SKY SIGNS FOR CAMPERS The weather-wise, even more so than poets, are born. But that only goes to say that weather-wisdom can be fathered. For poetry and canoeing and the art of making fires, once the desire for these things is born, may be aided infinitely by observation and practice. Nobody can teach a man the smell of the wind. But the chap who feels nature beating under his heart can, by taking thought, add anything to his stature. So it is with those who are called weather-wise. An unconscious desire, a little conscious knowledge, a good deal of experimentation with the cycle of days, and you have a weatherman. These chapters aim to put the little conscious knowledge into the hands of the people with the unconscious desire, so that when they take their week in the woods for the first time (and their month for the second time) they may enjoy the shifting scenery of the sky-ocean and, incidentally, a dry skin. For I take it that everybody At the very least, one grain of weather wisdom prevents a mush of discomfort. And if, fellow-camper, the following observations gathered on a thousand thoughtless walks do not tally (for the northeastern states) with yours, write me, so that in the end we may finally contrive together a completer handbook of our weather. THE CLOUDS Clouds are signposts on the highway of the winds. Every phase of the weather, except stark clearness, is commented upon by a cloud The cirrus cloud is always the first to appear in the series that leads up to the storm. It looks like the tail of Pegasus and for it the old forecasters in their forecastles made a special proverb. “Mackerel scales and mares’ tails These white plumes and scrolls which are in reality glistening ice-breath, fly at the height of five, six, seven, and even eight miles. And as a sign of coming storm they are about as infallible as anything may be in this erratic world. They were born in the cradle of a storm. The storm center was breathing warmed air upward to great heights, and although the disc of the storm itself was only two or three miles deep, its nucleus, crater-like, shot warm columns twice as far. With just enough moisture content to make a showing against the blue these streamers flowed to the eastward. At those dizzy heights the prevailing westerlies are in full force, blowing from eighty to two hundred miles an hour night after night and day after day. These westerlies caught the storm exhalations, the Just a few strands of cirrus have little significance. They may be condensation from a local disturbance, or a back fling from a past storm. But if the procession of the cirri has some continuity and broadens to the western horizon it is a sign about eight times in ten that a cyclone is approaching. Occasionally the storm center is too far to the south or north to cause rains at your locality, but the cirri bank up on the horizon and their lacework covers the sky. If they appear to be moving toward the region of greatest cloudiness it is not a sign of precipitation. This condition is most apparent at Philadelphia when the storm center over Alabama or Mississippi floats out to sea by way of Florida without having the energy to turn north. Then the cirrus is seen thickly on our southern horizon. Looking closely one sees that the cirri are moving from the northwest, and are being drawn into the storm area instead of proceeding in advance of it. Careful watching will sometimes enable one The fine wavy cirrus clouds often increase in number, develop in texture until the blue sky has become veiled with a muslin-like layer of mist. This is the cirro-stratus, and is a development of the cirrus, but it does not fly so high. Its significance is of greater humidity and is the first real confirmation of the earlier promise of the cirri. Another form that the cirro stratus may assume is the mackerel sky,—clouds with the light and shade of the scales of a fish. If this formation is well-defined and following cirrus it is a fairly accurate storm indicator. It is The old proverb, “Mackerel sky, soon wet or soon dry,” expresses this uncertainty. If dry is to follow the scales will appreciably lessen in size and perhaps disappear. If the cirro-stratus or scaly clouds are followed by a conspicuous lowering it is only a question of a few hours until precipitation begins. The cirro-stratus at a lower level is called alto-stratus and this becomes heavy enough to obscure the sun. The cloud process from stratus on is slow or rapid, depending upon the energy of the coming storm and the rate of its approach. In most cases the clouds darken, solidify, and become a uniform gray, no shadows thrown, no joints. Soon after the leaden hues are thus seamless the first snowflake falls. If it doesn’t it is a sign that the process of condensation is halting: the storm will not be severe. Sometimes there is no precipitation after all this preparation, but under these circumstances the wind has not ventured much east of north. From the time that the snow starts the clouds have chance to tell little. Only by a process of relative lightening or darkening can the progress of the storm be followed and the wind, and not the But in summer the clouds become even more eloquent than the wind. The