June 17, 2023
Statistics
Initial Target
Start
End
Storm Intercepts
Tornadoes
Hail
Wind
Features
Miles
Turpin, OK
Lamar, CO 1:15 PM 6/17/2023
Springfield, IL 8:00 PM 6/19/2023
Beaver, OK
0
5"
0 mph
Wall Cloud, Funnel, RFD Clear Slot, Giant Hail
1420
Summary
Targeted central OK Panhandle for late afternoon tornadic supercells, intercepting storm near Turpin, OK noting wall cloud and attempted tornadogenesis. Attempted to chase from within inflow notch, noting strong rotation beneath occluded base, followed by giant hail which heavily damaged vehicle, ending chase. Noted brief funnel cloud while exiting chase southward into TX Panhandle.
Crew and Equipment
Chase partners: Jennifer Brindley Ubl. Equipment: Sony AX100, Canon 60D with EFS 10-22, Samsung S9.
Video
Details
Convective allowing models gave a consistent signal that the Oklahoma Panhandle was going to initiate with discrete supercells by midafternoon between Guymon and Beaver. We targeted Turpin and arrived on cue to see the fledgling storm go up southwest of town. With an X-marks-the-spot type of target in the Plains I expected a large storm chaser convergence, and wanted to stay a couple steps ahead and downstream of the storm and thus the hordes. My aversion to the crowd is a character flaw that can cost us some of the better angles. I set us up a few miles to the northeast of the forward flank, where we had no view. There was no reason for us to be that far away given the slowing and right turning motion as the cell matured. Brindley urged me go south so we could actually watch the base.
And Brindley was right. A beautiful updraft base and wall cloud beneath a classic supercell came into view as we cleared the forward flank. The pull-offs at the paved four-way intersection were all claimed by multiple groups of chasers of course. We settled for a spot down the road a quarter mile to the east. We had a great view of the storm itself, but hills blocked our view of the western horizon and the ground beneath the storm.
We couldn’t make out the dust ourselves, nor was the rotation in the lowering strong enough to convince me that it actually was tornadic, so we wound up not counting the “bird fart” tornado. The storm had picked up a tornado warning with strong midlevel rotation, however, and with a couple more cycles of base lowering rain cooled air, it probably would be a serious tornado threat.
We could only go a few miles east before we came to a T-intersection and had to make a decision between two paved east options. One was a few miles to the north that headed into the town of Beaver. Another was a few more miles to the south. The southern route would keep us out of the forward flank and away from any severe weather hazards. However, we’d have a more distant view of the storm and I was worried we’d get caught in the long, lumbering storm chaser “conga line” of traffic. I turned left for the closer, more aggressive play to the north. I guess I expected the storm to still have a little bit of a north component to its motion, but it was now tracking solidly east.
We got right in line with the supercell as it started to cycle. A dramatic blue green swirl developed in the base. It churned with much stronger rotation than the previous halfhearted attempt. We would have had front row seats to the tornado show, and yet the storm still wasn’t ready to do it. I shot a short timelapse sequence of the swirl, and as the storm bore down on us, I was reluctant to leave the dramatic scene. I was also finally becoming concerned with how precarious our route was. We were already in the notch on the edge of the forward flank, and our paved road stair stepped yet further north before going east. But how bad would it be I asked Brindley, and she scoffed as if either of us could actually know. The level 3 hail marker on our radar software, which was often an overestimate, indicated two-and-a-half-inch hail within the core. And the storm still looked like a fledgling to me. Quarter sized hail, maybe a few golfballs was no big deal. What I didn’t realize was that the storm was in the midst of explosive growth, and the radar indicated hail size was a gross underestimate.
We scrambled to pack up cameras and get rolling, not noticing Hank racing past us southbound, backtracking down the route we both had taken. He had already sampled some of the hail from deeper within the notch and recognized that this storm was growing into a monster that would swallow the east road to Beaver. He radioed us to warn of the approaching core. We weren’t chasing with the team on this run, however. Our radio was switched off.
