Tim Samaras,
Severe-Storms Researcher, National Geographic Emerging Explorer
The Science of Tornado Chasing
Sponsored by National
Geographic School Publishing and your local representative, Deborah
Raesly
As families scramble to avoid deadly tornadoes, Tim Samaras races
straight toward them. He careens across the United States' notorious
Tornado Alley on a mission: Predict the exact coordinates of an unborn
tornado, arrive before it does, and place a weather-measurement probe
directly in the twister's violent, swirling path. "Data from the probes
helps us understand tornado dynamics and how they form. With that piece
of the puzzle we can make more precise forecasts and ultimately give
people earlier warnings," Samaras explains. Since current warnings
average a slim 13 minutes, every extra second of warning can be a
lifesaver for residents facing a twister's wrath.
"It all started when I was about six years old and saw that fantastic
tornado in The Wizard of Oz, Samaras says. About 20 years ago he
began storm chasing. Now he spends every May and June putting 25,000
miles (40,000 kilometers) on his vehicle, chasing zigzagging tornadoes
across the Plains. "About five years ago, as an engineer," he noted, "I
designed the next generation of probe to measure pressure drops inside
tornadoes." A history-making instrument, Samaras's "turtle" probe has
recorded record-breaking drops in pressure—the condition that triggers a
tornado's extreme wind speeds. "This information is especially crucial,
because it provides data about the lowest 10 meters [33 feet] of a
tornado, where houses, vehicles, and people are." His car jammed with
GPS gear, radios, scanners, a wireless Internet connection, and
satellite tracking devices, Samaras constantly checks the forecast,
data, and sky. "I only have one shot at being at the right spot," he
says. "The worst is being five minutes late. One traffic jam or detour
and you can miss the whole show. That's why we try to anticipate the
action and arrive while there's still nothing but blue sky. The storms
develop right over our heads, and we follow them as they form." Often
the fury fizzles. Tornadoes develop from only two out of every ten
storms Samaras follows. And deploying a probe is only possible during
two out of every ten tornadoes. "The odds are really against us," he
admitted. "Storm chasing is probably the most frustrating thing one can
do."
But then there are days like June 24, 2003. On a sleepy country road
near Manchester, South Dakota, a half-mile-wide (0.8-kilometer-wide) F4
tornado dropped from the sky and barreled across the landscape with more
than 200-mile-an-hour (322-kilometer-an-hour) winds. At precisely the
right place and time, Samaras deployed three probes, the last one placed
as he leapt from his car a mere 100 yards (91 meters) ahead of the
approaching tornado. Sixty seconds later the tornado crossed that exact
spot, full force. "That's the closest I've been to a violent tornado,
and I have no desire to ever be that close again," he recalled. "The
rumble rattled the whole countryside, like a waterfall powered by a jet
engine. Debris was flying overhead, telephone poles were snapped and
flung 300 yards (274 meters) through the air, roads ripped from the
ground, and the town of Manchester literally sucked into the clouds. You
could see the tornado's path perfectly carved through a cornfield where,
like a giant harvester, it had mowed stalks down to the ground."
Amazingly, his probe survived the tornado's direct hit, unmoved from the
spot where it had been deployed. Thanks to the pyramid shape Samaras
designed, wind actually pushes the probe into the ground, helping to
hold the device in place.
A 6-inch-high (15-centimeter-high) weather station encased in steel, the
probe has sensors that measure humidity, pressure, temperature, wind
speed, and direction. "When I downloaded the probe's data into my
computer, it was astounding to see a barometric pressure drop of a
hundred millibars at the tornado's center. That's the biggest drop ever
recorded—like stepping into an elevator and hurtling up 1,000 feet [305
meters] in ten seconds."
Every storm is different. Some require deploying probes as baseball-size
hail falls. In another instance Samaras watched telephone poles fall in
front of him, sending arcs of sparks exploding across the road as he
made his escape. Yet another tornado developed at night, only allowing
glimpses of its oncoming path during flashes of lightning. "My passion
for storm chasing has always been driven by the beautiful and powerful
storms displayed in the heartland each spring."