rain-cloud, called the nimbus, becomes different from the dull winter spectacle. In summer air becomes heated much more quickly and the warm currents pour up into the cold altitudes where they condense into the marvelous Mont Blancs (or ice-cream cones) of a summer afternoon. These piled masses of vapor are cumulus clouds, and if they don’t overdo the matter are a sign of fair weather. They should appear as little cottony puffs about ten or eleven in the morning, increase slowly in size, rear their dazzling heads and then start to melt about four in the afternoon. But perhaps the upward rush of warm, moist air has been so great in the morning that the afternoon cooling cannot dispose of it all without spilling. Then occurs a little shower,—the April sort. Often in our mountainous districts it showers every day for this reason. The great thunderstorms come for greater reasons: they are yoked to a low pressure area and Cumulus clouds are called fair weather clouds until their bellies swell and blacken and they begin to form a combination in restraint of sunlight. Even then it will not rain so much out of the blackness as out of the grayness behind it, and if there is no grayness chances are that you will escape a wetting. One can almost always measure the amount of rain that is imminent by the density of the curtain being let down from the rear of the cloud. If you can see the other clouds through it or the landscape the shower will be slight. If a gray curtain obscures everything behind it you had better pull your canoe out of the water and hide under it if time is less valuable than a dry skin. Such showers may be successive but rarely continuous. Rain clouds have been observed within 230 yards of the ground. Very often it can be seen to rain from lofty clouds and the fringe of moisture apparently fail to reach the earth, because the condensation was licked up and totally absorbed on entering a stratum of warmer air. The reverse of this occurs on rare occasions;—condensation takes place so rapidly that a cloud does not have time to form, and rain comes If the cumulus clouds of the summer’s afternoon do not decrease in size as evening approaches showers may be looked for during the night. And if the morning sky is full of these puffy little clouds the day’s evaporation on adding to them will probably cause rain. A trained eye will distinguish between a stale and fresh appearance in cloud formation, the light, newly made, fresh clouds, like fresh bread, contain more moisture. If the clouds have much white about them they need not be feared as rain-bearers. Clouds are much higher in summer than in winter and the raindrops of warm air are larger than those of cool. If cumulus clouds heap up to leeward, that is, to the north, or northwest on a south or southwest wind a heavy storm is sure to follow. This is notably so as regards the series of showers in connection with the passage of a low-pressure area. The wind will bear heavy showers from the south (in summer) for a whole morning and half the afternoon with intervals of brilliant sky and burning sun. Or perhaps Although no rain may have fallen while the wind was in the southern quarter yet that constituted the first half of the storm and the onslaught of rain and thunder the second. While the storm area moved from the west to the east the circulation of air about the center was vividly demonstrated by the south wind blowing into the depression, whose center was epitomized by the moment of calm before the charge of the plumed thunderheads from the northwest. Most camping is done either in hilly or mountainous country where the movement of clouds is swifter and more changeable than over flat lands. There is one sign of great reliability: if the mountains put on their nightcaps the weather is changing for the wetter, and if clouds rise on the slopes of the hills or up ravines, or increase their height noticeably over the Often clouds may be noticed moving in two or even three directions on different levels at once. The upper stratum will probably be cirrus from the west. Cumulus or stratus may be floating up from the south. A light drift of vapor called scud may fly on the surface easterly wind. Such a confused condition of wind circulation betokens an unsettled system of air pressures and as frequent collisions of the air bodies at varying temperatures are inevitable rains, probably heavy, will follow. On clear days one will be surprised to see isolated clouds, usually the torn, thin sort, drifting across the sky from the east. A change will follow soon. In winter black, hard clouds betoken a bleak wind. Clear winter days several times a season show a brilliant blue sky filling with great cumulus clouds of dark blue, blurred at the top and gray at the base. They will sprinkle snow in A sky full of white clouds and much light is a cheerful sign of continuing fair weather. The softer the sky the milder the weather and the more gentle the wind. It is the dark gloomy blues that bring the wind. But do not mistake the woolly softness of the rolling clouds before a thunderstorm. A sudden and often violent gust follows. Tumbling clouds in any event should make one wary of venturing on water. Summer drownings would