Bob Hartig
EF5
Tight finances have crimped my chasing in recent years, so more has hinged on the chases I've been able to make, and the disappointments are commensurately more disappointing. June 20, 2011, is a classic example. That was a banner year for tornadoes and a frustrating one for me. But on that date, I had the money to chase with and I thought, This is my final crack at things before the mid-levels heat up and summer sets in. I'm not crazy about quick-n-dirty expeditions, but they've been my norm, and I was cranked up for this one. I hit the road for Lincoln, NE, at 6 a.m., figuring I'd get within range by mid-afternoon. Nearing Holland, MI, I thought, better gas up. I reached in my pocket for my debit card and . . .
Lesson one: When you put on fresh jeans, make sure you transfer important contents from one pocket to the next. (I don't use a wallet. It feels like a big tumor on my butt.)
I drove like a madman back home and grabbed my card and DL, thinking, I can still make it. I've lost an hour, but I can certainly make Omaha and adjust from there. Bill Oosterbaan, who had left at the same time, was now well ahead of me and was encouraging me: you can make it. Go, go, go--it's my only shot for the year.
Somewhere down around Benton Harbor, I felt my stomach start to do a telltale rumble. No, please, not this! I drove as far as I could until I could no longer ignore that I needed to find a bathroom and take care of things. Between there and Chicago, I made something like four stops. Precious time literally went down the toilet.
Lesson two: Bring loperamide (Immodium) with you, and use it at the first sign of distress.
To shorten a painful tale, I drove desperately, but as you can guess, storms were firing by the time I made it to Omaha, and the tornadic ones were to my west. My best and only bet was a couple of storms that were making their way north toward the WF. By the time I intercepted those near Lincoln, they had congealed into a line. I wound up travelling 750 miles to intercept a shelf cloud. Just an hour earlier would have put me in position to document some spectacular tornadoes. It was perhaps the most frustrating chase I've ever experienced, a complete bust attributable to my own lack of foresight and digestive problems.
The moral of this story is: S**t happens. Maybe you can avoid it, maybe you can't. Don't let it ruin your day. (Good luck with that.)
November 17, 2013, reinforced two chase principles for me. Violating one of them nearly cost me and my fellow chasers our lives. Since I've written up a lengthy account of that day in my blog, I'll steer you there if you want the details (complete with a description of the setup and some sermonizing on safety) and will paint in broad brushstrokes here.
In brief, a late-season setup with a vigorous low, abnormally high instability for that time of year, and a potent 500 mb jet core aimed just south of the Chicago area sent my buddies and I skedaddling for northwestern Indiana. Typical of many Great Lakes outbreaks, this was a ripper of a system, and my instinct is to simply position myself well out in front of fast-moving storms, watch them develop, adjust accordingly, and then hope for the best. You can pursue storms to some extent, but it's easy to get left in the dust.
The plan was to set up somewhere near Rensselaer. But with the storm that had produced the Washington, IL, tornado moving into Chicago and other storms southwest of it apparently starting to line out, we decided to take a more aggressive approach. So we left our spot to intercept a cell while it still was discrete.
It was a bad move. The storms went tornadic as they moved into Indiana, and if we'd stuck by our plan, we'd have been in a decent position to intercept a good storm and would likely have bagged a tornado. Instead, we wound up backtracking, driving frantically in an attempt to reposition, and ultimately wound up in a bad accident. Fortunately, there were no fatalities or even any serious injuries. But I can testify that cracked ribs can cause severe pain, and for a couple weeks, the simple act of sneezing could ruin me for an hour.
Lesson three: It has already been stated, but I'll reemphasize: It's smart to stick with your original plan. This is no hard, fast rule, but before you break it, consider your circumstances. When storms are rocketships, you're going to have a hard time redeeming things if you pull the repositioning trigger prematurely.
