April 4, 2012: The experts at Colorado State University have released their forecast for the 2012 Atlantic basin hurricane season. The forecast calls for just 10 named storms, four hurricanes and just two major hurricanes.According to the report, there will be less activity this season because of the abnormally cold Atlantic and the potential development of El Nino. Although the forecast seems rather encouraging, it is still a good idea to make sure your home is insured for the possibility. Local agent, Tommy Hardegree of Siegeler Insurance, reminds our readers that you cannot purchase Windstorm insurance if there is a storm in the Gulf. For Flood insurance, if you do not have a lien holder, or if you live in a preferred zone (B, C, or X) there is a 30-day wait before the insurance goes into effect.

The author has been through four Atlantic hurricanes – all at sea. And on a smaller ship, in the raging Aegean Sea that seemed far worse.
Boat owners on the Texas coast, unable to trailer boats to safety, are especially fearful of Atlantic hurricanes. There is little else to do but run. However, one must gamble on the hurricane’s direction and the possibility of a change in course. A wise action is to run to a marina that has a lifting capability and get out of the water. The boat will be higher and could possibly be secured with tie downs. Choosing to drop anchor in the mouth of one of the rivers may not be desirable, since the surge could find its way to the same location. In this case, it would not take much imagination to start the search miles inland. Whatever the action, it is all pot luck.
These are my thoughts as I continue building The Endeavor, a 52-foot wooden-epoxy resin boat, shaped after the World War II PT Boats. I am getting ready to laminate the second course of plywood to the hull. The work continues with little to talk about. Launch date is Christmas 2015.
Larry Wegeman

Consider the best thing about December, besides Christmas.

In December, hurricane season becomes history. But don’t count your chickens as sailors say, there can be good and bad weather in any month. May is the worst month because hurricane season begins. April is better; hurricane season has not begun. March is excellent; no chance in the world for a hurricane, and no doubt February and January will provide a long, peaceful breather. But December is best, because the joys and memories of Christmas are in the air: gifts, smiling faces – and hurricane season is a half a world away.

This leaves the summer months for outdoor activities like swimming, boating, fishing, or just tanning on a warm beach. But watch the sky, because these months also mark the season of great and the not-so-great Atlantic hurricanes.

Any Atlantic hurricane can be a real attention grabber – just marvel at the scope and mass. The thoughts that cross the mind are how the thing ever got started – And where did it come from? But before searching for the answers, be aware that hurricanes are the deadliest of the natural forces. The real danger is the enormous amount of energy the hurricane discharges as it travels along a meandering path to some unknown destination. To humans, the danger is the unwillingness to admit the real possibility of being in its path.

Hurricanes start and develop over the oceans, moving and making landfall, after growing in intensity over a disturbed and raging sea. Smaller occurrences make landfall from a straight or zigzagged path and the larger, too. Either can change course. Each is different. Moreover, the same hurricane is capable of evolving in character, changing wind-speed and direction, growing from birth until vanishing into thin air. Yet sometimes and somehow, a thinning hurricane is able to restart, without offering any clue to the new route, destination, size, or ability to cause havoc. Observation aircraft chart the broadness of the gathering force. A satellite view shows cloud movements much different from the moisture-gathering Doppler image, and to ships at sea, the experience is completely unlike the view from a beach.

On the clean side of an arriving hurricane, the senses encounter totally dissimilar wind and surge conditions from the dirty side. A calm always exists at the center, or eye, but between the center and outer edges anything can happen. The character of a powerful hurricane is beyond human comprehension and quite awesome. The ability to actually glimpse one is an encounter only in kind, since conditions of zero visibility limit the experience to the hearing and feelings. The sound of the fierce winds is enough to keep the observer inside, the noise outside enough to grip the imagination. The endless howling is rude and disruptive, the tempo strange and uneven to the properly regulated intellect. And in the aftermath, victims forgive but never forget the experience.

Most tropical storms that reach the United States originate near the Azores. Facsimiles are reconstructed on weather maps at the National Hurricane Center. Solid-red curlicues describe the various hurricane categories. Open red curlicues describe tropical storms (less in magnitude) and the Lx symbol describes tropical depressions (lesser again). As weather develops, systems not yet organized receive a classification based on the probability of becoming any kind of a storm. A red circle describes the strongest possibility, orange a medium chance, and yellow low. From the data, storms are tracked and calculations project where and when landfall is likely.

The media monitors events at the Hurricane Center and watches for a newsmaker. When better news is lacking, any hurricane might make a good story. But the producers want bang for the buck so elaborate on the possibilities, eager to cover all the angles, to make the event more interesting, most threatening or just plain scary. After all, they are the newsmakers.