not be so numerous if the portent of the squall were heeded. To this data might be added many singular cloud formations that are not observed often. The funnel shaped cloud of the tornado, the green shades of the hurricane cloud, the green sky of cold weather showing out between layers of steel blue, coppery tints that show before heavy storms sometimes, variations of color at sunset each of which has a meaning which practice in deciphering will make clear. But enough has been given to show sky-searchers how many are the tips of coming weather that may be read from a conglomeration of fog particles. Nobody with eyes should be caught unawares by day. The look of the sunset shadows forth much of the coming night. And THE WINDS The wind is the ring-master of the clouds. It whistles and they obey. Therefore to be windwise is to be weatherwise, almost. One can get a hold on the wind by learning to gauge its strength. Look at the trees or the smoke from your city chimneys and guess how fast it blows at eight o’clock in the morning, or eight at night. The weather report the next day will tell you how nearly you were right. Beginning is easy; anybody can guess a calm. When the leaves are just moving lazily the Weather Bureau calls it a light or gentle breeze, moving from 2 to 5 miles an hour. A fresh breeze, from 6 to 15 miles will stir the twigs at first and finally swing the branches about. From 16 to 25 miles, a brisk wind, will cause white caps on the lakes, tossing the tops of the trees, but breaking only small twigs. Increasing from 26 to 40 miles it becomes a high wind that breaks branches on trees, wrecks signs in the towns, causes high waves at sea and roars like the ocean in heavy squalls through the woods. From 40 to 60 miles an hour makes a At 60 trees are uprooted, chimneys may go, it is difficult to walk against, the noise becomes very great but rather inspires than frightens. As the gale increases from 60 to 80 (which velocity the Bureau rather weakly calls a storm wind), danger rapidly increases. Trees are prostrated, the uproar becomes terrifying, walking without aid is impossible, the great ocean liners are in danger, the sea becomes a whitened surface of driving spume that heaps up into piles of water thirty or more feet high, windows are blown in and frame houses cannot stand much greater velocities. Anything from 80 miles an hour up is well called a hurricane. Everything goes at 100. At Galveston the machine that registered the wind velocity blew away at 100. They have better instruments now, and in many places velocities of over a hundred miles an hour have been recorded. As high as 186 miles was registered on the top of Mt. Washington, and in a single gust 110 at Montreal. The higher one goes the greater the velocity of the wind. On the top of Mt. Washington 100 miles is rather common for hours at a time and 150 is recorded now and then. That is only 6000 feet above Boston. If such a force struck Boston for a minute it would be blown en masse into the Bay. Velocities on land are less than those at sea, because of the resulting friction from obstacles. Velocities in summer are lower (thunder gusts excepted) than in winter. Since the wind is caused by differences in atmospheric pressure, and that in turn by disparities in temperature, Throughout most of our land certain winds have always the same bearing upon the weather and this correspondence is roughly the same over most of the country. West winds, for instance, are an almost universal guarantee of clear weather. The Pacific Coast and western Florida are the exceptions. Northwest winds bring clear skies and cool weather everywhere. In winter in the north plateau section heavy snows arrive in advance of the severe cold waves that come on these northwest gales. North winds are the cold bearing ones. Clear skies prevail under their influence. Northeast winds are cold, raw snow-bearing winds in winter and spring and bring chilly rains in midsummer. East winds are the surest rainbringers of all for the eastern two-thirds of the country, and are soon followed by rain with a shift of wind The greatest falls of rain occur, however, with the southeast winds, whose moisture content is greater than that of the others because they are warmer and blow off water except in Rocky Mountain districts. South winds are warm and contain much moisture, which falls in showers rather than in continuous rains. The southwest winds of winter precede a thaw and are much damper than west winds. In summer over much of our country they are hot, parching winds that injure vegetation. The average velocity of the wind from these different quarters is variable in different parts of the country, the severest being on the southeast and northwest quadrants. The highest winds are always where the steepest gradients are; that is, where the barometric pressure decreases or increases the fastest. The steepest gradients are usually on the northeast and northwest sides of the storm center, with the exception of the Atlantic Coast where the southeast winds are often highest. The average for the northeast quadrant is 16 miles, for S. E. 30, for S. W. 20, and for the N. W. 30 miles an hour. ALTO-STRATUS Courtesy of Richard F. Warren