A sunset surprise: Saturday's storm chase in Kansas was simple, yet elegant.
A brilliant sunset met a fierce wind and hail storm
'MOORE, Okla. — Apparently, if you waltz into Chili’s Grill and Bar wearing a hard-hat and gleefully carrying a handful of ice, people might look at you a little bit funny. I learned that during a fierce hailstorm on Saturday in Salina, Kan., where my latest storm-chase adventure brought a picturesque rotating thunderstorm, damaging winds and a late-night tornado warning.
My day began in Pratt, Kan., where I rendezvoused with Kelby, a friend of mine from northeast Oklahoma returning after completing her first year in law school in Boulder, Colo. After reviewing morning observations and model data, I decided we would venture to La Crosse, west of Great Bend, where I hoped storms would first fire.
The setup wasn’t overly robust for twisting storms, and I wasn’t anticipating a likelihood of tornadoes. Moisture was lacking, meaning storms would be too high above the ground. There was a chance they could produce around sunset, when storms would enter an area with more available moisture and a bit more low-level spin.
By suppertime, radar revealed the first cells popping, quickly towering to 50,000 feet. It was just a short drive south, so we positioned in a field and watched things unfold. I quickly realized that storms were splitting, colliding with each other and becoming messy. That limited the propensity for rotating thunderstorms or supercells to form. Dejectedly, I settled on showing Kelby the best lightning I could. . .
“Look at those lines!” Kelby shouted eagerly, pointing out the passenger window. My eyes remained focused on the road, but I wanted to steal a look at what was happening. I pulled off an exit that would take me to Ellsworth, Kan., stopped at a Conoco, and looked upward. . .
A curtain of rain lurked to the right, by then probably filled with hail the size of golf balls. Radar showed a prominent supercell blossoming overhead. Sculpted striations marked the edge of the outflow, or thunderstorm exhaust, ahead of which air was feeding counterclockwise into the storm. . .
We drove east, the storm overtaking us and showering us with penny-sized hail.
When we got there, it was closed. Chili’s, however, was not. Kelby rolled her eyes as I eagerly drove through blinding downpours and hail on a quest for a chicken sandwich. Quarter-sized hail was pelting the vehicle as we pulled into the parking lot. I shifted into park and turned off the truck. . .
Storms were winding down by the time we finished dinner around 9:30 p.m. We headed to the hotel on the west side of Interstate 35, . .
Thunder rumbled overhead. Odd, I thought. Wasn’t the storm too far east for me to be hearing thunder? I flipped up RadarScope on my phone.
“Oh jeez!” I said eagerly, jarring Kelby to attention. “We’ve got to go!”
We scurried back to the car. A newly formed rotating supercell was bearing down on us, a crisp hook on radar a telltale sign it was spinning like a top. As a general rule of thumb, I don’t chase tornadoes at night — but since I was in a populated area with a great paved road network, excellent cell service, and, frankly, the storm was chasing me, I decided to go for a stroll. . .
We settled near Salina’s airport, pulling onto a dirt road and looking west. Lightning flickered beneath an arcing cloud. I knew we were due east of the rotation. Kelby was nervous. I assured her we were in a good place and that we had a clear escape route.
Between lightning flashes, I could see an inflow tail on the right, marking where air was rushing into the rotating updraft. The spin was just west or southwest. I could see ragged clouds marking upward-moving air condensing. No obvious tornado though.'
https://www.washingtonpost.com/weather/2021/05/10/storm-chase-kansas-simple/?