We scrambled to pack up cameras and get rolling, not noticing Hank racing past us southbound, backtracking down the route we both had taken. He had already sampled some of the hail from deeper within the notch and recognized that this storm was growing into a monster that would swallow the east road to Beaver. He radioed us to warn of the approaching core. We weren’t chasing with the team on this run, however. Our radio was switched off.
We raced east. The sky had that classic look chasers see just before they’re massively cored, a light to dark gradient from right to left, deceptively benign looking and the balmy clear air goal in sight, yet also impossibly out of reach like the end of the rainbow. Quarter sized hail pinged off the van, then golfballs. The hail strikes grew louder and louder as the hail size rapidly increased. We raced even faster trying to beat the core. But the trap was set and we had taken the bait, putting ourselves in the middle of a miles long span of road that was being completely overtaken by the core. Ever growing stones pummeled a nearby pond sending sprays of water high into the air as if they were cannonballs. “Seven miles,” Brindley grimly announced, the distance to our paved south option out of the core.
The first baseballs struck the windshield, cracking the glass in long meandering lines and concentric rings. I wasn’t really concerned at this point, more annoyed than anything. I had ruined windshields on chases before. It wasn’t a thrill for me, but a costly positioning mistake I would pay for out of pocket, and maybe even cost us the rest of the chase. However, when the softballs started to hit, I was genuinely worried that we had gotten ourselves into some real trouble, that it wasn’t going to be ok. The baseballs hit with a sharp crack, but the softballs impacted with a sickeningly dull thud mixed with a jingling “sploosh”. Each one cratered the windshield, deforming the laminate so it bowed in toward us, while also pulverizing the glass into tiny bits. The structural integrity of the windshield was compromised, the crushed glass held in merely by the now punctured laminate, which was sagging under the weight. Each new hit sent a spray of pulverized glass into our faces. I could feel it on my lips, and I winced and looked away in a futile gesture to shield my unprotected eyes. But I couldn’t look away because I was driving. We could lose the entire windshield, and all the glass in the vehicle. Then what? We’d be riding it out exposed to this dangerous storm.
We had to stop. We simply weren’t going to make another seven miles in this barrage in this state. We happened upon an unpaved crossroad, so I pulled off the pavement and angled the van southwest to watch the business end of the supercell. The base now looked relatively disorganized, and the storm would need to cycle again before it was a tornado threat. The relatively slow mover would have enough time to do so as we sat there, but fortunately for us, the storm was still tracking solidly east, keeping us north and out of the path of the Bear’s Cage.
This of course meant that we were also still solidly inside the track of the hail core. Any gain we made getting ahead of the storm would now be undone as the same portion of core tracked over us while stopped. I wanted to angle the van to best take the hits, but we weren’t sure which way the wind was blowing the hail, and the giant stones appeared to be falling straight down.
So we sat there in the core. It sounded like a maniacal Gallagher was standing on the van’s roof, swinging his sledgehammer down into the sheet metal with thunderous booms. Baseballs bounced this way and that in the field in front of us, like we were inside of a lotto number picker machine.
This of course meant that we were also still solidly inside the track of the hail core. Any gain we made getting ahead of the storm would now be undone as the same portion of core tracked over us while stopped. I wanted to angle the van to best take the hits, but we weren’t sure which way the wind was blowing the hail, and the giant stones appeared to be falling straight down.
So we sat there in the core. It sounded like a maniacal Gallagher was standing on the van’s roof, swinging his sledgehammer down into the sheet metal with thunderous booms. Baseballs bounced this way and that in the field in front of us, like we were inside of a lotto number picker machine.
Another softball to the windshield. I stopped and put on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses, despite the backlit mud road now being harder to see. Rolling again, the suction mount affixing the camcorder to the windshield finally gave up, the cup no longer able to hold onto the sagging mass. The camcorder fell and we lost video of the rest of our hail encounter, which was far from over.