Not so high as cirro-stratus, and yet partaking of the same skeiny texture. This would be a normal sky in winter about six hours after the veil of cirrus had begun to throw its haze about the sun. No other cloud formations appear, however, and so the area of precipitation is still pretty far away. In summer such a sky is less common. If the disturbance is to amount to anything the cirro-cumulus will soon form. If the wind is from a westerly quarter the blanket of cloud is doubtless a drift from some distant storm, which will not affect this locality. The wind is always blowing toward a storm and away from clear weather. The period of time when the barometer is beginning to rise after having been very low is that when the strongest winds blow. Some sections of our country have special kinds of wind that are peculiarly their own, notably Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana where the chinook reigns. This phenomenon belongs only to the cold season and only to the coldest days of it. It is a warm wind that begins to blow without much warning from the southern quarter. It is caused by a body of cold air suddenly falling from a great height. As it falls its descent heats it and it causes a rise in the temperature of the surrounding locality that greatly exceeds any rise from other causes. The increase in temperature will be as much as forty degrees in fifteen minutes. This sudden dry heat is a great snow-eater. If it were not for the chinook the snow-blanket would stay so much longer on the cattle ranges Another phenomenon of the air that is of tremendous benefit to man is the sea-breeze. During the intense heat of a hot wave the wind may shift to the east in Boston and in fifteen minutes coats are comfortable. Such a shift may bring relief to a strip of land two hundred miles wide along our entire eastern seaboard. The sea-breeze is explained by the fact that the land cools more quickly than the sea and also warms more easily. During the whole forenoon of a summer’s day the sun has been pouring upon land and sea, but the land-air has become much hotter than the air over the sea. It rises and the sea-air rushes landward. By midnight the land has cooled off even more than the sea and the heavier air now presses out to sea again. On every normal day this balancing process takes place. If it doesn’t conditions are abnormal and chances are that mischief is brewing. This ebb and flow of warmer and cooler air is, on a small scale, exactly what is happening on a vastly The exchange of air between mountain side and valley is similar to the land-and-sea breeze. The rarer air on the mountain side heats faster by day and cools faster by night than the denser air in the valley. Therefore during the day it rises and the valley air rushes up to take its place; during the night it cools and sinks into the valley. This is a great help when one is shut up in a secluded valley for several days and cannot get a good view of the skies. The atmosphere is acting properly and will remain settled so long as the air blows up your ravine for most of the day, and turns about sundown and blows out and down the ravine like a flood of refreshing water. Of course many valleys are so large as to be affected, not by these local causes, but by the larger movements of the anticyclones when the sure-clear west wind may blow up the valley for three days at a time. But, nevertheless, for most mountainous places the logic holds and you In times of calm prepare for storm. An eminent meteorologist has frowned upon me for saying that. It is not the whole truth, I admit, but there is a certain kind of calm which happens often enough to justify the remark. It happens this way. A severe storm has passed. The customary anticyclone with its brisk northwest winds has arrived and is blowing with all the vigor necessary to induce one to believe that the clear weather is to continue for the usual length of time; that is, three or four days. But suddenly in the early afternoon, just when it should be blowing its hardest, the wind drops, lulls, shows a tendency to change its direction. There is only one explanation. Another cyclone has developed off in the west. It has knocked the anticyclone on the flank, taken the teeth out of the gale. The wind shows this before clouds can. The absence of wind when there ought to be a lot shows it before even the first cirrus swims overhead. The chance is that when the flow of anticyclonic air has been thus rudely cut off and stillness follows, it will be storming by morning. It is best to keep an eye on these abnormal, But the eminent meteorologist was eminently right when he said that the statement was misleading unless explained. For there are many kinds of calms that do not portend coming storms. Nearly every day, winter and summer, but particularly in summer, the wind drops to a calm at sunset. That is a time of adjustment. After sunset when the accounts are all in the wind springs up with as much force as it had in the afternoon and continues until dawn. At sunrise, however, there is another truce. If this truce is neglected either at sunrise or at sunset it is a sign that either a cyclone on an anticyclone is very much in the ascendency. These