Dryliner - The Wry Sky

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A Public Service Announcement from Dryliner

Department of Transportation announces plan to assist chasers this year...

Fowl Weather photo #26

"Turkey towers" usually offer only the unappetizing neck. But this rare photo out of Cooks County, shows the whole story.

SKY SURFERS

A small but growing breed of "tor punchers" are taking their hobby to the X-treme
By Jim Williams Lubbock, TX, April 1 (TP)

Richard Bulkson, tor puncher.

          Don't call Richard Bulkson a chase yahoo. You might find yourself spitting a few teeth into your Allsup's slurpee cup. "Chaser yahoos are a foolish breed," Bulkson said sipping his gas station Gatorade. "They often put others at risk; blasting down a highway, steering wheel and CB in one hand, camcorder and road map in the other. But I don't do that. I hang out where no one cares to be -- above the debris!" Richard Bulkson rides tornadoes. "I have five tors and two landspouts under my belt," Rick said proudly. He showed me the seven patch symbols embroidered upon the shoulder of his $9000 "shoot suit." The 60 lb. pressurized suit sat upright in the front seat of his hail-cratered pickup truck like a passenger from another world. The custom made suit, a product of military and space technology gone awry, is both bullet-proof and cushion-stuffed for high impact. "The titanium mesh in this thing can take a 250 mph hit from a faucet spigot. And I'm living proof of it," Rick declared, patting himself on the backside.

          Mr. Bulkson acknowledges that there are only three other members sharing his elite avocation. "There were six of us," he admitted reluctantly, "but that was before Pampa." What he will talk about is strategy: how to ride a tornado. "Get into the path. Get into a culvert. Wait until you're in the debris. Hold up until you see objects flying by of your approximate weight (like a big old doghouse or a good-sized air conditioner), then run to the tube." Rick stopped for a moment to survey the skies. He had parked his truck under the crosshairs of a triple point somewhere in western Kansas. "Of course, you never quite get to the tube," he continued, "But the trick is not to glance off of it and get line-drived a few hundred yards into some feedlot." Rick seemed to be speaking from experience, but would not elaborate. "The real skill is in getting up there without losing consciousness those first few seconds when the G forces are murder. Everything is a terrible blur and then, voom, it's like you're on a 200 mph merry-go-round a thousand feet above the Plains. It's all you can do to stay balled up tight. If you spread eagle up there, some mailbox is going to take an arm off, sure as all get out."

          Rick went on to explain the importance of choosing the right tornado. "When I was a kid, I used to ride my bike into dust devils. Any old dust devil would do. I think that's how we all got started in this hobby. But with tornadoes, you want a high-based, low-precip job, preferably over grassland. And you want to keep your F numbers high enough to carry you aloft, but low enough to avoid dismemberment." I ask if it is something akin to surfing; catching the right wave for the best ride. "I'd never surf," Rick admonished. "Too dangerous. I don't know how to swim. But hey, I guess you could call us sky surfers. I like that. Sky surfers! What's that Beachboys song? Catch a shortwave and you're sittin' on top of the world..." What about the landing? That has to be pretty tough. "That's why we have a nine month off-season," Rick confided. "To recuperate."

          A huge wall cloud was forming to the northwest. Doppler on Wheels shot past us with an armada of stormchasers in tow. Rick shivered in disgust. "One of those clowns is going to hit the brakes for a quick U turn and kabam, the smokies'll be calling for body bags. Puts chills up my back." The lanky Texan seized my hand and shook it. "I guess this is where we part company," he drawled. "Unless you want to come along." We both laughed. Rick knew that I lost my lunch that day on a 20 foot ferris wheel in a church parking lot. "I'll tell you what," he called out as he pulled away northward, "I'll bring you back a baseball-size hail stone -- one that never touched the ground!"

Rick Bulkson, in an off the "wall" moment.

Some call them tor-knotoes, some tie-nadoes! I refer to those very rare rope tornadoes that form knots. These anomalies have fascinated storm enthusiasts for years. Here are a couple that I have collected....

Elegant figure-of-eight witnessed by Matt Crowther and Betsy Abrams, 1995.

Most tangled tor-knoto ever photographed! Two tors combine to form a beckett (sometimes called a sheet or hawser) somewhere near Enid, OK, June, 1993.

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