating and not easily impressed. In Europe, it seems that anything less than a Great Plains-style wedge isn’t considered a full-fledged tornado.

Not that wedges are a common occurrence across the pond. The perspective I’ve described appears to be based not on great familiarity with tornadoes, but rather, on a paucity of experience with them other than what is gleaned through viewing videos of the mile-wide monsters that stalk the American prairies. Now those are tornadoes! Compared to them, a trifling, block-wide vortex is … eh. Small change.

Plenty of U.S. chasers would take exception. The problem is, no mini-tornado criteria have been established that could provide a basis for arguing that probably 99.9 percent of mini-tornadoes are simply tornadoes. Not that at least one attempt hasn’t been made to provide such criteria. Back in 2006, in a thread on Stormtrack, I myself presented a plausible set of determinants for mini-tornadoes, complete with a damage-rating scale, and I’m surprised that the NWS never adopted it. Follow my logic and you’ll see for yourself that true mini-tornadoes are a phenomenon few Europeans, let alone Americans, ever encounter.

Mini-Tornado Criteria

A true mini-tornado must meet the following standards:
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•  It is five feet tall or less. Of course, this implies an extremely low cloud base. You’d have to squat in order to get a decent photo.
•  Width: Two feet or less.
•  Human response: You feel a strong urge to say, “Awww, ain’t that cute!” You want to pet it and maybe even take it home with you and give it a nice bowl of debris.
•  The synoptic conditions can be contained within five city blocks.
•  Overshooting tops can be viewed from above by taking an elevator to the ninth floor.
•  Damage (introducing the M Scale):

  • M0: Damage?
  • M1: No noticeable damage.
  • M2: No, there’s no stinking damage. Now go away.
  • M3: Okay, some damage now. Card houses knocked over unless securely glued together. Hair ruffled. That sort of thing.
  • M4: Now we’re talking damage. Well-built card houses scattered into a lawn-size version of 52-Card Pickup. Ill-fitting toupes snatched away. Nasty things happen when you spit into the wind.
  • M5: Inconceivable inconvenience. Securely glued card houses swept entirely away and lofted across the lawn. Well-gelled hair twisted into impressive new designs. You want to get out of the way of this baby.

I hope this helps. Of course, according to these criteria, I suppose the UK has yet to experience a true mini-tornado. Someone should probably inform the press. And none of us should hold our breaths waiting for such an occurrence, because, truth be told, mini-tornadoes are extremely rare.

But not utterly non-existent. The late, talented storm chaser Andy Gabrielson managed to capture on video his personal encounter with a good mini-tornado candidate on May 24, 2010, in South Dakota.* Check out his YouTube video at 1:56, and like me, you too can say to yourself, “What the heck was that?”
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* The footage up to 1:56 is not a mini-tornado.

Looking Back to October 17: A Wild Radar Image

On Wednesday night, October 17, severe storms rolled across the South, dropping a series of tornadoes across Arkansas and Mississippi, mostly in the latter state. The SPC’s storm reports show a tally of fifteen tornado reports. I’d image that the final number of actual tornadoes turned out to be smaller, as some reports no doubt were caused by the same tornado at different points along its path. A number of injuries resulted from the storms, but thankfully, no fatalities.

This was the last notable severe weather outbreak of the year and about the best that the late season of 2012 could squeak out.* A glance back at this date over a mugful of Fat Tire amber ale isn’t a bad way to occupy myself on this chilly November night. That evening stands out in my mind due to some crazy radar images from a tornadic storm that moved between Canton and Carthage, Mississippi. The storm appeared to be a hybrid, part supercell and part bow echo with a potent bookend vortex. It was the darndest thing.

I don’t know exactly what was going on with this storm, but I certainly was surprised to see such a classic hook form out of a run-of-the-mill bow echo. In the storm-relative velocity screen, captured at the same time as the base reflectivity, you can see two pronounced couplets, one for the hook and the other for the bookend. It was fascinating to watch these features evolve.

And it got even more interesting. In a Facebook interchange over the images when they were brand-new and the storm was in progress, Matt Sellers pointed out the possibility of yet a third area of circulation at the interface between the forward-flank downdraft of the westerly located supercell and the rear-flank downdraft of the bookend mesocyclone to the northeast. If you look at the reflectivity image, you’ll see what he was talking about.

However, I don’t see anything in the storm-relative velocity grab (captured at the same time) that suggests strong rotation in that area. I just see outflow pushing south-southeastward, and not all that vigorously. Then again, I’m not skilled enough at radar interpretation that I couldn’t have missed some subtlety. What Matt said makes sense, and the somewhat detached blob of red behind the gust front seems to corroborate his thinking. The area in question could have seen some spinups that would never have been detected on radar. Interesting to think about.

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* In terms of severe thunderstorms and tornadoes. Hurricane Sandy obviously qualified as severe weather, but not as an outbreak. She was in a separate category, and one I haven’t cared to touch. Her impact was too vast, and my knowledge of hurricanes is too limited.