truces are most often observed at the seashore when you are out sailing and the smell of supper fills your nostrils but is not sufficient to fill your sails. These calms are normal and the best sign of a fair day on the morrow, provided the other signs agree. During the great transition period from summer to winter comes that autumnal truce, Indian Summer, which is the chief claim to fame of American weather. For day after day a brooding haze sleeps in the air, sometimes for weeks there is no wind of any strength. Winter While the regular day’s end calm and the calm of the year’s exhaustion mean continued fair weather, there is one calm that everybody knows, which is the most dramatic moment in the whole repertory of the weather: the foreboding, ten-count wait before the knockout blow of the thunderstorm. But when that calm comes every one is already sitting tight so that it is not much account as a warning. They say that the intense stillness before the hurricane strikes is uncanny. Whether inshore or afloat the wind is to be watched if you would know what weather is to be. It is only another of Nature’s paradoxes that the most unstable element should be the most reliable guide of all on the uncertain trail of the next day’s weather. TEMPERATURES Considering that the temperature of the sun is 14,072 degrees Fahrenheit and the temperature of space is absolute zero, 459 degrees And we owe it all to the atmosphere which keeps the sun from concentrating upon us. Our place in the sun is so very small that we intercept only one-half of one billionth of the heat which it is giving off night and day. But that is sufficient to do a lot of damage if it could get at us. But even the paltry range of temperatures so far recorded on our planet,—from 134 degrees above zero one day in California, to 90 degrees below zero one night in Siberia,—is by no means a fair statement of the extremes we are called upon to bear. Only twice a decade in our country does the mercury vary as much as sixty degrees in twenty-four hours, and there are vast areas where the daily change amounts to only a few degrees. The changes that do come so suddenly to us, particularly in winter and that are known as cold waves, are in reality beneficial. To them we Americans may owe our energy, our vivacity, our changeability of mood. The refrigerated, revivified air sweeping down from the north is tonic. It is heavy, and issuing from antiseptic altitudes, drives the humid, germ-nursing air from our city streets. If we had arranged a If you are sleeping out it is of great importance to know when the mercury is going to take one of these swoops, for sleeping cold means little real rest because one’s muscles are tense, and the next day’s packing needs all the relaxation one can get. Two generalizations govern pretty much every change of temperature: the mercury will rise before a storm and it will fall after one, winter and summer, but much more conspicuously in winter. There are two reasons for this. Our cyclones usually cross our country over such a northern track that over most of the country the air drawn into them comes from the southern quarters and is therefore warmer than the air previously flowing from the anticyclone. Also the process of precipitation causes heat. This is true to such an extent on the coast of Ireland where it rains most of the time that a scientist has computed that the inhabitants get from one-third to one-half as much heat from the rainfall as they do directly from the sun. Thus a In summer the reverse is partially true, for very often the rain does not begin until the actual center of depression has passed and the west winds have begun to exercise their cooling influence. So that in summer we have a sultry, sunny day as the first half of the storm area and then a cooling shower. Also after two or three days of warm weather in spring and autumn we have a rainstorm of the winter type which lowers the temperature instead of raising it. This is because the heat produced by the storm is less than that of the sun’s rays intercepted by the clouds. The clear skies of the preceding anticyclone had permitted the land to warm up very fast under the midsummer sun, and the clouds of the cyclone, by cutting off the supply, had made a relative chill. In winter the sunrays are so much feebler because of their slant and radiation proceeds so rapidly under the dry air of the anticyclone that a much greater degree of cold is produced than when the cyclonic clouds prevent the radiation. Therefore the rainy area is the warmest of all. Even in summer the winds from the southeast, south, and southwest are warmer than those from the opposite quarters, not only because The change, then, from the period of fair weather to that of storm brings an increase of temperature. But the rate of increase varies. The faster the storm is approaching the faster the temperature will rise; and the route of the storm’s center makes all the difference as to the amount of the rise. If the wind shifts by way of the north and holds in the northeast until precipitation begins the rise in temperature will be very slight. The great snowstorms of the northern half of the country occur under just such a circumstance. If