The tires started to fling mud and I was losing a little traction. I had enough control that I was tempted to push on and get out of the hail with that hazardous, “we can make it” attitude. It’s a trap, as the further you get from the paved road, the less these backroads are maintained. And we were crossing the path of the Bear’s Cage. I could envision how this would end. We’d slide off the road into the ditch, and the storm would cycle on top of our heads. “Mr. Safety” rolled by a tornado after screwing around in the notch and escaping south. The situation was all kinds of wrong. And yet the way out looked like it was right there, balmy sunny air and another paved east-west just a few more miles to our south. It was so tempting, but deep down I knew better. So as much as it pained me, we stopped and pulled a precarious three point and turned back north. Back into the hail.
Baseballs continued to slam us as we rejoined the paved county road west of Beaver. This time we’d turn west and exit out through the arm of the hook, which was almost on us now. A loud shattering crash erupted from the back of the van. We lost the right rear panel window. We’d lose the rest as the baseballs would be pitched into us sideways with the strong northerlies in the hook. We scrambled west, looking for some cover. The only thing around in this vast, open stretch of the Oklahoma Panhandle was a small farm house. There was no overhead cover, but we nosed up to the south side of the house, hoping it would shield us from some of the wind driven stones. We rode the rest of the storm out there. Baseballs continued to fall around us for what seemed like an eternity but was only a couple minutes.
The storm was off of us finally and we were back in clear air, but with a gaping hole in the van now. And we weren’t out of the woods yet. We were exasperated to see another huge, gnarly hailer of a supercell was trailing the first. The western sky looked black under its base. We’d have just a few minutes to act before it struck. In the drive of the Plains house, we scrambled to cover the van. I carry a roll of heavy-duty black plastic sheeting and duct tape for just such an occasion. It sits in the van’s storage bins along with a bunch of other odds and ends that hopefully go forgotten about for years.
I only had a retractable razor to cut the plastic, and no good working surfaces, just wet, uneven ground. We tried to hold the plastic up and cut off a rectangle big enough to patch the window frame, but the sheet was folded and flapping in the wind, and I managed to cut myself on the razor of course. We worked as quickly as we could to affix the sloppily cut sheet, leaving bloody handprints on the frame of the van as the next monster bore down on us. The duct tape barely held to the wet metal.
I only had a retractable razor to cut the plastic, and no good working surfaces, just wet, uneven ground. We tried to hold the plastic up and cut off a rectangle big enough to patch the window frame, but the sheet was folded and flapping in the wind, and I managed to cut myself on the razor of course. We worked as quickly as we could to affix the sloppily cut sheet, leaving bloody handprints on the frame of the van as the next monster bore down on us. The duct tape barely held to the wet metal.
We had a haphazard covering over the missing window, and got back on the road, eastbound to stay in the gap between the two supercells before we could bail south out of Beaver, our original chase route. We had a few minutes to take in just how obliterated the windshield was, and how much glass there was everywhere. The dash was littered with crushed glass, and the interior of the van was coated in a layer razor-sharp glass dust. You couldn’t help but get cut on it. Every surface of the van we touched resulted in tiny bubbles of blood emerging on our skin.
We made the turn south out of Beaver, where we had a clear shot out of the path of the incoming storm, but also a view of the rear flank of our original target storm, backlit in pretty evening colors against the orangey eastern sky. Receding away from us, we could see a robust block wall cloud churning away, the chase that we were now missing. Detached just to its north there looked to be a developing funnel. We turned west onto the grid to watch it. We were in no position to pursue anything, but why not enjoy what little view we did have, especially since we were largely clear of the remaining threats.
