Storm Chasing
This past weekend, a photographer ascended toward the top of Mt Evans in Colorado to take photos of the summit and the mountain goats. What he didn't expect to find was a tornado. It just goes to show the power of nature can be seen in just about every environment!
Storm chasing was a huge hobby of mine when I lived in Colorado. Many kids might panic and hide under the bed when a large storm is close by, but I ran out to the park behind our house and stood in the middle of the open field looking for the funnel. It didn't change as I got older. When the summer storms began, I inevitably hopped in my car with music blasting and my camera ready as I drove east on I-70 (or northeast on I-76). I wasn't afraid, but I wasn't ignorant either. I've always been fully aware of the power of storms, the damage and devastation they cause and the risks involved when you venture into them. But I went anyway. I couldn't be stopped.
Living in Seattle, you rarely see powerful thunderstorms. It's cloudy, but not bubbly black and green and swirling cloudy. The clouds are dull and grey, smooth and flat and lifeless. Cirrus, cumulus and stratocumulus clouds litter the skies, but towering cumulonimbus clouds are alien to most of the area. In the midst of summer, towering storms are occasionally visible east of the Cascades, heading toward Moses Lake and Spokane.
I'm amazed how much I miss big storms and black clouds. Excitement always built whenever a large storm rolled through the area in Denver. We don't experience that in Seattle. The rain often comes out to play, but the thunder usually stays home. I can't help but laugh to myself when people mistaken a low feeder cloud for a funnel and I become ecstatic when I hear a distant rumble, wondering if a real thunderstorm will pound through the area.
I never thought of myself as much of a risk taker. I'm usually incredibly careful and don't often voluntarily put myself in danger, but something about clouds and rain and thunder and wind excites me. It's just one more reason why relocating somewhere else would make me extraordinarily happy. Life gets in the way and there are things to do, but here's hoping our dream of moving elsewhere happens sooner rather than later. When it does, I'll be burning through gas every summer again, hoping to get the perfect photo of a beautiful, powerful storm.
Storm chasing was a huge hobby of mine when I lived in Colorado. Many kids might panic and hide under the bed when a large storm is close by, but I ran out to the park behind our house and stood in the middle of the open field looking for the funnel. It didn't change as I got older. When the summer storms began, I inevitably hopped in my car with music blasting and my camera ready as I drove east on I-70 (or northeast on I-76). I wasn't afraid, but I wasn't ignorant either. I've always been fully aware of the power of storms, the damage and devastation they cause and the risks involved when you venture into them. But I went anyway. I couldn't be stopped.
Living in Seattle, you rarely see powerful thunderstorms. It's cloudy, but not bubbly black and green and swirling cloudy. The clouds are dull and grey, smooth and flat and lifeless. Cirrus, cumulus and stratocumulus clouds litter the skies, but towering cumulonimbus clouds are alien to most of the area. In the midst of summer, towering storms are occasionally visible east of the Cascades, heading toward Moses Lake and Spokane.
I'm amazed how much I miss big storms and black clouds. Excitement always built whenever a large storm rolled through the area in Denver. We don't experience that in Seattle. The rain often comes out to play, but the thunder usually stays home. I can't help but laugh to myself when people mistaken a low feeder cloud for a funnel and I become ecstatic when I hear a distant rumble, wondering if a real thunderstorm will pound through the area.
I never thought of myself as much of a risk taker. I'm usually incredibly careful and don't often voluntarily put myself in danger, but something about clouds and rain and thunder and wind excites me. It's just one more reason why relocating somewhere else would make me extraordinarily happy. Life gets in the way and there are things to do, but here's hoping our dream of moving elsewhere happens sooner rather than later. When it does, I'll be burning through gas every summer again, hoping to get the perfect photo of a beautiful, powerful storm.
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