Slightly Off the Mark

I was busy killing Nazis when everything became perfectly still. Not a bird chirp, not a breath of wind. The light around me turned a strange green. Kind of like the olive-colored kitchen appliances that used to be so popular, and please don't build those again.

Everything seemed to almost glow from within. It was enough to make me forget Sgt. Rock and just stand there, gazing upward.

And that was it. The light turned normal again, and I headed into the barn to back up The Haunted Tank. We lived out in the country where we couldn't hear sirens, the TV was turned off, and portable alert devices were things I saw on Star Trek.

It was part of the 1974 Super Outbreak, one of the worst tornado outbreaks in history. 148 tornadoes rampaged across 13 states, killing 330 people. The one that came so close to me was an EF3, and it killed three people, injuring 38 more.

Somehow, I didn't find out until years later that a tornado has passed two miles from where I stood. 

The March 30 storm damaged the roofs of two Noble County Highway buildings, less than a mile from our home.

Maybe not knowing is why I became fascinated with the sky, but never developed a fear of storms. I'm one of those morons who would be out in the back yard, scanning the sky, while sane folks huddled in the basement.

Being a volunteer firefighter and storm spotter gave me an excuse, but didn't make me any smarter.

Either way, having the tornado sirens go off while you're standing in the shower is definitely attention grabbing.

I dressed in the basement, and the worst of it seemed to be over when I dashed through the rain to work. But it wasn't, for me: I work in the Noble County 911 center. There are normally two or three of us there. I arrived half an hour early and found one of my shift partners already there. Including a trainee, there were five of us, then six, and we were overwhelmed.

Our power went out twice; our radio system stopped working once; our business phone lines stayed down all night, leaving us with one backup cell phone. (Honestly, we used our own a lot.) Meanwhile, every fire department and every on-duty officer in the county raced from place to place, checking on damage and downed utility lines, clearing trees, and keeping their eyes on the skies. Between 4:40 and 8 p.m. we entered 76 calls, almost all for storm damage.

No injuries. The very definition of it could be worse.

I actually took this a few days earlier, but you get the idea.

In bordering LaGrange County the storm flipped an Amish buggy, killing one man. Meanwhile, not far to the north, an ice storm flattened northern lower Michigan. On the other end of the storm system ... a blizzard.

As I write this, we've just had still another tornado warning, thankfully short lived, and a tornado outbreak to the south and west of us ... and east, now that I've had time to check the weather channels.

I told someone over winter that I had a feeling this would be a bad weather year. Wish I remembered who, so I could say I told you so. But I'd rather be wrong.

This is another photo I took a few days earlier, right after a thunderstorm. I like this better.

You can read our books here:

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Lately it's been much better to stay inside and read.

 So ... tornadoes.

I don't need to say "possible" tornadoes, because several people got videos and photos of the funnels and their damage. I headed up to dispatch, and so the photos I'm showing were taken from the dispatch window a short time after the fact.

It got pretty funky for awhile, but by the time I got to work the twisters were just crossing into LaGrange County, heading northeast. (If you're not from Indiana, LaGrange County is directly north of us in Noble County, and borders the Michigan state line.) We got a fair amount of rain, which is good for our drought, but I never noticed any thunder from here. I believe the closest the confirmed funnels got to us was five or six miles, and heading away.

And this is looking pretty much straight east. The lighted rectangle is ... well, a rectangular light, behind me.

This is looking toward the east also, as the storms moved away from us. Those clouds are close to, or over, Ohio, which I believe also had a tornado warning. We were paying more attention at the time to the tornado cutting a swath through LaGrange County. There wasn't much warning, because the storm basically formed and dropped its funnels right over us. The damage was largely in the Ligonier area, northwest of Albion. It could have been worse: Many funnels that didn't reach the ground were also spotted.

 It's a little hard to see, but that's a large flock of birds that took off shortly after the storm passed. Maybe headed south, or maybe "anywhere but here".

And a final photo of the courthouse as the clouds clear, with the birds above. I've noticed that building has "moods" based on the lighting conditions, and this time around it was kind of spooky.

