HERE SNAKEY, SNAKEY, SNAKEY

After pushing northward yesterday from Wichita, Kansas, to Yankton, South Dakota, we got a shutout tossed at our tornado chase team. Thunderstorms did bubble up along a cold front sliding across the northern Plains, but for the most part—-at least where we were in far southeastern South Dakota—-they were run-of-the-mill. So we packed it in early and bunked down in Yankton. After a marathon run the previous night from Amarillo to Wichita, the decision was welcomed by most of us. It certainly was by this old dog. It was great to actually saw logs for eight hours. Yeah, I’m the old dog on the tour, probably by 10 or 15 years. But I’m also the only...

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THE GLAMOUR OF STORM CHASING

I’m writing this as our chase team presses through an electric night bound for Wichita, Kansas, from the Texas Panhandle. We won’t arrive in Wichita until the wee hours of Tuesday. Then, after a few hours of sleep, we’ll push even farther north, hoping to capitalize on what should be a turbulent day along and ahead of a cold front. Today (Monday), quite frankly, was a bit of a disappointment. We tracked a couple of high-based supercells across the Panhandle, but never met with the awesome, in-your-face display of meteorology we did Sunday when we were in nature’s delivery room to witness the birth of a supercell on steroids. Photo: Monday—-high-based...

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BIRTH OF A HIGH PLAINS MONSTER

With other members of my chase group, I’m standing on the high plains of the Texas Panhandle, west of Lubbock. A stiff wind, inflow to a supercell aborning, slams into my back as I snap pictures of the strengthening storm. I struggle to stay upright; to hold the camera steady. Daggers of lightning lance into the field in front of us. Our tour guide, Roger Hill, raising his voice to be heard over the galloping wind, says, “This thing could turn into a real monster.” Minutes later, a wisp of dark scud appears beneath the underbelly of the storm. “Watch,” Roger says, “this may be the beginning of a wall cloud.” What? That dinky little misty thing? ...

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COYOTES, CULVERTS AND COUNTY ROADS

It’s dark as a coal mine as we pull off a deserted county road just south of the Red River. In the distance, maybe 20 miles off, twin thunderstorms launch volleys of lightning at each other. A duel in the night. I’m nearest the door in the Silver Lining Tours van, so I’m first out, stepping cautiously onto the mesquite plain. I take two steps back from the van to allow the door to swing open. I take another step, but there’s nothing to step onto. I go down, sprawling on my side into a dry culvert with little prickly things lining the bottom. The second guy out of the van, an anesthesiologist from Dallas, rushes to extend his hand to pull me up. Did I...

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