To properly convey a hurricane story, a camera crew waits on location. Some wind-blown signs are shown and a young newsman standing on a beach. High surf is crashing in the background. The hair is blowing wildly, the voice shots, “Yes, Ted,” above the sound of the gusting wind. Annoyed with conditions and tired from the red-eye flight, he cuddles the microphone. A gust flutters the face forming a breathless gasp, “The surf is up, something is coming.” The hatless head steaming a ribbon of hair, the coat ends flapping, while surfers are panned in the background riding the generous mounts. “Back to you, Ted,” in a demanding cry for a hot shower. Slowly, the microphone lowers, one hand drops inside a pocket. The eyes squint and wait, as the camera pulls back, leaving memories and the canting body of the weary, windblown newsman, the anxious and perplexed face ready for instructions to do another take.

Hurricane news is broadcast on prime time as the lead story. Ships at sea move out of the way. Airlines rush to change flight plans. Traffic advisories flash. Highways close. “Well, you saw the hurricane. It’s on the way,” Ted announces. Weekend outings are put on hold, as viewers wait with pretzels and beer in front of the boob tube, settled in and watching, certain that the newsmakers are in control.

Listeners gasp as they swallow the pretzel and the story.

But people at ground zero wait. And there is always a ground zero – but where? One can never be sure, since hurricane conditions change constantly and the television news lags behind changing events. People living where a hurricane strikes are alone and in the dark, having good reason to be frightened, not knowing where or when, and little point looking to television for the answers. The producers don’t know. How can they? Newscasters don’t. They know what producers know. This just in, or here’s the latest means this is all we know. Nevertheless, the expectation of the viewer waits. Rest assured when television goes dark, the folks at ground zero know what producers do not. The hurricane is in the backyard, and they are the victims.

Hey, not to worry. Some storms never make the big time, falling apart before getting a name, making a little wind here and a little rain there. And the farmers always love that.

Worry when a weather system gets a name and attention turns to words like debris and surge, the nuts and bolts of any tropical storm, and an invitation to speculate on the change for severe damage. Of course, the better of the two is debris. But beware, debris can terrorize even if it never strikes.

Picture an approaching hurricane. The arriving edge is always debris-free and rightly called the clean side. Soon afterward, debris is added from the ground, as it rotates back toward the sea on the dirty side. The concept of clean versus dirty is important to coastal residents. After the hurricane moves inland, all sides are dirty. Debris lies concealed within the howling darkness among the fast-moving winds. It was made airborne by the graces of a basic flight rule that an object can and will fly, as long as a wind of sufficient speed and duration gets under the thing. However, staying airborne is a different matter. Imagine a sheet of plywood flying at the speed of one hundred miles an hour, tumbling end over end and smashing into the side of a building. Or, the sight of a length of lumber stopped like a spear, having penetrated the trunk of a tree. Objects flying close to the ground are scary, strike at random, often heard but rarely seen. Stray pieces return to earth as remnants, after journeying thousands of feet into the air, settling tens of miles away. Farmers field the stuff in growing fields – without rhyme or reason for being there – hard pressed to identify the matter as something than mysterious from some unknown place. The foreign objects pass for fragments of an alien spacecraft.

Debris can be anywhere. Debris is dangerous. Debris is bad.

But the surge is worse.

The surge begins life as the raised portion of the ocean’s surface just under the center of the storm. As the hurricane rotates, the raised portion rises and the perimeter widens. Influenced by a rising ocean, pressure pulls zillions of miniscule parts of water vapor aloft every second – the hurricane’s primary source of water. Moisture within the mass turns to rain and slams downward, generating winds that hit the ocean surface and pan outward to the perimeter. The flow is encouraged by continued upward pressure from ocean water evaporating at the perimeter. As the flow increases, the storm strengthens = the hurricane grows. Imagine the power of a force with the strength to lift and maintain a rise of five, fifteen, or more feet of ocean that also moves with the hurricane, sometimes a mile in diameter, more or less (and occasionally much more). Picture a twenty-foot wave as seen from a beach, packed behind solid with water. As the hurricane reaches the beach – this wall of water has already arrived and rolls inland – until the elevation of the land absorbs the volume.

We know that hurricanes are born and that hurricanes die. Not many people know more and few care. Television news never talks about losers, unless the Associated Press wire becomes dull and so short of violent crime that hurricanes, even distant ones, get a nod. Last month’s hurricane might not have received coverage, show only because better news was not available. Television producers make the selection, and viewers have no clue how the choices are made. Viewers do not always understand that unfolding weather is uncertain and unpredictable. Should the enormity of a hurricane fade, the news fades. The producers play it by ear. Larger is better for the show, so count on that. To make hurricane news appear up to the minute, newscasters sometimes fumble and shake a few sheets of paper to draw attention. This makes the audience feel what is being said is brand new. And the sponsors always love that.

