2010 Chase Season Dénouement
22 Jun 2010
Southeast WY to North Platte NEb
SHORT: Outflow-dominant supercell observed twice — once in SE WY and another in NEb Panhandle. Gorgeous sunset supercell S of Paxton NEb.
LONG: We were hoping for one final photogenic supercell for our chase vacation, and instead got two.
A piping hot lunch at a local cafe in downtown Sidney NEb, featuring a platter of smashed and fried Rocky Mountain oysters, settled down hunger’s restlessness just long enough for us to watch satellite imagery on the mobile phone, seeking first signs of convective initiation on the Laramie Range to our W. This area would experience favorable upslope flow, decent low-level shear and deep-layer winds, along with sustained surface heating in the absence of any appreciable, antecedent cloud cover, but moisture seemed a tad on the scant side. Once the first towers started to fire NW of CYS, we hopped onto I-80 and roared westward.
By the time we got to Pine Bluffs WY, deep towers were visible with glaciation to our NW. We could see the cloud bases easily, so we fueled at a truck stop there as I chugged down a cold, delicious A&W float. I also reserved a room in LBF for the night using a combination of forecast storm motion and positioning needed to go back home the next day, while watching for a storm to congeal and organize from the agitated area. Soon, it did, and we took off W through Burns and then N, retracing in reverse a segment of our chase path from the tornadic Chugwater event two days prior.
True to the lack of more robust moisture, the bases seemed uncomfortably high, and I was troubled further by how fast the cells started moving E off the mountains as we approached. Was the convection already spewing outflow? Yes! We barely beat the storm to the intersection of WY-213 and WY-216 W of Albin, near which I shot this photo looking W. Yes, there were updraft bases all right, but they were being undercut very quickly by wickedly cold currents hurtling SE from the precip cores. We headed E on 216 to Albin, having to make a decision there either to:
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1. Take unpaved back roads and stay closer to an outflow-surfing wind and ice machine, risking its outrunning us for good somewhere not far E of the WY-NEb border, or
2. Shoot back down to I-90 and bust eastward at higher legal speeds so we could stay abeam and eventually get back ahead of the storm on a north road.
Although I’ve seldom seen such an outflow-dominant storm recover to produce tornadoes, it has happened on one occasion. Furthermore, such storms can produce interesting and sometimes beautiful cloud formations, especially out on the high plains. The decision was easy.
Meanwhile, before zooming down to the Interstate, we watched the storm cross the road to our N, spying a suspicious-looking but very short-lived formation buried in a mesocyclonic notch region (enhanced crop-n-zoom of previous image). That feature quickly vanished, and the whole messy and wild-looking process roared past.
By the time we got just the few miles S to I-80, the storm already had gotten well off to the NE, brilliantly festooning a deep blue sky (wide-angle view from I-90 near the border), with a high and ragged base visible on the trailing flank. That, along with the main updraft base of the storm to our left, were visible as we cruised E to Sidney, then N toward Gurley — in the process retracing a late-day segment of our trek from the previous season’s intercept of the LaGrange WY supercell. For our nearly continuous view of the updraft while driving, and several chasers who were closer at that time and didn’t see any tornado, I had to question the “sheriffnado” reports just E of the border in NEb.
We got directly ahead of the storm again E of Gurley, watching its somewhat-lower base with a small, shallow wall cloud developing to our WNW (wide-angle view) while a deck of low clouds formed overhead. The storm itself was decelerating markedly, and its own outflow boundary appeared to outrun its main reflectivity area (and mesocyclone aloft). I got a dread that the supercell wouldn’t last much longer; and it certainly did not. A zoom view shows the wall cloud that was surrounded by translucent precip. Within minutes, a fuzzy gray bowl of precip appeared right in and under the wall cloud, descending and expanding and obliterating the wall cloud as it reached the ground, and making a splendid example of a tornado look-alike.
Was this a descending reflectivity core (DRC) that came down in a very deleterious place for any low-level mesocyclone’s development and survival? It sure seemed as such. Here’s the view 3 minutes later, when the precip core further expanded and utterly obliterated the cloud base where the wall cloud previously had dangled. Within 11 minutes more, the outflow had gone past, the low clouds cleared away to reveal an astonishingly rapid storm demise!
