The temperature suddenly plunges. Our Camry chase vehicle, veteran of countless extreme weather jaunts, feels like an icebox thanks to the onslaught of hail mauling the windshield.
Above the engine's hum, thunder crackles. Lightning forks, exposing oncoming cars that slow to a crawl, pull in and hover. Shuddering, the Camry barrels on through the storm. Make that storms.
As planned, we have become entangled in a freak dual collision, which feels like it could be terminal. According to our storm-chasing guide, Jimmy Deguara — a teacher from western Sydney — we have nothing to fear. Apparently, the worst that can happen is punctured tyres. Thank the Faraday cage principle, which means that the car's metal skin should absorb any electrical jolts.
Still under ice bombardment, we plough on through the central tablelands village of O'Connell toward the twee town of Oberon. The hail now shrinks and mutates into milky but fierce sheeting rain that intermittently obliterates the cow-dotted fields fanning out from the verge.
Rear-view mirror
Earlier, in the war room at Deguara's sprawling Blue Mountains base, we pore over real-time satellite maps depicting storms rolling around like tumbleweed. The outlook seems positive. Let's hope so. Deguara, 40, admits he has had a lousy season.
"My worst ever — to the point of embarrassing," he says.
After several hours sipping tea, news from the Australian Government's Bureau of Meteorology finally surfaces. "Top priority for immediate broadcast. Severe thunderstorm warning for large hailstones, flash flooding and damaging wind," the warning states. The message is compounded by an on-screen orange splurge, which signals that the sizzle is up north, bearing west.
Showtime!
Road rage
After hitting the road, the storm in our crosshairs plays hard to get, tacking north. Cornering storms is an art that demands perseverance. Consequently, the rookie or unlucky veteran may drive for a day and return with nothing to report but road kill.
Empowered by his mathematical grounding, Deguara knows how to extrapolate data studied on-screen. Almost always, he nails his quarry — even if it takes a random diversion, which only whets his appetite. "Let's get out there and meet that mongrel!" he says. "I want to see it really explode over that valley, dump copious amounts of hail and rain and the lightning just go berserk over the hills."
Headed toward a black stain on the horizon, we pass through fields of waving corn in the fading afternoon light. The hours fritter by. "Pathetic," Deguara says.
Just when it seems that, aside from a shiver of turbulence, today will be a washout, we turn a corner then bam! Meteorological mayhem. Whatever dark forces preside over the tablelands unleash hell.
Dunoon destroyer
Sure, the uproar could be more intense. Suburban Sydney's patchwork fringes rarely muster the kind of big-league shock-and-awe savagery of twister hotspots like Oklahoma. Even so, New South Wales is Australia's stormiest state, according to Deguara.
Undoubtedly, things get very messy. In October 2007, a hail-laden "multivortex" tornado descended on the sleepy NSW town of Dunoon and tossed tiles and trees around before lighting the fuse that ignited an electricity substation.
Onward through the violent premature twilight we go, aquaplaning, busting puddles that rear up like hack-and-slash arcade game spooks. Deguara takes video footage and pumps the shutter of his stills camera, always searching for a new "super cell" — a severe thunderstorm with a deep, continuously rotating updraft liable to spawn hail or tornadoes.
Inspired by the superabundant footage, about 100 thrillseekers track storms in NSW alone. For better or worse, the way to become a YouTube sensation is to capture a house being uprooted and lifted into the air à la Wizard of Oz.
When destruction or even casualties beckon, Deguara finds the prospect "eerie" and "scary", he stresses. Still, he lives and breathes storms. Indeed, he says, they keep him sane.
Down a gear
When the mood takes him, Deguara turns on the radio to hear how much static it is kicking out and gauge the charge in the atmosphere. Gradually, the crackle starts losing its snap.
Like a disturbed viper, the lightning retreats and flickers from a distance less and less frequently. The downpour diminishes into drizzle, which in turn gives way to vapour, bright sunshine and birdsong.
Smudgy and obstructed by farmland, the storm nonetheless seems to have some fizz in it yet. Tantalised but determined to execute a second interception, Deguara explores every shining, slippery avenue as a rainbow rolls up in the mirror.
For Australian storm chasing info visit Australian Thunderbolt Tours and Australian Severe Weather.
Do you have any hair-raising storm stories to tell? What do you think of storm chasing? Let us know on the form below.
Home