An Interview with Wade Szilagyi, Director of the International Centre for Waterspout Research

It has been far too long since I’ve posted in this blog. Since my last post on my first-ever Lake Michigan waterspout intercept–and an amazing intercept it was, at that–waterspout season has come and gone, and Hurricane Sandy has wreaked damage of historical proportions on New York City and the New Jersey coastline. But, caught up in editing projects, I haven’t had much energy for writing my own stuff.

I have had a couple things up my sleeve, though, both musical and meteorological. This interview is one of them, and I think you will find it worth the wait. It features Wade Szilagyi, founder and director of the International Centre for Waterspout Research (ICWR) and developer of the Waterspout Nomogram and the Szilagyi Waterspout Index (SWI). Wade is not only at the cutting edge of waterspout research and forecasting, but he drives and defines much of it. I’m pleased and honored to have him as my guest.

Born in 1963 in Toronto, Ontario, Wade moved to Whitby in 1973, where he currently resides. He graduated in 1987 from the University of Toronto with a degree in atmospheric physics and was hired by the Canadian federal government as a meteorologist that same year. He worked as an operational meteorologist until 2001, when he moved into the National Service Operations Division as a national coordinator for program development and standards. Wade has published several articles and research papers on the topic of waterspouts and forecasting. He has also appeared on various media outlets discussing the topic of waterspouts, including interviews on The Weather Channel and Interlochen Public Radio and a writeup in Newsnet5.com.

Wade has two sons who are now in university. One is taking criminology and the other, mechanical engineering. Their father says, wryly, “I couldn’t convince them to go into weather!”

Wade likes to stay active. “I am very big on health and fitness,” he says. “I love to dance, bike, kayak, and power walk. I am a big believer in self-improvement and strive to be strong in mind, body, and soul.”

With that background on Wade the person, I now present to you Wade the waterspout researcher. I think you will find he has some fascinating things to say.

Question: Let’s start with the question that I’m sure is burning in everyone’s curiosity: How do you pronounce your last name? Give us the phonetic spelling.

Wade: Sa-la-gee

Q: Please tell us how you first became interested in meteorology.

W: It all started in grade eight science class. We were doing a unit on weather; however, the passion didn’t hit me until the end of the chapter. One of the chapter questions was to construct a weather observation table. My table consisted of weather parameters such as temperature, relative humidity, cloud cover, wind velocity, etc. I took weather readings and entered them in the table twice a day. I thought I would do this for a week; little did I know that it would last for five years!

Much came from those tables: graphs were produced, trends analyzed, and a climatology for my home town was initiated. This finally culminated with the entry of my project in the science fair in grade 13, for which I won second prize. I still remember teachers bringing their students past the displays. One teacher didn’t believe that I was dedicated enough to take weather readings twice a day every day for five years. He accused me of making the readings up. In my defense, I told him to talk to my teacher, who had known me for several years.

Q: You serve as director for the International Centre for Waterspout Research as well as with the Weather Office of Environment Canada. Please tell me a bit about your training and experience as a meteorologist.

W: The training as a meteorologist begins at university. There are different routes one can take in order to satisfy the requirements to become a federal government meteorologist. One must have a BSC degree in meteorology, atmospheric physics, or a combination of math and physics. I chose the atmospheric physics route. After graduating, I was hired by the federal government and took a mandatory year-long operational forecast training program. This is where one learns how to forecast the weather. After graduating, I was sent to the Toronto Weather Centre, where I remained for ten years. At this office I produced various forecast products such as aviation, public, marine, fire weather, and specialized products. Eleven years ago, I left the Weather Centre and went to the National Services Division, where I am a program manager for weather standards.

Q: One thing I immediately picked up on in talking with you is that you are utterly enamored with waterspouts! Clearly your knowledge of them has been fueled by genuine passion and fascination. When and how did waterspouts first capture your interest, and what has been your path as a foremost waterspout research scientist? Who has been influential along the way?

W: As with many discoveries in life, my interest in waterspouts came about by accident. Originally, I was investigating the phenomenon known as “arctic sea smoke.” This forms over open bodies of water at very cold air temperatures. Arctic sea smoke was a problem at one of our airports on Georgian Bay; it would frequently reduce the visibility near the runway.

I started looking into how to forecast arctic sea smoke. On days when arctic sea smoke occurred, I went down to Lake Ontario to gather data. By accident, I noticed several transient swirls forming in the sea smoke. These are called steam devils, and I quickly became interested in them. On one occasion I saw a huge steam devil. I called it a “winter waterspout.” It was at this point that my fascination with waterspouts began.

At the time, little was done in the way of waterspout forecasting. Weather centers would issue a Special Marine Warning (U.S.) or a Waterspout Advisory (Canada) only after a waterspout was sighted. On one midnight shift, I said to myself, “We are forecasters. We should be able to predict waterspouts.”

I began gathering meteorological data during waterspout events in order to develop a forecast technique. A couple of years later, the first version of the technique, the Szilagyi Waterspout Nomogram, was developed and used at the Weather Center in Toronto.

Over the years, as more data was gathered, the Nomogram was improved. Recently, I developed the Szilagyi Waterspout Index (SWI), which is based on the Nomogram. From the SWI, and with the help of my colleague, my dream of developing the world’s first operational waterspout forecast model was achieved during the summer of 2012. Waterspouts can now be predicted with confidence up to two days in advance!

