That’s one of my favorite Mark Twain quotes.
A friend recently suggested I may be a bit too obsessed with the weather. I won’t deny it. In fact, I’ll readily admit I am a lot obsessed with the weather. I’m one of those people who susbcribes to a personal weather forecast for my lat/long. I regularly check for impending showers on the Doppler radar.
My friend’s suggestion did set me to contemplating why I’m a weather addict though. I believe there are several reasons:
1. I live (and have lived most of my life) in meteorologically dynamic Western Washington. This area is a weatherman’s dream or nightmare. Big forces (Pacific Ocean, continental shape) combine with smaller, more immediate, geographical forces (Cascade & Olympic Mountains; Strait of Juan de Fuca & Puget Sound) creating weather systems which are channeled in infinitely variable scenarios over the dramatic geography. Even in spring and summer, stable air masses are short lived. The layered look in outdoor apparel may have been invented here – if you are an outdoor person, you need to be prepared for almost any weather, almost every day.
2. I crewed, lived aboard and cruised on small sailboats for about 20 years - primarily between Puget Sound and Alaska. Take this area’s dynamic weather, add a small boat on the large sea, and you up the ante on your weather obsession. Although I did crew on a couple of sailboats where the standard policy was “no-matter-what-the-weather,” I tried to avoid that Deadliest Catch weather whenever possible. You avoid deadly weather by giving yourself a flexible schedule, educating yourself and by staying in tune – not just listening to forecasts, though they become elemental; but also watching the clouds, sea conditions and barometric pressure. I believe weather awareness becomes innate to most long-time boaters – on sailboats it’s even more critical. Wind is your primary propulsion – to use it, you have to be out in it. Watching the weather becomes integral and habitual – a hard habit to kick.
3. And now – though Griz and I have a perfectly comfortable house and a large heated shop – we live in the forest. It is a rare day when we are not outside for projects or pure pleasure. Weather continues to be integral to our lives. Keeping an eye on the forecasts and the Doppler radar allows me to take best advantage of the day. I admit, weather is rarely as critical now as it was when we were living aboard. We hardly notice some big storms that set people talking – after all, how big can a storm be if it doesn’t move your home. But there are some weather risks associated with living among tall trees. We expect periodic power outages and it really isn’t very wise to go for a casual walk in a big wind. You also have to be cautious in moderate wind – one reason old evergreens get so old – they shed unnecessary branches to reduce their sail area for the big storms. Big limbs can be just as deadly as a whole tree if you aren’t alert. Unless it’s very calm out, I leave the iPod behind on longer walks. Listening for that distinctive crack (or unexpected rustle) is just part of being forest smart.
4. And the most recent development in my weather obsession comes from many years of a life outdoors and many years of life in general. Mid-life brings with it little reminders of every injury and repetitive stress in your history. Many of those little reminders seem accentuated by weather change. My body’s more sensitive to voluntary abuse than when I was younger: I’m more uncomfortable in (and resist tackling the hardest jobs in) extreme heat or cold. Fortunately, I can still do most things I did when younger – but my body makes more noise in the process and with some activities, it’s wise to pace myself. Keeping an eye on the weather allows me to set that pace or if necessary, take a day off. Wisdom of us ancients: “Nothing wrong with a snow day – even in the middle of summer.”
Forecasters are predicting our current Arctic blast (sub-freezing temps with no daytime thaw) will last through this entire week. (So far we only have about an inch of snow, though, so that might make it tolerable.) They say the last time this happened was 1990, although I think we came pretty close in 2006, which included record snowfall (30 inches here) and lengthy power outages (10 days for some people – 4 days for us).
When you live aboard in a large marina, you get used to the sound of wind in the rigging as background noise. But the 50 knot northerly that brought in that 1990 Arctic blast was an unusual, high-pitched howler – and it howled for days. WaterBrother was moored with her bow facing north and we slept in the V-berth. Although WaterBrother had an insulated hull, insulation is pretty minimalist on a 37′ sailboat. Our Dickinson diesel heater - which generally kept us toasty through Seattle winters – did a fine job on most of the cabin, but that strong northerly wind cooling the bow made the V-berth frigid. Before Griz got home, I had rigged a cocoon for myself with extra sleeping bags and space blankets. I’d also revitalized my appreciation of polypropylene long underwear.
