Into the Storm: Part 1
Part 1: Desire
The rutted county road follows a section line north. It looks questionable as it breaks off the blacktop, and worsens the further I go. The little Corolla dodges axle-breaking potholes as I traverse a few stretches of sand deposited by the great dust storms of the early Holocene. Upon encountering foot-high sandstone outcrops, I call it good. Meadowlarks serenade me as I unload my mountain bike next to an abandoned farmstead, check tire pressure and water supply.
Ahead, a plateau rim breaks off in pine-covered sandstone escarpments. Gravity pulls me down the ever worsening two-track as I soak in the blooming penstemon, the gobble of faraway turkeys, and the smell of warm ponderosa. I almost forget that I am here to chase storms, not mountain bike.
The morning forecast says it’s Clovis again. For the last few weeks, eastern New Mexico and the Texas Panhandle have seen almost daily bouts of severe weather. Today is no exception. The Storm Prediction Center(SPC) has highlighted yet another tornado risk in the southern plains. A who's-who of storm chasers have occupied Clovis for weeks, taking in one awe-inspiring storm after another.
It’s my third season of storm chasing, and I fear I am missing out. While chasers ramp up for another big day in New Mexico, I lift my bike over a barbed wire fence outside Lusk, Wyoming. The path ahead is a narrowing cow trail. I might be the first person to ride a bike here. Grass slaps the tips of my shoes as the trail flows through descending meadows adorned in yellow goldenpea flowers.
I am immersed in the prairie, but part of me would rather be in New Mexico. I’m in Lusk because the SPC morning forecast also highlighted a severe weather risk for eastern Wyoming. Unfortunately, the ingredients look marginal compared to the southern mode. I decided to try it anyway. My decision to chase came down to this: I have a few days off for Memorial weekend, and this setup is close.
The thousand-mile drive down the Rocky Mountain front to New Mexico is possible, but I have a job to hold down and kids to care for. Storm chasers come in many varieties. Some are college students with gas money and a summer break to burn. Some are established photographers and meteorologists who save their whole year’s vacation to chase anywhere with a good setup. Others target storms within a few hours of home when they can. I fall resoundingly into this last category.
Descending into a series of dry washes, I hop my bike over fallen logs and cobbles, weaving my way through cool shadows. The riding is tricky, which is a good thing. It makes it hard for me to think about much else, including the storms I might be missing in the southern plains. I don’t have cell signal down in these drainages. If a big storm goes off somewhere else, I won’t know about it.
The fear of missing out (or FOMO, for acronym lovers) is a pervasive force in our lives. Psychological studies find that everyone is susceptible, regardless of temperament. Often triggered by social media use, this condition preys on our innate desires to feel autonomous, competent, and connected with others.
You don't have to be a storm chaser to experience it. Regardless of your interests and passions, someone always has what you desire. Social media makes this fact a lot harder to ignore, but even technophobes will experience the fear of missing out. If we know others are enjoying amazing experiences and meaningful social connections, it is just human nature to want the same.
Storm chasing is ripe for the anxiety and depression spawned by the fear of missing out. Severe weather enthusiasts are connected through social media, even though the chasing community is scattered far and wide. These connections are almost imperative for the practical aspects of planning and forecast comparison, but social media always makes things look better than they are. Most chasers only talk about their successes, creating a false narrative of exactly how much fun everyone else is having.
Storm chasing is inherently difficult, with a built in certainty of some busts. Even though I know today’s northern setup will likely fizzle, I am hopeful. After toiling my bike back up the ridge, I load the car and head for the one-horse town of Manville. I spend an hour or two loitering in what passes for a city park.
Checking weather apps and forecasts makes me feel jittery, so I unshackle my inner kid and sit on the old high bar swing-set. As I swing on the decrepit apparatus, I watch the clouds against the backdrop of Manville’s water tower. High, wispy cirrus drift out of the west. Soon, a field of lower cottonball cumulus come marching out of the southeast. Instability is building as the sun warms the landscape.
I study my phone, considering numbers scattered across a surface map. Dewpoints certainly look good along the North Platte valley and points south, but they look almost as good further west. Here on the margins of tornado alley, surface moisture is usually the ingredient which limits storm development. Storms need warm, moist air below cold air aloft so they can expand into supercells. Today, dewpoints look promising everywhere east of the mountains.
Instability and moisture, two of the four necessary ingredients for severe weather, are in place. The other two, a boundary and sheer, are a maybe. Storms usually form along some sort of boundary that focuses lift. It could be a warm front or a dryline, or more likely in Wyoming, topography that pushes the warm air up, kick-starting storm development.
