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SOAPBOX
Not Budging From the Five-day Storm Map-checking Routine
Mark Lane
I took down the wood from my house windows over the
weekend. Quite an act of faith and optimism here in
Plywood City. It’s the equivalent of saying, “Hey,
we’ve already had three hurricanes in Florida; what else
could possibly happen?” A statement any pantheist knows
tempts the weather gods.
My morning routine for the past month has been to
wake up, shave, walk the dog, and look at the National
Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s 5 a.m. five-day
storm track. At night, I check the 11 p.m. five-day storm
track before turning in.
The emotional roller-coaster ride provided by the
five-day hurricane tracking map has become a big part of
life this year.
The end of last week, for instance, provided great
drama and repair tension and an immediate cession of all
raking. Hurricane Jeanne went from a minor concern, to a
this-means-you warning, to a meteorological curiosity and
all within 72 hours.
Devotees of the five-day tracking map are only too
well aware that last Friday Jeanne was supposed to stop
near the Bahamas, signal left, and head directly to the
Daytona Beach Pier. A fourth hurricane to hit Florida. It
was hard not to take the prospect personally.
The reasons for expecting such dramatic behavior
from the storm were many and mysterious. They had to do
with the Bermuda High, the lingering effects of Hurricane
Ivan, the motions of the steering currents, the
temperature of the Gulf Stream and generalized bad mojo
across the region.
For a while my plywood stayed put and candles
stayed within reach. And I certainly was not going to rake
one more oak leaf if I thought I would soon find myself
building a whole new deluxe two-story yard-debris pile.
Nor was the five-day track alone in predicting bad
things. AccuWeather, at one point, had Jeanne roaring up
the Florida East Coast. But storm watchers who really want
drama in their lives are advised to watch maps that use
five or six computer models to lay five or six hurricane
tracks entwining the Florida peninsula like limp
spaghetti. At least one noodle may always be counted upon
to be somewhere in the neighborhood.
But Jeanne’s scare lasted for no more than three
versions of the five-day predicted track map. By
mid-weekend, the storm was doing curlicues in the outer
Caribbean. Assuming it wears itself out eventually, Jeanne
appears content to expend itself far out at sea, well away
from roofs. A mere fish-churner at this point. This seems
a promising development and my more convincing excuses for
not dragging tree parts from the back yard have rapidly
diminished.
Likewise, Hurricane Karl appears in the wrong place
to make anyone stand in line in front of a hardware store.
And Tropical Storm Lisa? Very far away, too, and,
much like myself, is described as “poorly organized.”
Does this mean life returns to normal? That I will
no longer frown at black lines on a pastel blue
featureless ocean?
Of course not. Hurricane season ends officially
November 30, even though post-Halloween storms are rare.
Once I get with a routine, I don’t leave it easily.
I didn’t take the time to finally learn longitude
from latitude to give this up easily. I’ve cut back from
four-times-a-day map-watching to twice a day. I still
follow the lines avidly, much as I do other dire
statistics I can’t control, like the performance of my
mutual fund and the Boston Red Sox.
How can you appreciate the way you’ve escaped
disaster when you never got a good glimpse of it heading
right for you in the first place?
About the Author:
Mark Lane writes for the Daytona Beach
News-Journal. This piece was written during the last week
of September 2004. Reprinted with the permission of the
Daytona Beach News-Journal.
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