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Guest
Guest
There was discussion of weird weather stuff on one of the Trip Report boards, vertical thermoclines on the coast, dense fog above cold water rivers in summer and the like.
I love weird weather, especially the benign kind. But I remember violent weather most vividly.
And enjoy it up to a point, provided I can remain safe and dry, or at least safely survive undamaged. And surviving violent weather makes for vivid memories.
Encountering marble size hail and paddling for cover with gear draped over our heads as upper body protection, splashes like rifle shots impacting the water all around. Thinking “Crap, it’s getting bigger!” and hoping my demise wasn’t some grapefruit sized chuck of ice to the noggin.
A tidal night paddle when a series of violent storm cells passed upriver, one after another after another. Paddle like hell and then head for cover back in the swamp. No high ground, no dry ground, just sit in the canoes under the not-largest cypress in the swamp and hope all the foam comfort outfitting provides sufficient insulation.
And just misses. We (fortunately) departed the Adirondacks late on July 14, 1995 and drove through the beginnings of the derecho that ravaged the area. Well, we drove for a bit, until the winds threatened to rip the boats and racks off the van, even with bow, stern and belly lines, and then parked in the shelter of a substantial brick building. Even parked and in the lee the van was rocking.
Dang, jogging memory lane there are bunches. Looking in the rearview mirror during a storm 2-car trip and seeing a large tree topple across the road directly behind my wife’s car. Physically holding down tents as a last resort. Overlong spells of being windbound.
Got a weird or violent weather story?
I love weird weather, especially the benign kind. But I remember violent weather most vividly.
And enjoy it up to a point, provided I can remain safe and dry, or at least safely survive undamaged. And surviving violent weather makes for vivid memories.
Encountering marble size hail and paddling for cover with gear draped over our heads as upper body protection, splashes like rifle shots impacting the water all around. Thinking “Crap, it’s getting bigger!” and hoping my demise wasn’t some grapefruit sized chuck of ice to the noggin.
A tidal night paddle when a series of violent storm cells passed upriver, one after another after another. Paddle like hell and then head for cover back in the swamp. No high ground, no dry ground, just sit in the canoes under the not-largest cypress in the swamp and hope all the foam comfort outfitting provides sufficient insulation.
And just misses. We (fortunately) departed the Adirondacks late on July 14, 1995 and drove through the beginnings of the derecho that ravaged the area. Well, we drove for a bit, until the winds threatened to rip the boats and racks off the van, even with bow, stern and belly lines, and then parked in the shelter of a substantial brick building. Even parked and in the lee the van was rocking.
Dang, jogging memory lane there are bunches. Looking in the rearview mirror during a storm 2-car trip and seeing a large tree topple across the road directly behind my wife’s car. Physically holding down tents as a last resort. Overlong spells of being windbound.
Got a weird or violent weather story?