the wind shifts by way of the north but gets around to the east or even southeast before the precipitation starts the rise in temperature will be more pronounced, as much as thirty degrees sometimes in a few hours, and the winter storm that started in as snow soon changes to sleet and rain. If the wind shifts by way of the south and then into the southeast the rise will be vigorous and the storm will likely be a comparatively warm rain. If the wind shifts only so far as the south the rise will be highest of all and blue The progress of the temperature changes from the maximum of the cyclonic area to the minimum of the anticyclone is also dependent upon the wind. If the storm center is passing south and the wind begins to pull into the northeast and north the temperature will fall steadily and slowly. The rain or snow often cease gradually by the time the wind has reached the north, but the temperature continues to fall slowly until it reaches very low levels in mid-winter. If the storm center is passing north of you the wind which has brought most of the rain while it was in the southeast with comparatively high temperatures swings into the southwest, the temperature falls somewhat. There is usually a final downpour and a rapid shift of the wind into the west or northwest, but almost never directly into the north. The temperature falls several degrees in a few minutes, quite unlike the gradual decline of the northeast-by-north shift, and clear skies come at once with rapidly diminishing temperatures. In the vicinity of Philadelphia a fall of twenty-five degrees would be most unusual on the northeast shift,—such storms reaching 38 degrees and After the manner of the wind-shift the intensity of the storm is a good gauge of the temperature change to be expected by the camper. As a rule the greater the intensity of the storm the greater will be the degree of cold that follows it. The storms that have a complete wind circulation about them are always more severe than those with incomplete circulation and are invariably followed up by some reduction in temperature. If the decrease is not proportionately great and the subsequent wind has only a moderate clearing quality look out for another cyclone. In such a case the temperature is the best witness of the contemplated change. For instance, after a summer thunderstorm a decided coolness is de rigeur. If this does not occur it means nearly every time that there is another thunderstorm in process of construction. There may be not a cloud in the sky, there may be no wind (although there should be) so that the course of the thermometer is the only means of telling what is to be the next event. Anybody can take a thermometer with him although At some future date the Weather Bureau will be able to predict the temperature of seasons in advance. This, together with the amount of rain scheduled to fall, will be an invaluable aid to everybody and to the farmers most of all. At present mild seasons that have severe storms without the appropriate degree of cold after them cannot be entirely explained, let alone being prediscovered. They all hinge upon the more or less permanent areas of high and low air pressure over the oceans and international meteorological service has not progressed far enough to support many ocean stations as yet. Sometimes clear weather may intensify, growing brighter, stiller, colder. This is because the pressure is increasing. Cold seasons are distinguished usually by a succession of anticyclones. There is no way of telling how long a certain spell of cold weather is to last, but I have noticed that the same characteristics rarely predominate for longer than a month at a time. In other words, if December has been warm and rainy, January will likely be cold and dry. Of course, that is precisely the unscientific sort of generalization which the Bureau very rightly With a little practice it is an easy matter to estimate the temperature to within a very few degrees. Try guessing for a few mornings and then look at the thermometer. You will hit within three degrees every time after a week of this. Allowance must be made for the amount of moisture in the air and for the force of the wind. Damp air feels colder by several degrees than crisp, dry air, and a breeze increases the difference still more. Air in motion is not necessarily colder than calm air. As a matter of fact the lowest temperatures of all are recorded about sunrise after a still, clear night. The amount of radiation accomplished during the last hours of the night is amazing, and the downward impetus of the thermometer is often carried on for an hour or more after the sun has appeared above the horizon. A self-recording thermometer is an amusing toy which will show this and becomes a valuable instrument if one raises fruit. In winter three o’clock of an afternoon sees the highest temperature usually, and in summer this maximum occurs as late as half-past five, If the mercury does not rise appreciably on a clear winter’s day it is a sign that a cold wave is stealing in, due, doubtless, to a gradual increase in pressure without its customary bluster. Very often snow flurries predict its approach, but this may be so gradual that only the