The Nomogram and SWI are now used at weather centers around the Great Lakes and on both coasts of North America, and they are now being investigated in other parts of the world, especially Europe. During this period, I have written several articles and research papers and have given media interviews. I also formed the International Centre for Waterspout Research (ICWR) in 2008, which is a non-governmental organization comprised of research scientists, meteorologists, storm chasers, etc. from around the world who are interested in the field of waterspouts.

Regarding who has been influential along my waterspout research path, I would have to say Dr. Joseph Golden. Dr. Golden is considered the “father of waterspouts.” He spent most of his career studying waterspouts and how they form. I was honored to have met Dr. Golden at the Great Lakes Operational Meteorology Workshop in Traverse City, Michigan, back in the 1990s.

Frank Kieltyka, a meteorologist from the Cleveland Weather Office who conducted waterspout studies over Lake Erie, was also influential in the early days. Internationally, Dr. Alexander Keul, from the Vienna University of Technology, and Michalis Sioutas, from Meteorological Application Centre in Greece, inspired me to work on joint international research projects and to establish the International Centre for Waterspout Research.

Q: I first came across your name as the author of a brief 2009 paper titled A Waterspout Forecasting Technique. In it, you described four types of waterspouts—thunderstorm-related, upper low, land breeze, and winter—and offered three significant parameters for forecasting them. Presumably, thunderstorm-related waterspouts evolve through processes familiar to storm chasers. But the remaining three are less familiar. Would you briefly describe the conditions that produce them and what distinguishes them from each other? Do any of them have a land-based equivalent?

W: As a correction to the article, “thunderstorm-related” should be “severe weather.” Severe-weather-type waterspouts, like tornadoes over land, are associated with mesocyclones.

The other three types of waterspouts (upper low, land breeze, and winter) are categorized as fair-weather-type waterspouts. These form in a different manner than the severe-weather-type waterspouts. There are no mesocyclones associated with fair-weather-type waterspouts. In all three cases, circulation with fair-weather-type waterspouts starts at the surface of the water. As air rapidly moves upwards under the cloud, the circulation gets stretched upwards and forms a waterspout. What distinguishes the three fair-weather types is the weather pattern in which they form. Upper low waterspouts form under unstable conditions associated with what meteorologists call upper lows—large areas of cool, rotating air. Upper low waterspouts form any time of the day or night.

Land breeze waterspouts form along convergent lines called land breezes. Land breezes form overnight under light wind conditions as warm air rises over the water and is replaced by cooler air from the surrounding land. This cooler air converges along a line over the water, and it is along this line of converging air that rotation is initiated and waterspouts form. Land breezes last until early afternoon, at which time the waterspouts dissipate.

Winter waterspouts form when it is very cold and windy. This results in extremely unstable conditions over the water. However, winter waterspouts are rarely observed because lake effect snow obscures their presence.

The land-based equivalent of the three fair-weather-type waterspouts is a phenomenon known as the landspout. Landspouts form in a similar way as fair-weather-type waterspouts.

Q: You encapsulated the three chief parameters for forecasting waterspouts in the Szilagyi Waterspout Nomogram, which was the precursor to the Szilagyi Waterspout Index (SWI) and the ensuing colorized forecast maps for Great Lakes waterspouts. Those appear to be the first practical tools ever devised for forecasting spouts. Starting with the Nomogram, would you tell us how you developed them and exactly what they are? What improvements do you anticipate for the forecast maps?

W: Back in 1994, I started investigating what meteorological parameters correlated well during waterspout events. I wanted these parameters to be easy to calculate for forecasters. Three parameters satisfied these conditions of good correlation and easy use.* I then plotted these points and noticed that they formed a concentrated cluster on the graph. I enclosed the cluster with two lines. These lines are called the waterspout threshold lines. If a calculated point falls within them, waterspouts are likely. Outside the lines, waterspouts are not likely. This is what constitutes the Nomogram.

The Szilagyi Waterspout Index (SWI) is derived directly from the Nomogram. The purpose is to produce an index that can be used in computer algorithms to produce forecast maps of waterspout potential. The SWI ranges from -10 to +10. Waterspouts are likely for SWI ≥ 0. The new Experimental Waterspout Forecast System (EWFS) produces forecast values of SWI.

Improvements to the forecast maps produced by the EWFS are planned. These improvements include a higher model resolution, simplification of the display, and most importantly, the incorporation of surface convergence. Surface convergence is essential for waterspout formation.

Q: I understand that waterspout formation has five stages. Could you describe them? In a phone conversation, you mentioned to me that the presence of even a small funnel cloud means that a waterspout is already in progress, with circulation between the water surface and cloud base fully established. Most storm chasers are careful to distinguish between a funnel cloud and a tornado; they define a tornado by either the condensation funnel making full contact with the ground or else with visible rotation at ground level, typically verified by whirling dust or debris. How do you view this approach based on your experience with waterspouts?

W: Dr. Joseph Golden was the first to identify the five stages of a waterspout. These are:

1. Dark spot. A prominent circular, light-colored disk appears on the surface of the water, surrounded by a larger dark area of indeterminate shape and with diffused edges.