Thinking that was it for our chase season, we headed E toward LBF, only to see a stunning and spectacular convective eruption to our SE, S of Paxton, beneath a waxing gibbous moon and shortly before sunset. As this storm evolved into a short-lived supercell, we admired the amazing spectacle from a corn field a couple of miles S of the Interstate, until an inverse relationship between amount of sunlight and mosquitoes hastened our resumption of the trip. What a wonderful way to close out the last chase of Spring 2010!
When we settled into our room in LBF, the clerk remembered my call and said we were smart to do what we did many hours before; all the rooms in LBF were booked up solid! After 11 p.m., we noticed a dramatic increase in lightning to our N-W, as storms erupted along the outflow boundary. While cruising S of town in search of a good vantage in that direction, the storms weakened again, precluding any decent lightning photo opportunities, though we did salvage a nice look at lunar crepusculars around an altocumulus deck.
This was a rewarding day, one that left us in ideal geographic position to do something we had wanted for a long time: pick up a stone fencepost from one of the quarries near RSL. It would be right along the way home the following day. Our adventure in doing so was a marvelous glimpse of Americana, chronicled in more detail in this BLOG entry. The dénouement had been written on our chase season – one that was, at times, agonizingly frustrating, and at others, as fulfilling as can be. What adventures await in 2011?
Ice Machine in Yuma, Colorado
Yuma CO, 21 Jun 10
SHORT: Observed 3 supercells ultimately merge into one over Yuma CO — damaging hail, beautiful post-storm skies.
LONG:Join us on this fine, toasty day for a tale of three supercells that became one, the hellish hailstorm that resulted, and a storm-observing couple who chased them.
Elke and I began the day in Sidney with a target area of NE Colorado, in the region of relatively backed low-level flow. We were uncertain whether the storm(s) of interest would fire on the Front Range or on a convergence boundary farther E, in somewhat more moist air SW of Sterling. The answer: yes, and yes! From Sterling, we observed the growing anvil from a storm near DEN that was high-based but starting to rotate aloft (based on radar velocity imagery), along with multiple towers bubbling just to our SW, beneath and S of the anvil canopy.
The tower at left, in the last shot, erupted into a pre-supercellular supercell, before anvil shadowing had a chance to mitigate diabatic heating of its immediate inflow layer. We dropped S to stay ahead of both this storm and the more distant and growing beast roaring out of DEN. Even in this early stage, the new storm displayed nice corkscrewing action (the base of the DEN storm becoming visible at distant rear), looking W from the N side of the Colorado Plains Regional Airport (AKO). The storm spun around for a short while, moving slowly closer to us without growing a very large updraft. Meanwhile the DEN storm churned along essentially straight toward us, with a wall cloud and lowering becoming faintly visible in the distance under its southern flank. I sensed this closer storm wasn’t long for the world.
We headed E through Yuma, taking note of potential hail shelters for four reasons:
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1. The combination of the big western storm and any merger with a foregoing supercell could spawn some healthy ice bombs,
2. I still had a good windshield and didn’t want to bash the hell out of my new vehicle with gorilla hail this soon,
3. We deemed it wise to plan sheltering options in case we didn’t have time to bail S of Yuma and ahead of any storm acceleration, and
4. The next major town to the E was Wray, its S escape option (US-385) known to be under heavy construction with a surely nerve-wracking and possibly vehicle-destroying situation of one-lane, pilot-car closure for many miles!
Meanwhile, another tower went up in some slightly more strongly heated air several miles farther S (to our SW), also evolving into a skinny supercell rather quickly, and likewise coming under the sprawling and thickening anvil of the onrushing western storm. In the last shot, from just E of Yuma, the outflow-surfing updraft base of the massive western menace is visible at distant left, and its downshear anvil canopy distant right — dwarfing the nearer but much smaller supercellular plume. The older tower (spinning down to its N) eventually merged with the northern part of the newer, closer supercell as the latter expanded. Then it expanded further and assumed some sharply sculpted structure, moving slowly E and expanding its updraft still further.
One thing it did do, before being absorbed by the big bad brute impending, was glow forth an eerie, ghostly layering of light and shadow, interspersed with subtle pastel hues, a weird sight that I’ve seldom seen to this extreme. Back under its SW flank, the near storm developed a circular, slowly rotating, mottled texture to its main updraft region, and even sported a ragged, conical lowering for a short time. What could this storm have done with an extra hour or two before being swallowed by the expanding, ever-intensifying convective Pac-Man stampeding eastward toward us…and it?
