Long Trek across the Northern Plains
Filed under: Summary
near Linton ND and Mound City SD
20Jun 13
SHORT: Long drive Roundup-BIS-MBG, supercell becoming outflow-dominant near SD-ND border.
LONG:
Decisions, decisions…what should we do? We almost threw in the towel on the chase day at MLS, figuring that
* Potential along the pertinent boundary might be E of the longitude of BIS–a 4-hour drive plus whatever time it took from BIS to any storm;
* Cutting a short diagonal down US 212 into Belle Fourche and perhaps the RAP area would put us a lot closer to the next day’s apparent target of south-central/southwestern SD;
* Busting along the boundary near BIS would put us an extra 3 hours out of the way for the following day and save more than a tank of fuel.
Yet, somehow we were feeling adventurous with the more conditional advantages, including greater moisture and potential boundary augmentation to low-level shear and SRH–not to mention that cutting SE toward RAP would guarantee we’d see no storms. These are the quandaries commonly faced by storm observers roaming the Great Plains every spring! Had we cut SE on a relaxing, between-chase-day drive to Belle Fourche or RAP, I would have had little regret, given that the storm ultimately was a big mess. Still, one doesn’t necessarily know storm-scale details 5 hours out. In the end, we had some good times and good photos around that storm, so no regrets over the decision to roll into the Peace Garden State.
Driving from Roundup to Forsyth (along I-94) is a sobering experience–beautiful northern High Plains countryside, but also a “Big Empty” with little along the way save a few ranches and the mostly abandoned townsite of Vananda (old homestead and schoolhouse, now on private property). There are few cars or people, almost no reliable cellular telephone service, and little reassurance of any assistance should an emergency come to pass. One must be self-reliant, confident, and most of all, prepared. Fortunately, we were, and no dire situations arose. We hit Forsyth and cruised up to MLS for a final decision on whether or not to attempt a storm intercept that day.
Lunch in MLS put food in tummies and insight in brains regarding the strong outflow boundary from the previous nights’ MCS that was retreating NE across MT and parts of western and southern ND. The mild cold front that gave us such a splendid and dry commute to MLS intersected the outflow boundary in the MT/ND border region, but stronger low-level lift and moisture each were forecast farther ESE and SE along the boundary in ND. How far? It was hard to tell, but a visually evident string of towers to the distant ENE-ESE helped us to decide to take a chance on a storm.
The trip toward BIS on I-94 seemed to take hours…and it did! That was a whopper of a drive. Passing DIK, we learned of a storm rapidly forming SE of BIS. Stopping at a rest area between DIK-BIS, we re-evaluated the scenario. Thinking the storm might be too far away, with no evidence of closer development along the boundary and the sun angle getting low, we considered bailing S into SD W of BIS.
Ultimately, we figured that
* The storm SE of BIS, which was becoming supercellular fast, was likely to remain nearly stationary as long as it stayed well-organized, and
* There would be enough daylight to reach it with about an hour to spare.
And so we went, fueling in BIS with gasoline for car and chocolate-mint milkshake for driver, then heading E and S down US-83 toward Linton ND. The storm backbuilt, discretely propagating down a flanking line across the highway ahead of us, but we encountered only rain, a few close CGs, and strong gusts while squeezing ourselves between two cores.
Popping out the south side of the activity near the ND/SD border, it was apparent that the formerly robust supercell was now something else: a quasi-linear slab of updrafts that would get undercut fairly quickly by outflow from the larger cluster of storms that had grown upscale from the original convection (looking W across a glacial lake). We barely stayed ahead of the outflow while navigating a one-lane, pilot-car regulated construction zone just over the SD border. After passing Mound City, we found an old barn to use as foreground for the shelf cloud.
Of several shots taken there, this was my favorite. Meanwhile the owner, a local farmer, regaled us with tales of the history of the place, including the original barn’s late-1800s construction by homesteaders, and the additions in the mid-1900s. The creaky edifice was riddled with holes and leaks, and he was going to take a bulldozer to it the next day–if the storm didn’t push it down first. Ironically, he also had just returned from LWT recently, but for the purpose of buying and hauling back a choice bull for his herd.
As long as nothing meteorologically urgent is compelling departure (and it wasn’t), conversations with rural folks on the Plains have been some of the most interesting parts of these travels for me. Though a big-city native, I’ve always had a deep, strong, alternatively conscious and subconscious tug toward the country, probably due to the farm upbringing of my dad and long-ago stories thereabouts. Those helped to imbue in me a deep respect and appreciation for the honest, authentic, hard-working, self-reliant, diligent, steadfast, frugal, faithful and neighborly values of the Middle American farmer and rancher. Such interactions always reinforce that sense of honor.
Outflow hit, and we parted ways with the South Dakota farmer to get back ahead of the weakening density current and watch the sunset across another glacial lake. While I was almost too fixated to the WNW, Elke brought my attention to a subtle but splendid scene of beauty unfolding in the opposite sky.