2. Spiral pattern. A pattern of light and dark-colored surface bands spiraling out from the dark spot which develops on the water surface.

3.Spray ring. A dense swirling ring of water spray appears around the dark spot with what appears to be an eye similar to that seen in hurricanes.

4. Mature vortex. The waterspout, now visible from water surface to the overhead cloud, achieves maximum organization and intensity. Its funnel often appears hollow, with a surrounding shell of turbulent condensate. The spray vortex can rise to a height of several hundred feet or more and often creates a visible wake and an associated wave train as it moves.

5. Decay. The funnel and spray vortex begin to dissipate as the inflow of warm air into the vortex weakens.

Regarding reporting either a waterspout or funnel cloud, the same procedure should be followed as with observations over the land. Evidence of a spray ring, or a fully condensed funnel reaching the surface of the water, should be visible before reporting it as a waterspout. If there is no spray ring visible because it is too far away to be viewed, and if the condensation funnel appears incomplete, then it should be called a funnel cloud.

Q: This year has been a record-breaker for waterspouts, bolstered by such landmark events as the September 21-24 Great Lakes outbreak. What has the ICWR gained, and what do you expect it to get, from this year? In your organization’s research overall, have you made any discoveries that have surprised you?

W: This year’s record-breaking waterspout numbers have resulted in tremendous media attention for the ICWR (e.g. The Weather Channel). This media attention has resulted in more individuals submitting waterspout reports on our website, which we display.These reports are also used to update and improve the nomogram.

A discovery that has surprised us at the ICWR is that the nomogram can be applied in other areas of the world, in particular over European waters. These observations were confirmed in a recent research paper.

Q: Speaking of the ICWR, how long has it been in existence? What led to its formation, and what is the story of its growth? What are some of its significant achievement? What are some things you’d like to see it accomplish within, say, the next five years, and who besides yourself are the players?

W: Founded in 2008 by me and two European colleagues, the ICWR is an independent non-governmental organization comprised of individuals from around the world who are interested in the field of waterspouts from a research, operational, and safety perspective. Originally conceived as a forum for researchers and meteorologists, the ICWR has now expanded interest and contribution from storm chasers, the media, marine and aviation communities, and from private individuals. The goals of the ICWR are as follows:

    • Foster the advancement of waterspout research and forecasting.
    • Provide an international forum for the exchange of information among researchers and meteorologists.
    • Facilitate the reporting of waterspouts from around the world from storm chasers and other interested individuals.
    • Promote, educate, and communicate to academic institutions, the media, marine and aviation communities, and private individuals.

Some of the achievements of the ICWR have been to jointly produce waterspout research papers. Another achievement has been the increase in public awareness of waterspouts around the world. Features on the ICWR web site called the “Live Waterspout Watch”, as well as the ICWR Facebook page have helped facilitate this public awareness.

Some projects that are currently being undertaken, and which I hope will be completed in the next five years, are the Global Waterspout Forecast System (GWFS), Global Waterspout Database (GWD), and Global Waterspout Watch Network (GWWN). The GWFS will produce waterspout potential maps for the entire globe. The GWD is a database containing waterspout events from around the world. The GWWN is a global network of waterspout spotters.

The ICWR is comprised of a director (me), as well as an executive committee. The executive committee has two representatives: Dr. Alexander Keul, from Salzburg University; and Michalis Siatous, meteorologist with the Greek Weather Service. The ICWR is also represented by a growing number of storm chasers, meteorologists, and research scientists.

Q: Are there any ways that storm chasers, weather observers, and other interested parties can participate in or otherwise assist the work of ICWR?

W: Yes. Storm chasers and weather observers can contact the ICWR and become part of the GWWN. Researchers and meteorologists can collaborate with the ICWR to produce joint research papers or develop forecast models.

Q: How many waterspout incidents have you personally witnessed? Are there any that stand out as particularly memorable for you?

W:I have seen waterspouts on five separate occasions. The most memorable one was the first time I saw them. I rented a cottage for a few days on the north shore of Lake Erie. The weather was warm and the hope of seeing any waterspouts diminished with each passing day. On the last day of the vacation, I stopped thinking about waterspouts. That morning the weather was cool. I went out onto the beach with my glass of orange juice and was looking around the sand. I looked up over the water, and to my amazement I saw a family of three waterspouts in a row! My jaw and the glass dropped. I ran into the cottage yelling, “Waterspouts!” My wife told me that I was like a kid in a candy store. I grabbed my video camera, and for the next fifty minutes I filmed several waterspouts forming and dissipating.

Q: When you’re not researching waterspouts, what do you like to do? Got any hobbies that keep you occupied when the spouts aren’t spinning?

W: Hey, waterspout research is my hobby! My other hobbies are archeology and treasure hunting, which I have been doing for the last twenty-six years. I have found several artifacts that have added to the knowledge of the history of my town. These artifacts go on display to the public at various events. I am also planning on creating a virtual museum. I should point out that one of my greatest dreams is treasure hunting on the beach while looking up and seeing a waterspout!
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* The three parameters are as follows: (1) The difference between water temperature and 850 mb temperature; (2) the depth of convective clouds; and (3) the 850 mb wind speed, which must be less than 40 knots. For further information, Szilagyi refers readers to his article on waterspout forecasting.