From what I'm hearing at this point it sounds like two tornadoes actually touched down, one in Noble County and one that caused damage all the way through LaGrange County. In Noble County some buildings were damaged, including a residence that lost its roof. The Ligonier area lost power, and we had to call out firefighters and the Noble County Highway Department to clear trees from roadways. Stop lights were out, power lines down--the usual.

For awhile we had six dispatchers in here, where normally we'd have two or three. All the emergency services were pretty busy, as you might imagine, and we stayed busy for awhile. Still, we had no reported injuries here in Noble, so there's that--but two people were injured in LaGrange County when the Amish buggy they were in was hit. (No, I haven't heard anything about the horse's condition.)

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Remember: If you have enough books, they can cushion you from strong winds.

 Ironically, I got busy with the weather and didn't get a new blog written--but this one's from nine years ago, and in internet terms it might as well be brand new.

A funnel cloud. And no, I wasn't going to get any closer.

 

 I woke up late and had a fire department meeting in an hour, and it was a horrible day for a drive, so we went for a drive.

In our defense, it was a time-sensitive errand ... and we didn't know it would be a bad day for a drive. As I dragged myself out of bed Emily told me about a line of thunderstorms to the west, but we were headed east. Surely we could get things done and be back before it hit.

We didn't know it was a derecho, which is meteorological term meaning "big honking storm like a hurricane except in the middle of the country", which wouldn't have fit as easily in a headline. We also didn't take into consideration that the system was moving at 60 mph. By the time we got back it was, as the old timers say, all over but the shouting.

Just after we turned back I crested a hill on a country road and almost ran down a group of wild turkeys. Um, flock. Herd? Wait, let me look it up ...

Huh. Rafter. A group of turkeys is called a rafter. Who'da thunk it? Anyway, that was my first clue that this wouldn't be an ordinary trip.

Your rafter may vary.

There would be a lot of shouting. And wind. And those big huge drops of rain that look like there's a bucket full in each drop, and yeah, a little hail mixed in with that. We hit some of that, then about five miles out of town Emily told me the clouds were rotating, which I could believed because by then the western third of Noble County was under a tornado warning. (We were under a thunderstorm warning, which in retrospect seems underwhelming. It occurs to me there should be a derecho warning, or possibly they could call it a land hurricane, which sounds cooler.)

We pulled over at a good spot to watch. (In other words, safe.) I got out to see, yes indeed, there was a small rotating wall cloud going over our heads. I never thought to get some video, which is odd, because I'm usually all about grabbing the camera; but I stayed standing outside the car long enough to see it wasn't just a random cross wind--it was, indeed, rotating. I didn't see a funnel, and so far as I know all the damage around Noble County came from straight line winds ... which did just fine by themselves, thank you.

Emily, who's much smarter than me, and the dog, who's also no dummy, had stayed in the car. So I was the only one who got clobbered when another wall of those bucket-sized raindrops reached us.

We tried to drive on, but have you ever tried to drive while inside an automatic car wash?

You have? What the heck's the matter with you?!?

So we didn't drive, for a while, having found another place to get completely off the roadway. Eventually we went on, once all the foliage around us was no longer leaning at a 90 degree angle. Or 75 degree. Or ... oh, who am I fooling? I hated math. They were blowing sideways, okay?

Now, people can sometimes cause problems by trying to do the right thing. As we inched down the highway, an oncoming car flashed its high beams to get out attention. It was probably the driver who did it, not the car, but never mind.

They were trying to warn me, but it had the opposite effect, because I was looking at that passing car when Emily said "TREE!"

My wife doesn't yell about trees unless they suddenly appear in front of us, in the twilight haze of sideways rain. It had blocked about half of State Road 8, and it wasn't something I was going to move, so I called the Sheriff Department business number.

It was busy.

Different storm, same action.

You gotta understand, that just doesn't happen often. My first impulse was just to leave them alone, but the tree was across a state highway, after all. I got through by portable radio, and after we determined we'd do more harm than good if we stayed where we were, we headed back toward Albion.