What comes across the television screen is a show – a news show- about an event that is occurring far from camera or any audience – but what about the actual reality of the hurricane? People near the impact area want to know. What is it going to be like? What is known? Is anyone actually there to testify? Why believe the news – the scoop? Will there be a surge? – And where? How much debris will the hurricane carry? Is the storm large or small, growing or coming apart and more importantly, what populations will be affected? – Flooded? –Even destroyed? And the more that television news speculates in err, the longer it is ignored.

Producers deliver weather news to two audiences. One audience benignly watches the show – the other audience is the show. Viewers far from harms-way take the news information in stride. Viewers likely to be in harms-way are nervous for details. For the producers, it is just another day, like a day at an Indy 500, watching the speedsters go round and round. Television captures the excitement, and the bigger the crash the more newsworthy the spectacle, like New Orleans in 2005. Hurricane Katrina was huge. Her outer arms enveloped the entire Gulf of Mexico. When it became clear where she was headed, it was a fifteen-car- pile-up simultaneously engulfed in flames. More fire trucks on the scene than cameras, fenders and body parts burning the air. People scrambled every which way with hoses and fire extinguishers, while spectators watched in horror – glued-down. New Orleans watched and prayed. The people were worried, scared, running about looking for help – too busy to crunch pretzels or swallow the story. They were the story.

At home, the audience is drawn to the important-looking newscaster, standing alongside the weather map holding a pointer, signaling technicians when to change camera shots in rhythm with the pointing. Fearful and shocking as the news may be, newscasters never appear concerned, too busy with the production to feel the event at the end of the pointer. Besides, some lady newscasters are very pleasant to watch. Unemotional and without affection, they smile, repositioning the lips with precision. The words are formed clearer than the forecast, knowing the storm that lands in someone else’s backyard entertains folks where hurricanes never fly.

While people at ground zero wait and watch –growing tense- becoming upset. The same worries of when and where – concerned whether to pack and run, where to go, how to get there, and when and how to return. Only bad thing while thinking what to do is the hurricane gets closer.

And watching the sky is no help. It looks just like any other gloomy day.

Meanwhile, somewhere far out over the vast ocean, the hurricane changes course. Suddenly and without warning, it picks up speed. It moves closer. But from land, not one clue of any change, except feelings get edgier. Pessimistic islanders evacuate, leaving a remnant of optimists to make the decisions. But whatever the future holds, the optimists decide to stay. Not to see the hurricane, but because opinions prevail that it will miss. Besides, to be evaluated, the storm must get closer. So, those that remain hunker down and wait, as television screens illuminate the Weather Channel. Maybe there is a party somewhere – a hurricane party – a continuing testimony to group denial. If the hurricane is on course, the expectation will be to receive guidance when to evacuate. So, regardless of the party, the television stays on. The news repeats that the enormous cell is on track.

Keep waiting!

The bosom is packed solid.

Which roofs will it carry away?

Keep watching!

The core is organized. (Gasps can be heard.)

The outer edges are extended off the map – beyond the newscaster’s pointer.

At the hurricane’s far reaches, the wide, rotating arms work to gather and organize the high winds, sucking up moisture. Dobler radar shows the growing hulk packed to the breaking point.

Newsmakers never describe the force as inching toward the audience, or refer to the mysterious rotation, or that it is fueling an unspeakable measure of horror. How many will it visit? – One person, a hundred, ten thousand, or will it come ashore on a vacant beach? The more populated the destination, the more coverage the media provides. At this point, justification is no longer needed to wait for new. The neighborhood grays with sympathies for one another.

Skies begin to darken, the husky outer-arms vigorously clawing – sucking and drawing- drawing and storing- compacting the colossal structure.

Heavy rainfalls inundate the land like the deafening onslaught of an endless nightmare.

The surge lifts the sandy shoreline and sweeps inland.

The hurricane has struck.

Television newscasters had repeatedly projected a fifty percent chance for a tropical depression, revised to a seventy percent chance that the tropical depression, now a tropical storm, would become a hurricane but later, lowered the forecast to fifty percent. The newscasters sounded sure – they always do, as the storm transitioned from an unorganized weather system to a named hurricane.

But besides names, hurricanes have personalities and like people, no two are alike. Much depends on the perspective one has of the hurricane – the point of view – the place where one happens to be when making the evaluation. Afterwards, some will say the hurricane was nothing. It was easy – a piece of cake. Nonetheless, deaths occur and loved ones grieve – from a different point of view.

Hope you enjoyed this article as a matter of hurricane awareness. Did you know that people and hurricanes were alike in many ways? Here is how they connect. Both are life forms. Both are creatures of the same Creator. Both are short lived, able to exhibit violent natures, struggling to survive on the same planet and the storylines you are about to re-read.