Waterspouts on Lake Michigan

Saturday, September 22, was the first day of autumn 2012. It was also my first-ever time seeing waterspouts. I’ve chased them a few times (if chased is the right word) previously within the past two years, but not successfully. This time made up in spades for those occasions. I don’t know how many waterspouts I saw, but “lots” ought to cover them, including one that made landfall about a hundred yards north of me at Tunnel Park. I managed to capture that one on video. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I woke up at 5:15 a.m., showered up, and headed for the lakeshore. The ICWR waterspout forecast indicated a high probability of waterspouts all along the eastern shore of Lake Michigan, and the main concern seemed to be simply finding adequate near-shore convection. That didn’t seem to be a problem, since a line of thunderstorms was moving across the lake from Wisconsin and heading east almost straight at me. Based on the line’s slightly southern component, I decided to head for Holland Beach.

A nice cumulus field had overspread West Michigan as I pulled into the state park. At the entrance, a ranger informed me of restricted parking due to a marathon that was being routed through the park by the beach. The racers hadn’t yet arrived; in fact, very few people were present, and having the parking lot mostly to myself, I chose an optimal spot where I had an unimpeded view of Lake Michigan.

The stiff lake breeze concerned me. Westerly surface winds–and strong ones at that–didn’t seem to me to bode well for waterspouts. How would the convergence necessary for spout formation occur over the water with unidirectional winds? Still, the waterspout index was maxed out, and here I was, so I guessed I would find out.

After a while, the western sky began to darken. The storms were moving in, but they would take a while to arrive. Meanwhile, a green blob of convection on GR3 corresponded with a cloud bank stretching perpendicularly from the waters to the shore about ten miles to my south. It seemed worth checking out, so I grabbed my camera and headed across the beach toward the pier near the lighthouse. From that vantage point, I finally got a good, complete view of the convective band.

A slim, well-defined gray tube hung from the distant cloud base. Bingo! My first waterspout! I began snapping pictures.

The salmon run was on, and all along the channel, fishermen were having a heyday. Focused on fish, they seemed oblivious to the elegant spectacle unfolding over the water. How could they not see it? I pointed it out to one fisherman. “Wow! A waterspout!” he said. Then he went back to his fishing. To each his own, though I suppose he could fish and watch the spout at the same time.

I don’t know how much time passed–fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. By and by, the spout dissipated, and I returned to my car. I didn’t need to look at my radar to know that the storm was closing in. I could see the lowering clouds and rain shafts over the water.

What the radar did tell me, however, was that heavier convection was heading toward the Saugatuck/South Haven area. So, as the first of the marathoners began to trickle into the park, I decided to drop south toward where chasers Skip Talbot, Jennifer Ubyl, and Jonathan Williamston were located.

I got as far as US 31 before realizing that I had made a tactical error. Heavier convection was beginning to fire in a line that promised to train in directly over Holland Beach. Nuts. I had just compromised myself by fifteen minutes, and in the meantime, a marathon had gotten underway. I turned around and headed back toward my old location, but now the road was filled with runners and closed to traffic.

I decided to head for Tunnel Park just a few mile north of Holland Beach. But Lakeshore Drive was also clogged with marathoners. Thus began a frustrating quarter-hour of driving down sideroads and through neighborhoods, trying to gain access to the lakeshore. Ultimately, I wound up pulling over kitty-corner across the road from the park entrance, watching morosely as runners ran by. But there was a cop standing next to his car, shepherding the crowd, and … what the heck. I walked up to him and asked him if I could cross into the park. Sure, he said. The race ended officially right at this point. Just look for an opening, the cop told me, and then I could nudge my car across the road.

Free!

The storm was arriving as I pulled into the park, and rain had begun to fall. I grabbed my cameras and raced toward the tunnel. The other end opened out onto the beach, affording a sheltered location where I could watch for spouts without getting wet. It was a perfect setup.

The only other people there at the park were a young ethnic couple with a baby and a small child. I greeted them and talked with them about waterspouts as we watched a shelf cloud advance over the storm-driven surf. After a few minutes, the guy pointed toward the lake and said, “Is that one?” I looked, figuring it was a false alarm, some turbulent scrap of scud ascending along the shelf cloud. But no, he was pointing at the water, where a rotating patch of spray was clearly visible. It was only a couple hundred yards away, small but unmistakable. Waterspout!

And now another, larger one was organizing to my northwest. I could see no funnel, but then, the shelf cloud was now almost directly overhead, and features that might have been obvious at a distance were lost in the jumble of clouds. Regardless, the rotating cascade looked intense. I grabbed my camcorder. There was no time to set up the tripod; I would have to manage the best I could with hand-held. I hit “record” and began shooting the waterspout as it progressed toward the shoreline.

At first, it appeared to be heading toward us, which didn’t concern me. The waterspout was non-tornadic, and while it obviously packed some strong winds, I felt that the greatest threat it posed was a nasty sand-blasting. We could retreat into the tunnel if necessary.