MBG was the nearest town with a motel, so we headed there for the night–only to find:
1) very slow service in the Burger King drive-through, over 30 minutes behind just 3 cars, and
2) that some combination of lake gatherings, family reunions and a fishing tournament had filled all rooms but an upstairs one at one motel we didn’t particularly like–the Mobridge Kountry Inn (obviously a recycled 1980s-vintage Super-8). When I told her the reason for our later-than-forecast arrival, the east-Indian proprietor at the motel was quite eager to badmouth the “horrible, lazy American kids” and their service at the Burger King. She acted like she hated living there. Granted, while the inexcusable untimeliness of the “horrible American kids” at that Burger King certainly didn’t exemplify the work ethic of the nearby farmers, her attitude also was bothersome.
Storm-observing vacations always are an adventure. In the morning, we both had bites in places a mosquito couldn’t have attacked. Though we took the beds and sheets completely apart and found no bedbugs, we suspected them. More on the next day in the upcoming story for…the next day!
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Our PING trail for this day. [PING date is ending date in UTC.]
Sublime and Serene Sandhills Scenes
Filed under: Summary
near Hyannis, NE
16 Jun 13
SHORT: Photogenic nontornadic storms and skyscapes in Sandhills followed by serene sunset in CDR. Most enjoyable Sandhills storm day I’ve had.
LONG:
Forecasting for this day revealed classical trade-offs of stronger shear north, richer moisture south, and the most optimal juxtapositions of the margins thereof being in the least favorable area of the Plains for consistently successful viewing: the Nebraska Sandhills.
Hoping to catch something worthwhile along the edges of the big dune pile, we left the outskirts of the DEN area fairly early, heading NE on I-76 toward a buffet lunch in Sterling, then I-80 to OGA. Boundaries were subtle amidst weak CINH and amble CAPE, and midday to early-afternoon storms erupted almost at once in all directions. “One of [i]those days, I see!”
Convection over, E and S of us was rocketing almost vertically toward the tropopause–a strong sign of the lack of deep shear. The sights of sharp, rapidly rising storm towers beckoned attention; however with all these updrafts blasting skyward in close proximity, a southeastward moving outflow bomb (into even weaker flow aloft) was sure to follow, aimed at Kansas. So it was.
Bidding farewell to the initial eruptions that quickly accreted into a multicellular mess, we plunged northward past our familiar old friend Lake McConaughy, into the heart o’ the hills and halfway to Hyannis. When storm observing in the Sandhills, the higher terrain surrounding the roads doesn’t matter very much as long as
* Tornado potential is low;
* Bases are fairly high anyway;
* Storms aren’t going to be raging bows or HPs that make you run like hell down the few and winding roads that crisscross the area.
Meeting those conditions with success meant the next couple hours were magical. A storm about 60 miles to our N was tornado-warned–but not likely to maintain that structure by the time we would arrive, thanks to a gob of outflow air to its immediate ENE. Meanwhile another high-based cell between OGA and Hyannis, one we could see initiate from I-80, briefly gave us an interesting presentation from the SE and from the E before it lost structure.
Meanwhile the older, stronger supercell hooked hard right and ripped S almost straight down our highway, so we pounded N to see what was left of it. By the time we arrived, still S of Hyannis, the supercell was obviously becoming elevated behind its own and antecedent outflow, based on visual appearance, its mesocyclone broadening and weakening based on looks at volume scans from the Sandhills radar unit. Nonetheless, as it veered back leftward again and passed to our NE and E, the storm offered a wicked skyscape in remarkable symmetry with the undulating musculature of the foreground landscape, a scene quite unlike anything I’ve seen!
One of the greatest aspects of storm observing on the Great Plains is the uniqueness of each storm alone, and especially in its landscape. One never sees the same thing twice, and each new storm is a new opportunity for an experience unlike anything prior. This wild sky definitely was no exception, nor was the next magnificent convective specimen that soon erupted to our NW.
Just in time for the elevated storm to perish, its cold outflow buffeting is with a brisk, clammy breeze, the winds backed around to the SW and warmed some, while the new storm moved resolutely in our direction. This one was marvelous to behold from both sides–the proximal inflow region and the back of the storm.
We jumped back S a few miles and let the storm’s main core (presumably containing severe hail) pass by us to the N and NE, offering a chance to observe the sunlit side. One of my favorite scenes all spring was the one-lane Sandhills blacktop with the rainbow arching over. Another was the rainbow seeming to drop right into a rain-soaked pasture nourishing contended horses.
Standing before the amazing beauty of that storm’s west side, I had an experience best described as immersively transcendent, completely one with the land and sky. After absorbing the full, surround-vision image of what was happening, I closed my eyes, standing with arms wide apart and upward, hands open, in praise for this great gift from above. Deep breaths fully drew in the clean, refreshing, rain-cooled and dampened air, with a sweet aroma of renewal and rejuvenation. Right then, the sun came out, unseen but certainly felt, warming my back comfortably. The easterly breeze of mild outflow, infused with just a few tiny raindrops, gently cooled the front side. The moment felt like a direct connection to heaven, harmony across all physical and spiritual sensations, lasting for probably for just a few seconds but seeming to be much more.
