It's Leora here, in Norfolk, Nebraska, beginning to grasp that the chase season is almost over. It's been intense. Most days have produced tornadoes somewhere across this vast land, and we've tried to reach them, venturing beyond "our domain." For the meteorologists on our team, missing a tornado is unbearable. And yet, of course we only catch a tiny fraction of these moody phantoms.
Earlier this week we found ourselves in Missouri. As you probably
know, we usually stick to the flat plains, preferably with gridded roads. But there we were, roller-coastering over forested hills. It was the end of a boring day, spent in waiting mode at a humid, fuel-wreaking gas station. I think that explains it all. It even explains why we pursued a storm that Karen
described as "cute." She said it should have its cheeks pinched. The cell had some structural characteristics of a violent storm but was way too tame to make a tornado. At least the scenery was pretty.
(Right: Gabe in red and Justin in green at yet another convenience store)
As you noticed, despite high (let me revise that, extremely high) expectations yesterday, the atmosphere did not cooperate. There was no historic outbreak. Only a day of adjusting locations, waiting, re-adjusting, and mostly answering the questions of small-town residents in Nebraska.
How could so many forecasters be so wrong? The radio chatter at the end of the day was filled with highly technical jargon particularly regarding the type of trough that had moved in. For me, when all was said and done, after all the hype about fast-moving storms and violent tornadoes, it was Mark who summed it up best: "Sometimes the atmosphere wants to show who's boss."
(Right: Mark spinning a tornado in a jar at the end of the uneventful, hyped-up day)
Yet, don't write this week off so quickly. We did intercept two tornadoes with the DOW--on radar--on Wednesday evening. The fleet was parked by a quiet roadside not far from York when Josh announced the appearance of a weak, very unusual tornado on his monitor. It was situated between the mesocyclones of two supercells. Because of rain and hail the funnel was not visible to the barely patient members of the convoy.
(Below right: Marcus, our medic, watching a storm to his west on Wednesday night in the York region. He travels with his bike on the roof.)

As so often happens, just as we began to head to our hotel in Lincoln, still keeping an eye on the storms, the elements began to gather strength. Looking towards the darkening supercell, you could almost feel the buildup of energy. That tension can't but affect you too. From Seward we drove into this gaping world. Gabe called it "the twilight zone." "Is the sun still up?" someone asked. Green light, indicative of hail, permeated the air. It was eery.
What happened in there? Josh clearly saw a tornado flare up about a mile and a half to our north--on radar. Justin and Danny and Aaron clearly saw a tornado cross the road directly in front of them. The rain was so severe, bringing visibility almost to zero, that the TIV had to stop with most of the armada behind it. The DOW plowed forward. We were in disarray. Reactions varied: excitement at seeing a tornado breaking branches and swirling them from close up; upset at missing an opportunity to deploy Pods; concern at the situation.
BELOW: TIV-2 and (!) TIV-1 The DOW
Today is expected to be calm. Production will interview "the talent." It's time for catch-up.









































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