But the spout made landfall about one hundred yards to my north. I ran out onto the beach to try to capture more of it as it progressed up over the foredune, but I was too late, and that section of my footage turned out pretty wobbly. Still, I had about forty-five seconds of shaky but ultra-cool footage of a Lake Michigan waterspout hitting the shore at close range. The first thirty seconds is the best, but I’ve chosen to show the whole shebang because I think there are some points of interest in the latter part, flawed though it is.

Back at my car, the radar indicated more intense convection headed toward Grand Haven. After sending a report to Spotter Network, I got onto Lakeshore Drive and began heading north. The stream of runners had thinned out, and the road was open, though still patrolled by the police. A little ways north of the park entrance, I noticed a “damage path” of tree trash–clusters of leaves and large twigs–scattered across the pavement. The road was only a quarter-mile from the shore, and I have no idea how far inland the waterspout made it before dissipating, but I suspected that a few runners had gotten quite a surprise.

Up at Grand Haven, a cloud bank to my northwest put down a series of spouts. These were much farther offshore and not particularly impressive at the time I viewed them, though I’ve seen some stunning photos by another spout chaser from the same location. After a while, the waterspout activity dwindled off, but I’d gotten my fill and was glad to head back east.

Back in Grand Rapids, I processed my video of the spout at Tunnel Park and attempted to send it to WOOD TV8. But the ftp upload failed, so rather than waste more time, I stopped by the station and let their tech handle things. The footage got aired on the evening news.

After that, I somehow wound up in Lowell. It was a lovely, moody day, perfect for the first day of fall, and I guess I just felt like a drive. Anyway, I found myself on the waterfront, watching ragged cumulus clouds drift over the broad, windblown face of the Flat River. To the north, a small, low-top storm billowed up above its less successful convective comrades and spread its cirrus anvil eastward. It was a beautiful sight, as was the entire sky, and I couldn’t resist taking a few more pictures. The last view on this page looks to the south, where the Lowell Showboat rests at its dock just upstream from the Flat River Grill and the dam beneath the startlingly blue September sky.

And that is that. Two days later, the same intensely azure sky prevails and this chill wind testifies that autumn is indeed at hand. The trees are still mostly green, but change is in the air. My hunch is, we won’t be getting a “second season” for storm chasing. If not, Saturday was wonderful compensation and will see me through to next spring.

A View from the Air

I initially posted the following humorous piece without any preamble. It subsequently dawned on me that a brief introduction could serve one important purpose: preventing anyone from taking me seriously. The following is strictly fictitious and by no means a true account. The real Bill is indeed a wildman, and I’ve got my own crazy streak, but neither of us is quite as nuts as our fictional alter-egos.

With that understanding established, I present …
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A View from the Air

Copyright ©2012 by Robert M. Hartig
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“Look at those clouds!” said Bill. “You just don’t see that kind of structure from the ground. Chasing storms this high up gives you a whole new perspective.”

“Hmmph,” I grunted. He was right, but I was in no mood to agree.

“See how tiny those farms down there look? What an incredible view!”

I had my own opinion of the view. I felt irritable, and the growing symptoms of airsickness weren’t helping. But Bill was enjoying himself, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

The use of airplanes has recently added a novel wrinkle to storm chasing. After viewing Skip Talbot and Caleb Elliott’s stunning videos of supercells shot from a private plane, Bill and I decided to try our own hand at aerial chasing. So now here we were east of Wichita, circling a storm. Thus does what begins as a half-formed thought escalate into a full-blown idiocy.

A sudden bout of turbulence jolted us. Our fragile craft rose and fell fifty feet in a single second, and my stomach lodged one more protest in an expanding series. The complaints were rapidly approaching the danger level. What would happen once that level got breached was not pleasant to contemplate. It would be great wisdom to avoid such an eventuality. But wisdom hadn’t gotten us up here to begin with, and it couldn’t be counted on to show up now.

The plane had been my idea, which is strange considering I’m normally more cautious than Bill. Our storm chasing partnership spans the better part of two decades, long enough to establish Bill as a maniac and me as a maiden aunt. The combination has worked well and sparked some memorable moments. Tactical conversations between Bill and me typically go like this:

Me: What a monster tornado! It’s going to pass within a quarter mile. That sucker could drop a satellite vortex right on top of us. We need to move.
Bill: Yeah, let’s get closer.

Bill: Wall cloud.
Me: Where?
Bill: Right above us, rotating like crazy.
Me: Oh.
Bill: [Pulls over and parks the car.]

Bill: We’ll just take this shortcut west straight toward the meso and beat it to the main road by at least thirty seconds.
Me: Are you serious? This is little more than a two-track of wet Kansas clay. We get stuck here and we’ll get eaten.
Bill: Trust me. I’ve got four-wheel-drive, I’m doing sixty miles an hour to maintain momentum, and I’m consulting the map as I drive to spare you the stress of discovering that this road doesn’t even show on Street Atlas. You’ve got—whoops, almost hit that gully—absolutely nothing to fear.
Me: Let me know when I can open my eyes.

Me: We were too close.
Bill: I agree.
Me: You do? You’re kidding. Let me feel your forehead. Hmmm … nope, you’re not running a fever.
Bill: Stuff the sarcasm. Now let’s get out of this ditch and see if we can find my car. It can’t have blown far.

