Scott Huler - Defining the Wind: The Beaufort Scale and How a 19th-Century Admiral Turned Science Into Poetry

Table of Contents

To Lori

Nothing I am sure can be more useful than comparingour present ideas with those of old time, tracing backour chains of actions to their primary sources ormotions, ascertaining the causes of our successes orfailures, in short studying the history of our own mind.

FRANCIS BEAUFORT, JOURNAL, 1805

Remember to get the weather in your god damnedbookweather is very important.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY, LETTER TO JOHN DOS PASSOS

Praise for Defining the Wind

[An] enchanting stroll through maritime and science history... [Huler is] a charming guide.

The New York Times Book Review

Huler writes with self-deprecating wit... he captures the Beaufort scales openhearted intellectual decency.

The New Yorker

Inspired by the invisible force around them, sailors have always tried to describe the wind.... As Hurricane Charley has just taught us, landlubbers, too, need to keep a weather eye. Hence the timeliness of Defining the Wind, Scott Hulers meteorological foray. Its principal figure is Sir Francis Beaufort (17741857), the son of a poor Irish parson who led a life out of a Patrick OBrian novel: He went to sea young, fought the French, completed a survey of the southern Turkish coast and, after being wounded, retired to dry land, eventually heading the British Admiralty Hydrographic Office.... A roundabout voyage, but worth it.

The Wall Street Journal

[A] reminder of why we read science books.... Read Huler and youll pay more attention to the air moving through your backyard, fluttering leaves, rattling windows.... Consummate examples of how a writer with enough determination can mine a deep vein of curiosity and use it to produce a compelling, powerful, and, yes, interesting book.

Boston Globe

On a scale of 0 to 13, this will blow you away... Hang on for a lighthearted romp over two hemispheres, two centuries of discovery, and the consuming passions of two men: Beaufort and Huler.

Seattle Times

[Hulers] thoroughly researched account of a marvelous collision of forces (natural, political, and creative) is as invigorating as a cool ocean breeze.

Entertainment Weekly

[Huler] comes off as a likeable captain, delivering punchy, humorous prose... while heeding his own wordsthat the human body is the greatest perceptive instrument ever designedby adding his fresh perspective to both history and lore.

Village Voice

To some people, the devil is in the details. But a true researcher will revel in the details. Thats what Mr. Huler joyfully discovered in his investigations, and it shows in every page of this unusual and delightful book.

Dallas Morning News

An entertaining, informative, sometimes quirky read about the nature of wind and how for four centuries observers have tried to find a uniform way to describe it... a fascinating blend of history, biography, nautical lore, science, and personal journal.

Charlotte Observer

Parts history, mystery, and memoir, this take on ancient mariners measuring wind velocity could be the latest unlikely hit.

Southwest Spirit Magazine

[A] book about a 12-point scale used to measure the intensity of wind has changed my life.... The writing is clean and swift, the tone conversationally delightful.... [Huler] has done a magnificent job. Finally, this is a book of practical philosophy, about living your life alertly, being awake to the marvelous world around you. Its also in an artfully oblique way a handbook for every writer, amateur or professional, a refreshing primer on the most basic ethic of the craft.

Raleigh News & Observer

At [the books] heart is a fascination with the language we use to describe the world around us. Less a piece of science writing than a writers meditation on science, this gem of a book is equal parts history, mystery, and memoir... and deserves a wide audience.

Publishers Weekly (starred review)

[N]ot just a beautifully written portrait of Sir Francis Beaufort and of the scale that bears his name... it is also... a philosophical and historical tale of science as a way of observing and making sense of the world. Highly recommended.

Library Journal

Whether tracing the scales evolving linguistic content or the route of one of Beauforts surveys, Huler wonderfully relays the history contained, as he so aptly writes, in the Beaufort scales one hundred ten words... and four centuries of backstory.

Booklist

INTRODUCTION

September 6, 1996:

Hurricane Fran and Before

IN RALEIGH, 120 miles inland from the North Carolina coast, we mostly experience hurricanes on TV.

Thats not to say a hurricane isnt a real event in central North Carolina. The day before a storm is due at the coast we often see the gently curving tendrils of feeder clouds at sunset, illuminated pink and yellow, giant across the blue sky looking exactly like they do on the weather radar screenslike galaxy arms, like propellers, like streamers. By the time we see those clouds we have been hearing about the storm for at least a week, in breathless weather-guy staccato, in clipped news-desk voices, in vague newspaper reports filled with horrid reminders of what happened the last time.

Then eventually the storm shows, and it hits South Carolina or moves up the coast or spends itself, whirling offshore for a few days, then drifts north and dies. If the storm itself does reach Raleigh, what we usually get is a very rainy daya couple inches of rain and enough wind to knock down a tree branch in every other yard. With some storms the rain is truly horrendous and damaging, but even so, its worse to the east, toward the ocean. Mostly our hurricanes come at us through shouted television reports from the weather people hanging for dear life on to lampposts on the evening news, traffic lights swinging wildly above them to demonstrate that no kidding, its real windy.

Still, a few years ago, in early September, Hurricane Fran headed north toward the Chesapeake, thought better of it, took a sharp left, and plowed directly up the Cape Fear River basin, suckerpunching Raleigh with winds of up to 79 miles an hour. That is, 120 miles inland, the storm was still by the textbook wind-speed definition a hurricane, and plenty of it.

That night found me out in my pickup truck, reporting on that storm for the local newspaper, so I can tell you that at two-thirty in the morning of September 6, 1996, Hurricane Fran left no room for doubt. After more than eight hours of dodging falling trees and twisted, sparking electrical wires, after hours of standing with police officers as the syncopated flashing blue lights illuminated the hysterically whipping trees like strobes, I was almost done for the night. The squad car in which I had been riding had been called in as the police gave up in the worst of the storm, and as the wind continued to rise I had picked my way through the maze of obstructed highways and flooded dips. Near my house I grew overconfident and steered down a nearby hill for one last look at the madness, and soon found myself sitting in my pickup not five blocks from home. I couldnt drive forwardat a Y in the road, my headlights garishly illuminated collapsed trees that blocked both forks. I would have to back the truck, turn around, and slink out below leaning utility poles and thrashing trees. Before I backed away, though, I sat a moment to watch.