That's when we came across a tree branch, halfway across the road from the other side, but this one was something we thought we could do something about. It was obviously just a large, dead branch, so we hopped out, dodging cats and dogs (still raining, you see), ran over to it, and realized it was way bigger than we'd thought from inside the dry car, where the dog was laughing at us.

Okay, it was a tree.

But it was a dead tree, so by hauling on it together, we were able to break the worst of it off. then we threw the larger broken branches off the roadway, and then we got the heck out of dodge, because dodge was a highway and visibility wasn't exactly 100%. Especially since the pavement was starting to flood, and who knew which way other drivers were looking?

 Yeah, I missed the fire meeting.

But we made it home safely, and we had dry clothes, and even electricity, which is more than a lot of other people could stay. The moral of the story is, I suppose, the same as it's been all year:

Stay home.

(Just the same, after we were safely home I looked at Emily and said, "But now that it's over, it was kinda fun, wasn't it?" She agreed. The dog was a dissenting vote. And this attitude is how people get into trouble.)

I suppose I should advertise my novel Storm Chaser here, but the weather was a windbag enough for all of us.

It was a tense day Friday, with the same severe storms approaching us that hit areas in Iowa with damaging tornadoes. Here in Noble County we ended up under a tornado watch and then a thunderstorm warning, and the leading edge looked pretty darned bad on radar.

And there were some funnel cloud sightings and at least one touchdown filmed ... but not in Noble County. Up here it eased somewhat before it hit, with most of the really bad stuff ending up to the south of us. The same system went on to produce tornado warnings in several other states to the south and east. We got some pretty heavy lightning, along with wind and hard rain, but only a few reports of damage. So the photos I took--mostly from my back porch--made it look worse than it was.

There's also a video at the end ... if I downloaded it properly, because when it comes to video online I basically have no idea what I'm doing.

I should use days like this to work on a new story in the Storm Chaser series. Like ... a storm muse.

We left Pokagon State Park at about 12:30 this afternoon, figuring to get ahead of a vicious looking black cloud. We failed. On I-69 it got nighttime dark, with an edge of light on the horizon that made things look a little surreal; that was when I looked to my left and said something that I won’t repeat here, but won’t win me any awards for great sayings.

I wouldn’t recommend pulling over along an interstate, but I also wouldn’t recommend calling 911 while driving 70 mph in wind gusts and a downburst. While we were stopped we saw at least three or four funnel clouds, or possibly one or two that would come down, spin around for awhile, then lift back up only to emerge again. We had a scare when it looked like a touchdown directly ahead of us along an overpass, during which I cussed in the 911 dispatcher’s ear, but I think it was a front gust that blew dust and rain over the top of the bridge. On the way home we caught a little hail, but by the time we got to Kendallville it was just heavy rain.

 Emily said she’d never go storm chasing with me … but she said nothing about already being in the car when the storm chased us.

 http://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-things-i-go-through-for-photo.html
 

SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

I love January! Said no one, ever.

Okay, some people actually do love winter, which just goes to show you: Northern Indiana needs better mental health screening. I used to take part in winter activities, but I was young then, and young people just haven’t learned that being miserable isn’t an adventure.

When I was a kid, I loved sledding, snowball fights, and not having to pay the utility bills. Well, I liked them … I never did warm up all that much to winter. Then, one day when I was about fourteen, I came in from building a snow block fort to discover my hands and toes had themselves become snow blocks. My cheeks had taken on a white, Frosty-like sheen.

My face cheeks. Get your mind out of my insulated underwear.

Thawing out involved a process not unlike being stabbed with a thousand white-hot pins and needles, and from that time on I couldn’t stay in cold weather for long before the affected parts started to feel like they’d been shotgunned full of rock salt. It took all the fun out of it.

Today, my favorite wintertime activities involve a book and a cup of hot chocolate. So January does have an advantage: I can catch up on my reading. But that doesn’t really make up for the gas bill.