The western storm charged onward, turning more deviantly rightward such that its main mesocyclone region — now an HP “stormzilla” with suspicious lowerings in its “notch” area (actual view and deeply enhanced zoom) would go just S of Yuma — while the value or near-forward flank region would absorb our nearby supercell virtually overhead. A short-lived lowering that preceded those photos raised a tight little plume of dust, but due to distance and poor contrast, we’re unsure if it was tornadic.
Though expected, this event still lit a sense of foreboding within, as if billions of icy little swords of Damocles dangled high above. This merging maelstrom of mayhem accelerated too, sure to turn into a destructive tempest of a nastiness and ugliness that we cared not to endure unsheltered. Time to get into town and under that covering!
Surprisingly, we scooted under the canopy of an abandoned drive-in restaurant after only one other car: the county sheriff. Only once the hail began did other vehicles seek room there — most in utter futility. Much as when it was the place to go in Yuma for icy treats of another kind…first-come, first-served! Within ten minutes, hail up to 2 inches in diameter started hammering away on the tin roof, becoming dense in coverage and ear-splitting in loudness. Vehicles that couldn’t fit got a glass-busting, steel-denting beatdown.
Although we had been hailed on while in a vehicle on several occasions, Elke and I hadn’t yet experienced a rip-roaring hailstorm together from under outdoor shelter. It was quality time as a married couple — at least, once I stopped yelling over the deafening din about the camera lens I couldn’t find. We had a blast.
I actually remembered to shoot some video of this with our new HD camcorder (video being something I’m not accustomed to doing after several years without), while also firing off a few hi-res DSLR stills with the lens that turned out to be in my left hand the whole time prior. One of those stills captured the a rare, split-second scene indeed: a hailstone exploding upon striking the pavement. It reminds me of some artist’s conception of an asteroid striking the moon, minus the fireball in the locus of impact.
After the beating was over, we secured a room at a little yellow motel. The lady who ran the motel mentioned that her daughter owned a restaurant and bar in town, Main Event, that was open and serving dinner late. Outstanding…we could avoid the usual storm observer’s conflict between getting dinner before early, small-town closing times and heading out for photography!
We headed a few miles SE of town to examine field hail and photograph the beautiful late-day, post-storm light (looking NE and looking WNW). Here are a few nice examples of that hail, about 45 minutes after it fell (culled from grassy, protected areas):
- Variably opaque core, clear outer layer with numerous radial bubbles
- Same stone silhouetted against the sky to illustrate its translucence
- Different stone, larger opaque core
- Two hailstones: Entirely opaque and rounded, the other asymmetric, broken and of mixed opacity
- Right before the sun sets, four hailstones on a gravel road [Would this compel Lucinda Williams to re-title one of her best-selling songs accordingly?]
While looking down at the hail, don’t forget to look overhead! Upon doing so, we saw sunset-lit fractocumuli shedding condensation vortices, including this ragged funnel and a separate, fishhook-shaped horseshoe vortex that wandered off to the E, slowly spinning down on its own for many minutes in the warming colors of the late-day rays (zoom). Here’s the western sky at the time.
All manner of fascinating processes were happening. Off to the SE rose a skinny, tilted tower, elevated atop the shallow stable layer from the earlier storms, seemed to be divided into two stepwise manifestations of the same convective plumes — one rooted just above the boundary layer, and a second slanted along some higher surface, with a backshear on the W side of the upper layer. Meanwhile, off to our E, dark wisps of scud passed placidly in front of a gorgeously glowing tower in the back side of the MCS. All of this while immersed in the luxuriantly earthy scent of rain-soaked farmland, while western meadowlarks sang from all sides…
We were getting hungry, though; so we cruised back into town for what turned out to be a very good meal at Main Event. I recommend the place for a late dinner if you end up anywhere near Yuma after a chase.
Birthday Supercells in Northwest Nebraska
near Harrison, NE, 21 May 10
SHORT: Intercepted 4 supercells, 2 after dark, near Harrison NEb, with 2 funnels from twilight storm S of Harrison.
LONG:
My two main forecast areas on this day were in eastern Colorado, for any storms that could form and move ENE off the Front Range or eastward-extending ridges (Palmer and Cheyenne), and of course the classical upslope play into the Laramie Mountains. Since I began the day in Russell, the CO target was much closer, and more probable to reach by convective eruption time. The idea was to pass through, and if it looked dead, continue onward into SE Wyoming or Nebraska.
