I don’t recall the exact day of the week, or the month, but
I can tell you it was late in the winter of 1977. I know that much because I took over as day
shift weather observer at 8am and it was already daylight. While daylight could come late in the
Aleutians, it wasn’t near as bad as upstate Alaska. In fact, the length of day/night isn’t that
much different than in Seattle.
On my first
observation I almost called the sky clear, which would have been a first for
me, but there was a little bit of cirrus to the west, so I called it scattered. It looked like it was going to be a fairly
nice, uneventful day with just a touch of clouds and light wind.
Was I ever wrong! I
may not remember the exact timing and numbers since the mind get fuzzy over
time, but I will never forget the event.
We didn’t pay that much attention to the weather
forecasts. We had a forecaster on the
island, but he was strictly there to support the reconnaissance aircraft. Our “official” forecast came out of Elmendorf
AFB, and it usually left something to be desired. Not that it was their fault since they were
over 1500 miles away.
Within the hour the clouds began to increase and the wind
had picked up, but that was a typical day on the island. I never saw the sky clear or the wind calm in
the entire year I was there.
By late morning we were overcast and snow had started to
fall and the wind was increasing by the minute.
By midafternoon it was snowing heavy and the wind was over
50 knots, the magic number to limited outside activity on the island.
At 3pm, my boss called and told me to be patient; my relief
would be in as soon as the weather eased up.
By then the wind was gusting to around 110 knots and the snow and
blowing snow made it impossible to be outside.
At one point I had to measure the snow. Those were the rules; everybody in the world
measures snow at the same time, so I put on my parka and went outside. I could have estimated it, but that wouldn’t
have been near as much fun. After all,
how many people get to go outside in what amounted to a frozen hurricane?
I went no further than 10 to 12 yards from the
building. I could see the bare light
bulb above the door to the weather shack and the light on a pole in one corner
of the concrete slab that provided the shack’s foundation.
As I stood there, everything suddenly turned white - a total
whiteout. I could not even see my feet
and after a few seconds my equilibrium started to get shaky. I knew where the building was -- it was right
over there -- but I wasn’t totally sure where “right over there” was.
Thankfully, just as I started to stoop down and touch the
ground, I caught a faint glimpse of the light over the door. That was all the reference I needed and I
literally ran to the building.
Near midnight, the wind had started to slacken. The wind gusts had dropped to the 50-60 knot
range, so one of the weather balloon guys made it in, he only had to walk 50
yards or so, but still no bus, so no relief for me.
It’s not uncommon for military folks to work extended hours,
especially in such a remote location, but when my relief showed up the next
morning I really didn’t feel all that tired. Constant activity and adrenalin will do that
to you.