restriction of the daily thermal rise may indicate it. By the next morning the temperature will likely be twenty degrees colder. If the mercury does not fall on a clear winter’s night it is a sign that a layer of moist air not far above the surface of the earth is checking the normal night radiation. Unsettled weather is almost sure to follow unless this wet blanket is itself dissipated and the mercury takes its customary tumble before morning. If the temperature falls while the sky is still covered with clouds clearing, possibly after a little precipitation, will soon follow. Hot waves approach insidiously. A night A cold wave reverses the process. It arrives abruptly on the heels of a departing cyclone and, after losing power, steals away without any commotion whatever. Its rate of progress is in close relation to the cyclone ahead of it. Our mountains play a great part in our weather. They are a right arm of Providence to our agricultural communities. Due to their north and south trend a cold wave of any severity reaches the Pacific Coast only once a generation. Just once has snow been observed to fall at San Diego and it is so rare south of San Francisco that many people never have seen a flake. East of the mountains the belt of desert makes natural crops impossible for a thousand miles, but if they crossed the continent all the territory north of them would have such a cold climate that none of the present enormous crops of Canada and our northern states could possibly be grown. It is also due to the wide CUMULUS Courtesy of Richard F. Warren The tops of cumulus are irregular, looking like wool-packs; the bases are flat. The true cumulus shows a sharp outline all the way round. Its shape is in constant change due to the strong winds it is encountering. It is caused by the swift uprush of warm air on a sunny day. This cloud is a sign of fair weather, because the base is not large, compact, or dark enough to threaten rain and its comrades are also disjointed. If the cumulus grow darker toward the horizon and increase toward evening a squall is likely. In lesser fashion the Appalachians protect the Atlantic seaboard. They withstand the impact of the cold waves to a great extent, although they are not high enough to divert the flow of cold air entirely toward the south and it is not desirable that they should. As things are the cold strikes Alabama before it hits New Jersey, and is often more severe there. Comparative cold is often registered by the green color of the sky. A fiery red continues the prevailing heat. The day that is ushered in by a fog, in summer, will likely be warm, providing the fog lifts by ten o’clock. The temperature of a night with even a thin covering of clouds will be a good deal higher than if the sky is clear. In the British Isles the whole difference between freezing and no freezing lies with the fairness of the heavens. Everywhere frost will not form while the sky is covered, although the temperature may be below the freezing point. In summer radiation on a still clear night may be so rapid that frost may follow a temperature of fifty degrees at nightfall. The temperature at the surface of the earth Coming warmth may be noticed by the increase in size of snow flakes, with finally hail and rain. Coming cold is foreshadowed by hail mixed with the rain and lastly snow flakes which have a tendency to decrease in size. Colors of the clouds predict temperature changes, but it takes much practice to distinguish the cold, hard grays from the soft, warm ones. A warm sky is always less uniform in color than a cold one. The colors of winter sunsets are, as a rule, much brighter than those of summer skies. The stars seem brighter on a night that is to be cold. If they twinkle it is because of rushing The whole question of whether it will be colder and how much is vital to the camper and if the signs of change are taken along with the look of the clouds and the direction of the wind he need never be wrong as to the direction the mercury is going, and will soon be able to guess the distance pretty fairly. RAIN AND SNOW East of the Mississippi River rain falls with the utmost impartiality upon every locality. Thirty to fifty inches are delivered at intervals of three or four days throughout the year. And if there is a slight irregularity in delivery one can be sure that from 125 to 150 of the 365 days will be rainy. Occasionally there is a more or less serious hold up of supplies, but this rarely happens in the spring of the year and never happens to all sections at once. And if there is a desire to make amends for the drought, we have what we call a flood and blame it on the weather instead of on our precipitous denudation of the watersheds. West of the Mississippi particular people have to go to particular places for their rain. On the other hand, if the Washington people are tired of it they need only escape to Arizona where it rains about two inches a year, and they can live in an enterprising hotel down there whose manager believes that it pays to advertise the sun. He guarantees to provide free board on every day that the sun doesn’t shine. In the plateau section enough snow falls every year to store up enough water for irrigation