Unfortunately I got stuck at a long construction delay between Burlington and Wray, where US-385 is down to one lane with a pilot car driving 15-25 mph for about that many total miles. After getting out of that horrendous mess, I thought my Wyoming/Nebraska hopes were ruined, so I photographed an abandoned farmstead for a bit S of AKO, while waiting for storms to fire in northeast Colorado. The air mass kept looking too stable and stratified, and I gave up once storms E of the Laramie Range began to sustain themselves.
Unfortunately, because of the long intervening distance needed to intercept the resulting supercell, I never made it to the Wyoming phase of its life cycle, when the structure was best. Instead I cruised N from Mitchell on NE-29 to get ahead of the storm, knowing it would be moving into gradually more stable air. A portion of the legitimately scientific V.O.R.T.EX.-2 fleet came up 29 right behind me, along with some pseudo-scientific vehicle with a bogus-looking “TORNADO AND HURRICANE RESEARCH” sticker prominently plastered thereupon. I felt like stopping to ask the “TORNADO AND HURRICANE RESEARCH” crew what papers they’ve published with their “RESEARCH”, but knew the answer, and more importantly, had better things to do — namely, observe the supercell.
Lightning activity above me, in the anvil, was increasing, so I got back in my vehicle. Not a minute after I did, I happened to spot a CG hit within less then 50 feet of that “RESEARCH” vehicle, and about half a mile downhill from me! It even looked like the lightning might have hit them. I started the truck and was throwing it into gear to rush to their aid, when they abruptly pulled out of their spot and zoomed southward past me. It was a very fortunate thing none of them got struck! One of these days, however, under less atmospheric duress, I intend to query such crews in the field and find out about the nature of their “RESEARCH” publications. Anyway…
This shot fairly well represents my view of the old Torrington storm as it scooted across the border into Nebraska. At times it did develop weakly rotating, scuddy wall clouds, but its encroachment upon more stable air yielded the expected result with time ( here shown as a higher, flatter wall cloud with precip-filled occlusion-downdraft slot, behind a sticknet). That storm moved N and NE of me, and I prepared to head to Harrison to look for lodging.
Meanwhile, I parked for a spell to listen to the cheerful choruses of western meadowlarks and breathe the refreshingly rain-cooled High Plains air behind the first storm. V2 left the area, and in the twilight, a new, small supercell formed along or just a shade N of the outflow from the other one, SW of Harrison and about 15 miles to my WNW.
Rather quickly, some cloud-base rotation and lowerings developed under a broad, elongated updraft area, followed in quick succession by a skinny, scuddy funnel (deeply enhanced crop-n-zoom) and then a lower, more robust-looking and separate funnel (enhanced crop-n-zoom). Both of those funnels were quite transient, and I could not detect any dust or debris at the level of the (wet) ground beneath. If either was a brief tornado, it was too weak and short-lived to count as such, so I probably still haven’t seen a tornado on my birthday. Still, I’m glad to have had the experience.
The twilight supercell moved too deeply into rain-cooled air left behind by the first, and weakened considerably. I got a room at the only motel in Harrison — the Sage Motel, a friendly if rather forlorn and cramped place — and called Elke and my kids. One highlight of the day was my daughter and her friends singing “Happy Birthday” to me as a quartet serenade!
Meanwhile, two new supercells popped up in Wyoming, SW of town, headed that way! After getting off the phone, I wandered a few miles W of town to watch the nocturnal supercell pair move quickly past, their structures faintly illuminated at times by in-cloud lightning. I attempted photography, but it was just too dark out there, the lightning too faint. The rear-flank precip core of the second storm hit Harrison, but without severe wind or hail.
I had to be in Denver the following night to meet Elke and prepare for her mom’s public memorial on Sunday the 22nd, so the potential (and realized!) major tornado day in northeastern SD was too far for me to chase. Instead, on the 22nd, I photographed morning fog in the Pine Ridge area N of town, then drove from Harrison to DEN, stopping for a pleasant hike and photography excursion Agate Fossil Beds National Monument along the way. Meanwhile the ultimate tornado-feast was about to begin for other chasers 250-300 miles to my NE.