You get the picture: just the normal banter between two chasers. Occasionally, though, circumstances get intense. Which brings me back to my story.

After talking it over, Bill and I hit upon a plan for an airborne chase. It was simple and elegant. We would watch the forecast models for a strong storm system to show up, one that displayed good potential for producing classic, well-structured supercells. Then, assuming that the system firmed up as the forecast hours narrowed down, we would locate a private pilot in our target area who was willing to fly us within proximity of a tornado, and we would book several hours with him or her. Our main concern would be to find someone capable of making cool, level-headed decisions in the face of extreme flying conditions, a requirement complicated by the fact that any pilot willing to assist us would necessarily be insane.

An adequate storm system presented itself in due course. More than adequate, in fact. A potent trough promised to dig down into the plains, and with it, the kind of conditions that storm chasers drool over. Three days out, the Storm Prediction Center had already outlooked a moderate risk for much of Kansas. It was time for Bill and me to hunt up our pilot.

You’d be surprised how hard it is to find someone willing to do fly-bys of a tornadic supercell with hundred-mile-an-hour updrafts and downdrafts and baseball-size hail that can shred a small plane in seconds. We’d almost given up when Bill found a private charter service that would take us on.

“The name Lunatic Larry’s Aerial Antics makes me a bit nervous,” I said.

“I know. The company motto bothers me. ‘No One’s Died Yet’ just doesn’t inspire confidence. But we don’t have any choice.”

“I wonder if our boy is on drugs.”

“I asked him about that,” Bill replied. “He said, ‘Hell yes.’”

“That’s good,” I said. “At least he’s properly medicated.”

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Two days later we were in Bill’s Subaru, headed southeast down I-35 on the home stretch toward Lunatic Larry’s hangar just outside Wichita. We were to meet Larry promptly at 6:00. Just to our west, though, storms were already exploding.

“Look, there’s a wall cloud,” Bill said. “Hey—tornado!”

“Not very far away, either,” I said. “It’ll pass just a couple miles to our north.”

We looked at each other. It was only a few minutes after five o’clock. We had time. “Let’s get it,” I said.

By the time we drew within a mile of it, the tornado had grown into a good, solid stovepipe. I glanced upward. We were at the edge of the meso. It looked low, turbulent, and entirely untrustworthy. “Careful, Bill,” I said. “We could get a spin-up anywhere in there.”

“I know, buddy. I just want to get a little closer, get a good look at this thing.”

“Okay. Just don’t get too close.”

“Trust the old pro. I know what I’m doing.”

I rolled my eyes. Here it comes, I thought. Once the Old Pro surfaces, it’s useless to say more. “Fine. Bear in mind that Lunatic Larry keeps our deposit if you get us killed.”

We drew closer to the tornado, which was chewing through a forest and throwing trees hundreds of feet up into the air. By and by I said, “I think we’re too close.”

“Nah, we’re okay,” said Bill. “We can get closer.” A tree flew by in front of us. “Then again, this is probably close enough.”

“Good,” I said, striving to unclench my teeth. “I applaud your restraint.”

“Thank you,” Bill replied, smiling modestly.

“I would even advocate for backing up a smidge,” I added with a relaxed, cheerful grimace. “Better for viewing storm structure.”

A cow tumbled past the windshield with a startled look on its face, mooing above the wind roar. “Okay,” the Old Pro said. Shifting the Subaru into reverse, he backed up ten feet.

This was crazy. I had to think of something quickly or we’d both wind up in pine boxes with little anemometers attached to them, turning gently while an organ played in the background. “Great Scott!” I cried. “Look at the time! We’re supposed to meet Lunatic Larry in ten minutes. These storms are just getting started. There’ll be more tornadoes. We need to drop this one and get our butts to the airport.”

“Nuts, you’re right,” said Bill. “We have to go.” Turning the vehicle around, he headed back south toward the highway.

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Half an hour later, as we soared high above the landscape just below the cloud base, Bill said, “You have to admit, the view up here is spectacular. See down there, those other chasers on the roads way down below? Ha! I’ll bet they’d give their right arms to trade places with us right now!”

“You had to do it, didn’t you,” I replied, peevishly. “You had to make just one more pass at that stupid tornado before we headed to the airport.”

“Hey, how was I to know it was going to wedge out on us? Besides, look where we are now. Didn’t I tell you to trust the old pro?”

He had a point. Actually, the view from a Subaru at 900 feet is pretty decent, probably every bit as good as it would have been from Lunatic Larry’s airplane. Maybe even better. Even a lunatic wouldn’t have gotten us this close.

“It sure is a long-track tornado,” I said as we completed another circuit around the funnel. “You got the live-stream running?”

“You bet. Over ten thousand viewers, last I looked.”

“Good. That’ll help cover expenses. Maybe even hospital bills after we land. I guess we can kiss our deposit with Larry good-bye.”

Things a Jazz Musician Never Hears Anyone Say

You see this? It’s a rare phenomenon in Michigan called “rain” (pronounced rayn). It began yesterday as a closed 500 mb low settled in over the state, and it looks like it will be with us for a while, as the low seems content to linger. You can see a hint of cyclonic swirl on the radar.