The wind is the real unknown for today's setup. Usually Wyoming has plenty of high elevation wind, but it's likely to be weak today. Furthermore, the best winds are displaced west of the moist surface air. Storms don’t need just any wind, they need ‘backed’ shear, or winds turning counterclockwise up through the atmosphere. Without this ‘storm relative helicity’, they can't form big, discrete supercells. Instead, storms quickly devolve into rainy blobs and squall lines.
I hop in the car and head west, windows down. I’ve decided to bet on the wind. Near Douglas, surface winds are curving around the corner of the Laramie Range, adding just a little more advantageous shear. Most of the famous chasers are still down in New Mexico, but a few have come north for today’s setup. They are posted up at truck stops between Cheyenne and Sterling, in the middle of the SPC’s forecast risk area. It’s hard to ignore the other chasers, but I stick with my target and continue west- outside the risk area altogether.
Fear of missing out is nothing more than envy- FOMO just sounds less ‘sinful’. While it can bring anxiety and depression, psychologists point out that envy can also guide us toward constructive change. Several years ago, it was envy that first illuminated my deep desire to experience storms. I was at a family barbecue when I saw the photos pop up on social media: tornadoes were on the ground only a few dozen miles to the south. I knew I wanted to be there. The next day I was. I knew next to nothing about chasing, but I managed to see a tornado without hailing out the family car.
Envy drove me to try something I desired since childhood, but always thought was not acceptable. It illuminated my legitimate need for a life dictated less by the expectations of others, and towards a life driven by an engagement with the present. Rather than just let envy eat me up, I used it to challenge those limiting narratives.
There is a fine line between constructive envy and a cancerous fear of missing out. It is a line all too easy to cross. Without a toolkit to navigate these feelings, I am swallowed by them. For me, these include context, healthy comparisons and gratitude.
In storm chasing and any other passion, I am learning to ask, “Is this a realistic goal for me?” This question adds context to my feelings. People have vastly different life situations, with varying abilities to pursue their desires. For me, it is a realistic goal to see a tornado once a year. I have enough free time, gas money, and technical knowledge to make it happen. I might have to re-arrange some priorities, but I can do it. It is not realistic for me to chase every great storm that goes off over the spring and summer months.
The fun part of storm chasing is the uncertainty and difficulty. Failure is built in. When I pull up Instagram and see an amazing storm I missed, it helps to remember I will miss most storms. There is no way I can be everywhere and experience everything I want in life. I need to focus on doing what I can with my legitimate opportunities.
Approaching Douglas, several storms pop up on radar. Most fizzle immediately, but one to the west of the mountains has obviously better shear. It takes on the paisley shape of a supercell. I know I am headed in the right direction. I’m almost to the interstate when my decision to chase a marginal day suddenly goes from questionable to exhilarating. There, to the north of Laramie Peak, is a funnel. I can’t believe it at first- the inverted cone of condensation alongside the pyramid of the mountain. I blast south toward the little storm that went from a radar blip to tornadic in a matter of minutes.
The road network is sparse east of these mountains, so when I get a good view up Elkhorn Creek, I hit the brakes and call it good. I quickly phone in the now fully condensed tornado to the NWS and snap a few dozen pictures. Then I just stand there in the humid breeze, watching the tornado dance silently across the foothills.
It is a successful chase by any measure, but I don’t want to reduce my experiences to wins and losses. Other chasers will have more success than me. Others will do a better job of forecasting, navigating, and capturing their experiences. I can aspire to forecast like Trey Greenwood or photograph like Mike Olbinski, but I need to be fair with myself. I am certainly a better storm chaser than I was just a few years ago. It is healthy for me to compare myself with where I have been, not just where I want to be.
Envy is like a tornado. Just enough, and it inspires action. Too much, and it can destroy.
If I let it, FOMO can derail me. It can lead me to obsess over something I want, or likely a myriad of things I want. It can blind me to the opportunities I do have. There is a lot more to life than just storm chasing. Yes, it gives me joy, but so does taking my kids on a bike ride, training my dog, trying a new recipe, or fishing a secret stream. I want to appreciate the opportunities of the present, regardless of my desires for the future.
Gratitude is the best antidote for envy. It is also a practice. Like weightlifting or meditation, saying “thank you” gets easier as I continue to choose it. So many people would love to have the opportunity to storm chase just one day a year, but their situation prevents it. As I stand on the verdant spring prairie, I feel immense gratitude- not only because my persistence paid off on this chase, but because I get to simply be here, making the best of the opportunities life gives me.