The snaky funnel churned away for about a minute before dissipating, never descending more than about a third of the way to the ground. Although they were much closer, the wall cloud probably occluded it from the view of chasers who were due south of it on the main paved east west. The distant funnel was a tiny consolation prize for us, but we both reacted with a shrug and a chuckle. I was surprised to see a few chasers hanging around this far back, and another group was coming back west down the unpaved road, heading away from the storm. We surmised the road degraded to the east and they were forced to backtrack, which made me feel better about us not pushing our unpaved southbound escape route earlier.
The snaky funnel churned away for about a minute before dissipating, never descending more than about a third of the way to the ground. Although they were much closer, the wall cloud probably occluded it from the view of chasers who were due south of it on the main paved east west. The distant funnel was a tiny consolation prize for us, but we both reacted with a shrug and a chuckle. I was surprised to see a few chasers hanging around this far back, and another group was coming back west down the unpaved road, heading away from the storm. We surmised the road degraded to the east and they were forced to backtrack, which made me feel better about us not pushing our unpaved southbound escape route earlier.
The chase was over for us, obviously. We continued south into the Texas Panhandle to get well clear of the convective activity. Our shoddy patch job on the back window was already coming undone, tape and plastic sheeting flapping in the wind and slapping the side of the van. Just before sunset, we stopped at a self-serve car wash in Canadian that had a coin operated vacuum. We emptied the van of quarters and then the small bills from our wallets into the change machine. There was so much glass, the dashboard covered in crushed glass, glass “sand” all over the front seats and console, and chunks of black back window all over the trunk. We each took a job, one person working the vacuum and the other recutting and taping up the plastic sheet covering. We sweated as we worked in the hot, muggy warm sector airmass, while also being mauled by mosquitoes. Then, mercifully, the gust front from the line of storms far to our north caught up with us, blasting us with cool, refreshing outflow and forcing the mosquitoes to take cover.
We’d never get all of the glass cleaned up, but we had gotten a lot of it and the back window was now secured. We continued due south down to I-40 and Shamrock, TX for a room at the Holiday Inn Express. After checking in, we hung out in the parking lot gawking at the damage to the van. A gigantic stone had struck the hood, caving it in. The frame at the top of the driver’s side door had also been caved in, which must have required an impressive amount of force. The driver side mirror was shattered as well as the right headlight cover, but all the lights still worked. The van itself looked like a golfball. I finally got my hail dents. Brindley took photos and I drank a beer as the gust front caught up with us once more, the surprisingly strong winds rocking the van and sending plumes of dust billowing through the hotel parking lot.
The next morning, I called around to see who could get us a new windshield. So many storms had raked the region the previous several days that seemingly every shop from Amarillo to Oklahoma City was booked solid for days. Rather than be stuck indefinitely, we decided to attempt driving all the way back to Illinois with the busted windshield.
12:29 PM
Conclusion
One of our more memorable misadventures, our encounter with the huge hail cost us the rest of the chase and a repair bill for some new glass, but fortunately we didn’t miss a big tornado show. A rain wrapped tornado was reported in the core southeast of Beaver, OK after our hail encounter, but it was an embedded circulation, and not photogenic. However, we did miss a photogenic wall cloud shot south of Beaver. We didn’t get a chance to really look at the largest stones up close, but we estimate the biggest hail we encountered was about 4 to 5 inches in diameter, bigger than a softball. I’ve seen hail at least that large once or twice lying on the ground on previous chases, but this was by far the largest hail I’ve ever been in as it was falling. We nicknamed the van “Big Smash” after this chase, and it was fun showing up again on the Twisters set a month later with the newly and heavily hail damaged van. Two years after this event, I’m still finding bits of glass in nooks and crannies of the van, and vacuuming it off the dashboard as it’s blown out of the vents.
Lessons Learned
- Monitor the radio, even when you’re not caravanning.
- Have safety glasses at the ready so your eyes are protected during a damaging hail encounter.
- Don’t try to duck out of giant hail by taking a sketch road across the path of the Bear’s Cage.
- Use hail guards if you want to chase massive High Plains supercells from within the notch… or better yet, just don’t chase in the notch.
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