Lesson four: Don't drive like a maniac. This is particularly true with dynamic systems: curb your impulse to match storm speed with ground speed. That area of Illinois and Indiana is some of the flattest, best, and safest chase territory in the world, but we still got snookered by a blind rise in the road. You don't know what lies ahead, and storm conditions typically make it harder to compensate suddenly. A storm is just a storm, and there will be plenty more of them. But there will never be another you, and the same is true for your chase partners and for other people on the road with lives to live and families who love them. I understand how the adrenaline gets pumping, and I understand that everyone here is a rugged individualist who calls their own shots. But please take these words to heart, because you don't really understand the cost of a mistake until you've paid it.
Lesson one: When you put on fresh jeans, make sure you transfer important contents from one pocket to the next. (I don't use a wallet. It feels like a big tumor on my butt.)
I drove like a madman back home and grabbed my card and DL, thinking, I can still make it. I've lost an hour, but I can certainly make Omaha and adjust from there. Bill Oosterbaan, who had left at the same time, was now well ahead of me and was encouraging me: you can make it. Go, go, go--it's my only shot for the year.
Somewhere down around Benton Harbor, I felt my stomach start to do a telltale rumble. No, please, not this! I drove as far as I could until I could no longer ignore that I needed to find a bathroom and take care of things. Between there and Chicago, I made something like four stops. Precious time literally went down the toilet.
Lesson two: Bring loperamide (Immodium) with you, and use it at the first sign of distress.
To shorten a painful tale, I drove desperately, but as you can guess, storms were firing by the time I made it to Omaha, and the tornadic ones were to my west. My best and only bet was a couple of storms that were making their way north toward the WF. By the time I intercepted those near Lincoln, they had congealed into a line. I wound up travelling 750 miles to intercept a shelf cloud. Just an hour earlier would have put me in position to document some spectacular tornadoes. It was perhaps the most frustrating chase I've ever experienced, a complete bust attributable to my own lack of foresight and digestive problems.
The moral of this story is: S**t happens. Maybe you can avoid it, maybe you can't. Don't let it ruin your day. (Good luck with that.)
November 17, 2013, reinforced two chase principles for me. Violating one of them nearly cost me and my fellow chasers our lives. Since I've written up a lengthy account of that day in my blog, I'll steer you there if you want the details (complete with a description of the setup and some sermonizing on safety) and will paint in broad brushstrokes here.
In brief, a late-season setup with a vigorous low, abnormally high instability for that time of year, and a potent 500 mb jet core aimed just south of the Chicago area sent my buddies and I skedaddling for northwestern Indiana. Typical of many Great Lakes outbreaks, this was a ripper of a system, and my instinct is to simply position myself well out in front of fast-moving storms, watch them develop, adjust accordingly, and then hope for the best. You can pursue storms to some extent, but it's easy to get left in the dust.
The plan was to set up somewhere near Rensselaer. But with the storm that had produced the Washington, IL, tornado moving into Chicago and other storms southwest of it apparently starting to line out, we decided to take a more aggressive approach. So we left our spot to intercept a cell while it still was discrete.
It was a bad move. The storms went tornadic as they moved into Indiana, and if we'd stuck by our plan, we'd have been in a decent position to intercept a good storm and would likely have bagged a tornado. Instead, we wound up backtracking, driving frantically in an attempt to reposition, and ultimately wound up in a bad accident. Fortunately, there were no fatalities or even any serious injuries. But I can testify that cracked ribs can cause severe pain, and for a couple weeks, the simple act of sneezing could ruin me for an hour.
Lesson three: It has already been stated, but I'll reemphasize: It's smart to stick with your original plan. This is no hard, fast rule, but before you break it, consider your circumstances. When storms are rocketships, you're going to have a hard time redeeming things if you pull the repositioning trigger prematurely.
Lesson four: Don't drive like a maniac. This is particularly true with dynamic systems: curb your impulse to match storm speed with ground speed. That area of Illinois and Indiana is some of the flattest, best, and safest chase territory in the world, but we still got snookered by a blind rise in the road. You don't know what lies ahead, and storm conditions typically make it harder to compensate suddenly. A storm is just a storm, and there will be plenty more of them. But there will never be another you, and the same is true for your chase partners and for other people on the road with lives to live and families who love them. I understand how the adrenaline gets pumping, and I understand that everyone here is a rugged individualist who calls their own shots. But please take these words to heart, because you don't really understand the cost of a mistake until you've paid it.
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