And that’s not all: as I write, just a quarter past noon, the KGRR station ob shows a temperature of only 57 degrees. After a heat wave that has stretched from June into early August, with temperatures in Michigan exceeding the 100-degree mark at times, suddenly it looks and feels like autumn. Yesterday I traded my shorts for blue jeans. Even during a normal summer, that rarely happens.

After a historic, severe drought that has mummified Michigan and crippled much of our nation, this steady rain and respite from the heat is beyond welcome. It is a godsend, and those of us who believe in God thank him for it. “He sends his rain on the just and the unjust”–and to the just and the unjust alike, it is a great beneficence.

Next week there’s the possibility of a trough digging down from Canada across the northern-tier states, with jet energy bringing the potential for severe weather in the Great Lakes sometime Wednesday and/or Thursday. But that’s far from certain at the moment. The GFS has painted some wildly varying scenarios, and the most I can see right now is that both it and the ECMWF agree on troughing, with the Euro painting the more potent picture.

Okay, enough of the weather. Let’s talk about music. A while ago, I posted a status update on Facebook that struck me as pretty funny. I have a great appreciation for my own sense of humor, which is a good thing because it means that I have at least one fan. What I hate is when I tell a really hilarious joke and then I don’t get it. Then I have to explain the punch-line to myself, and that just ruins it. Fortunately, that doesn’t happen often. Most of the time, I break out into spasms of laughter, and people look at me oddly, and … getting back to my Facebook post: I figured that I’d share it here and then add onto it whenever I feel inclined. Feel free to post your own additions in the comments section. Without further ado, here are …

Things which, as a jazz musician, I have yet to hear someone say:

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“Could you turn up the volume? You’re not loud enough.”

“For our first dance, we want you to play ‘Giant Steps.'”

“You want $100 per musician to play at my club? Is that all? I’m doubling your rate. It’s about time you musicians gave yourselves a cost-of-living raise.”

“First tahm playin’ hyeer at the Eyegouge Saloon, eh? Well, I hope yew boys play a lot of Ornette Coleman. Folks hyeer get mighty disturbed if’n they don’t get their Ornette. And another thang: do NOT, if yew value yer life, play ‘Free Bird.'”

“I know we’re an all-white church praise team with three guitars, but we only like playing in the flat keys.”

“What t’hell you mean, you don’t have a trombone player? How can a jazz band not have a trombone? Tell you what: you come back next week with a trombone player and I’ll shell out an extra hunnerd-fifty bucks.”

Saying Good-Bye to July

Looks like I almost let July slip by without making a single post.

Almost.

I just haven’t felt inspired to write in this blog lately. Weatherwise, what’s to say?

Right–the drought. Frankly, I haven’t felt like writing about the drought. We all know how horrible it has been: day after day and week after week of relentless, rainless heat. No doubt that’s newsworthy, but I’ll let the news media tackle it. From my perspective, it discomforts me, it annoys me, it inconveniences me, and certainly it concerns me, as it should anyone living in the continental United States. To say it has been disastrous is putting it accurately. But while I suppose this drought is severe weather in its own way, it doesn’t interest me the way that a thunderstorm does. Mostly, it’s something I wish would go away, a sentiment shared by millions of Americans roasting in the Midwestern heat.

Fortunately, it won’t be here forever, and lately the pattern around the Great Lakes has seemed to be nudging slowly but progressively toward a stormier one. As I write, the radar screen for Michigan looks like this (click on image to enlarge it).

I like that: a cold front dropping out of the northwest bringing a nice line of storms and a good dousing of much-needed rain.

Shifting gears to music, there’s not much to say on that topic either. Of course I’ve been staying on top of my instrument, but that’s par for the course. My woodshedding on “Giant Steps” and “Confirmation” continues, along with “Ornithology,” and I’m getting to where I’m starting to shred the bejeebers out of those tunes. But, mmm, yeah, okay, so what. Where do I go from here?

The studio, I think. It’s about time I finally recorded my efforts, put something down for ears besides mine to listen to. Otherwise, why am I bothering with all this practicing of tunes that no one is ever going to call for on a gig? Folks want “Satin Doll,” not Coltrane changes. Still, somewhere out there I think there are people who will take an interest. So I need to get with my buddy Ed Englerth in his Blueside Down Studios and make some noise.

‘Scuze me if I sound a bit cranky. At 56 years of age, I’m rapidly approaching full curmudgeonhood and I am getting in practice for it. The lack of heavy convection and lack of gigs combined is assisting the effort. But a shift in either aspect of that equation will restore my humor and give me something to write about.

No, that’s not right–there’s always something to write about. What I need is something I feel like writing about. Maybe later tonight will do the trick, when that storm line which is presently 50 miles to my north moves in. Hmmm … the cell that is just making landfall near Pentwater is packing straighline winds of nearly 70 knots. That’ll create some interest for folks south of town.

Now to close up shop and see what kind of action we get around here a few hours hence. If it’s nothing more than a good dumping of rain, I’ll be more than happy. But I’m betting it’ll come with a spark and a growl.