Every good moment has to end, so we enjoyed the last of that one, then headed off toward our lodging destination of CDR with some WY/MT storms in mind for the next several days. Along the way, we encountered some precip from elevated storms just W of Hyannis. We unloaded at our room in CDR (the Westerner Motel is highly recommended…American-owned and run, and very friendly folks!), then headed to the Country Kitchen on the hill for dinner with a view.
Sunset indeed treated us to a splendid display, looking SW across the rolling green hills of the Nebraska Panhandle at some weak storms that erupted on the outflow boundary in WY. I took that shot from the parking lot of the restaurant…told you it had a view! So concluded a marvelous day of storm observing and outdoor appreciation in the Nebraska Sandhills.
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Our PING trail for this day.
Pawnee Grassland Supercell and Sterling Sunset
Filed under: Summary
Cheyenne WY to Sterling CO
15 Jun 13
SHORT: Chronically photogenic storm from CYS to Sterling.
LONG:
We began the day in Ft. Morgan with increasing (but still marginal) low-level moisture feeding two forecast plays:
- The dependable Cheyenne Ridge/Laramie Range region, which seldom fails to pop a storm under upslope flow and substantial surface heating, and
- Palmer Ridge/Front Range area farther S, similarly dependable but under weaker flow aloft.
My privately posted chase forecast discussion read, in part…
“This pattern strongly resembles several that have fired grand supercells off the LAR mtns NW CYS — some with spectacular tubes — though moisture today is a little less than I’d like to see it for tornadic action. Postfrontal winds should turn around after 18Z and go upslope into that area. If a storm can fire over there, it could proceed ESE through the extreme SE part of WY and eventually in an oblique path across the NE CO border…”
That was the scenario we selected; and fortunately, that’s exactly how it worked out. Such success doesn’t happen as often as I’d like, so we should celebrate when it does. On this day, we celebrated with some splendid stormscapes and one of the best Great Plains photography days of the year.
First, however, we ate a great buffet lunch at a highly-reviewed place in eastern Ft. Morgan, away from all the main highways: the Country Steakout. Try them next time you’re in the area, especially if you want to get really full, before a chase. We then trekked through the Pawnee National Grassland on the way to the CYS initiation target. [We would return through this amazing area later in step with the supercell.] Along the way, we found an abandoned farmhouse that showed us decent photo opportunities even at midday (samples: outer wall texture, another outer wall scene, light and shadow through a window and on the floor, more exterior boards).
After that, a lone Cb arose off the WNW horizon, which satellite imagery confirmed was firing off the southern part of the Laramie Range, just as hoped and predicted. We headed through CYS, passing Mike U and a few other chasers along WY-211 (Horse Creek Rd) to find an excellent vantage for the approaching storm, which offered a large and textured but ragged and elongated updraft base.
Peeling itself off the highest terrain and heading ESE, the storm kept that elongated-updraft look after crossing the Colorado border near Hereford. Although this storm flirted with excessive downdraft production and outflow-dominance on several occasions, it was able to maintain just enough proximal inflow to keep from gusting out–remaining photogenic all the while. A view to the E, from the same spot as the last shot, showed multiple, parallel, cumuliform inflow bands feeding into the high base. What an interesting and beautiful process to behold!
Road voids over the buttes and mesas (here spotlit with sunlight against a dark storm background) kept us somewhat distant from the storm at times, and/or relegated to its SW side, but that was obviously not a problem from a photographic standpoint. In fact, we stayed on the western fringes of both the storm’s rear-flank core area and the Cedar Creek wind farm to take advantages of (and marvel at) scenes like this and like this.
Back roads delivered us healthy and well to CO-71, whereupon we headed S to CO-14, stopping along the way to view the gorgeous towers to our NE over the shortgrass prairie. Eastward we moved on 14 to get back near the SE-moving, high-based supercell, which seemed to be accelerating. Daylight fading, we decided to stay in good light and on the storm’s back side as it approached Sterling, and let the rear-flank gust front and its wondrous collection of tinted cloud material pass over the green wheat fields.
Sunset time was a dazzling experience, with elevated storms that were growing to the W helping to cast differential light, shadow and hue across the convective sky to our immediate SE. I had to slap on a multi-stop graduated neutral density filter to offset some of the dynamic range (old-fashioned, I know…but it worked out well). At times, the colors were out of this world…seldom have we witnessed such a variety of light and texture in such a small part of a convective sky! The experience was amazing–parked on a remote, dirt back road with nothing but us, the sky, the cool breeze, and some singing meadowlarks for company. This is why we travel to the High Plains every year.
The convection to the W grew larger and started putting on a fairly furious electrical show after dark, but we had to forgo lightning photography to get Elke some suddenly-needed medicine in Sterling. That wasn’t available, so we headed promptly down I-76 to to the outskirts of DEN for the night, enjoying the flickering light show in our side windows and rear-view mirror while hoping she would be healthy enough to chase the following few days (great news…she was, and we had a fantastic chase in the Nebraska Sandhills the next day!).