A Winter Storm

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.