Roger Hill - Hunting Natures Fury: A Storm Chasers Obsession with Tornadoes, Hurricanes, and other Natural Disasters

G rowing up as a child in the suburbs of Long Island, New York, I was always fascinated by severe weather. Usually, storms came out of the west. Washington Street, where my familys house was located, ran east-west, and I would stand on the curb and look westward to see what might be coming from over the treetops.

During the summertime, thunderstorms would boil up over northern New Jersey and western Long Island, and I would watch them advance, like an approaching apocalypse. The sky would grow ominously dark, and before the rain and thunder arrived, the leaves of the trees would begin to flutter in a way they only did before a big storm. A wall of rain would march down the road, engulfing yard after yard until it at last reached our house.

I would stand on the front porch, under the protective covering of the roofs awning, and watch the torrential rain and intense lightning. Sometimes, the wind would whip the rain in under the awning, and Id seek shelter in the back corner of the porch. When the rain fell particularly hard and long, Washington Street would turn into a river, flooded by a creek at the end of our block that would overflow.

Inevitably, a bright bolt of lightning would strike a little too close for my comfortmost often in the tall, old oak tree directly across the streetand send me running back into the house. From the protection of its walls, Id safely watch out the living-room window, peering over the back of the sofa.

I wasnt yet seven years old when Hurricane Gloria made landfall on Long Island in September 1985. But I remember my giddy excitement and eagerness as I helped my mom tape the windows and shop for extra water, nonperishable food, extra batteries. When Gloria smacked into the south shore of Long Island, she brought with her 100-mile-per-hour winds that gusted to 115 mph.

I assumed my usual spot on the living-room couch to watch the wind and rain lash at the trees and houses in our neighborhood. I imagined that this was what it would be like to be inside a washing machine. Then the eye of the hurricane passed directly over our house. Almost instantly, the winds ceased, and an eerie calm came over the sky. No wind. No rain. No loud noises of trees and debris hitting the house. It was a fascinatingly sudden transition.

My dad and I stepped out the front door to survey the damage. Power lines lay in the street. Trees were toppled over everywhere, and tree limbs, leaves, and other debris littered the neighborhood. We walked together for fifteen minutes, clambering over the fallen trees and visiting our neighbors. Soon, though, we returned to the house before the southern eye wall would arrive and the wind and rain would once again return.