5/16/21 Sudan, TX

We returned to my once-home the Llano Estacado. Though today didn’t look like much from the standpoint of strong storms, the air was bursting with optimism as we kicked off my first feature-length “chasecation”. The past year was a bit rough on the world and on me, so the feeling of bounding through the rolling plains again was euphorically freeing.

We carried on northwestward out of Lubbock, down a road filled with good memories from adventures past. The day’s potential seemed to be dwindling as low-level air dried up and storms struggled to grow. But we met up with friends, new and old, and everything was alright. I remember joking, “looks like we marginal’d out today” in sentiments that our chances of seeing anything noteworthy were laughably low.

Was I ever wrong.

The clouds gathered to our northwest. While we waited, we made friends with a helpful farm dog, who tried her best to keep my chase partner out of trouble.

The sky grew dark as a storm started organizing across the barren cotton field.

The thunder started talking.

I was elated, and a bit out of sorts. Just yesterday I woke up in my own bed, nearly 1,500 miles away.

A crisp updraft exploded skyward while a ragged wall cloud danced about. Can’t say I was expecting this.

Only twenty-five minutes had passed and our little cumulonimbus, to my awe, was now a swirling supercell.

Did my eyes deceive me? I stared in disbelief for the entirety of the several long minutes that followed.

And the fragile funnel shot down to earth.

Then it withered away.

After I took this picture, I set my camera down and cried.

But it kept on twirling.

It glided over an ocean of glistening grain. At long last, I was home.

We let it float past us come sunset, to see if we could peer inside its sculpted facade.

It felt like breaking open an old stopwatch, trying to figure out how all the intricate little moving parts clicked together inside the confounding contraption I’ve been studying for years.