purposes, and the little rain that falls arrives in just the right season to do the most good, the spring. In California what the farmers lose in amount they make up in the regularity of its arrival. North of the Ohio River most of the precipitation from November to April is snow. About 50 inches of it falls on the average over this tremendous territory. And it is more useful than rain,—the handy blanket that makes lumber-hauling easy, that keeps the ground South of the Ohio the depth varies from substantial amounts in some winters to almost nothing in others. Snow has been observed, however, in every part of our country except the extreme southern tip of Florida. Once and only once on the records a great three-day snowstorm visited all of southern California, extending to the Mexican border and to the coast. The strip of country between the parallels of New York City and Richmond comprises the section wherein each winter storm is one large guess as to whether the precipitation is to be snow or rain. A compromise is usually affected in this way. Before the clouding up began the mercury may have stood at ten degrees below zero. As soon as the wind acquired an easterly slant the temperature increased. As it neared the freezing point the snow would begin, first in One can always tell when this change to warmer is about to occur because the clouds which have been part and parcel with the obscuring snow suddenly show, not lighter but darker. The sudden increase in size of the flakes is another infallible symptom of increasing warmth in the atmosphere for each large flake is a compound of many smaller ones. When the temperature is low the flakes are very small, being grains and spicules in the severe blizzards of the west and falling as snow-dust in the Arctic. In the heavy storms of the guessing-belt the flakes are not necessarily small. I have noticed (in the latitude of Philadelphia) that our largest storms begin very leisurely indeed with small and regular-sized flakes. A quarter of an inch may not fall in the first hour. As the center nears the snow comes ever faster and larger, but not large, flakes are mixed The snow will likely keep on falling as long as the flakes are irregular in size. If they grow large and few or very small a cessation is likely, even though the wind is still blowing from an easterly quarter. The amount of snow likely to fall can be gauged not only by the process of flake-change but by the rate at which the wind rises. A storm’s intensity is measured by the amount of wind. A storm can be a storm without a drop of rain or flake of snow if only there be enough wind. And as long as the wind in a snowstorm keeps rising the storm is likely to go on, probably increasing in volume of precipitation. If the wind shows a tendency to edge around to the southeast there is danger of the snow turning to rain; if the wind veers slowly to the northeast the temperature will fall slowly and the rate of precipitation will likely increase for a while. In such instances the snow does not continue to fall after the wind has swung west Contrary to superstition snow may begin to fall at any hour of the day or night. But certain hours seem more propitious than others, owing no doubt to the tendency of cooling air to condense. Three o’clock of an afternoon and eight o’clock in the morning are favorite times, the one being the hour of a winter afternoon when cooling is begun, the other the hour when the coldest time is reached and condensation likely if at all. Of course, one remembers storms beginning at nine, ten, eleven, and every other hour. Storms that begin in the morning seldom reach much activity before three o’clock in the afternoon, while those that begin then quickly increase in intensity as evening draws near and the sun’s warmth is withdrawn from the upper air-strata. More snow falls at night than in the daytime, also. Snow is more delicate than rain and perhaps more responsive than rain to the subtle changes of the atmosphere. Possibly there is no ground on the Bureau records for these ideas, possibly storms have a tendency to start from the Gulf on their northeastward journey and so reach Philadelphia oftener at one For the camper the snowstorm need have no terrors. It gives a long warning of its approach. It comes mostly without destructive winds. Its upholstery protects and warms the walls of one’s tent. It adds beauty to the leafless woods, interest to the trailer, and a hundred amusements among the hills. But the value of snowy weather is not only measured by its beauties and commercial uses. There is another way: make it read character for you. Watch the reactions toward the first snowfall of half a dozen kinds of people. It will show you what they are; give you a very fair measure of their youth. Our atmosphere contains a lot of moisture that never gets precipitated. You can prove this on any warm day by noticing the way the atmosphere acts toward a glass of ice-water. When the air of the room is much warmer than the surface of the glass it surrenders its moisture willy nilly. Sometimes this condensation is enough to cause a miniature rainstorm that trickles down the outside of the tumbler. If a small cold surface can wring so much water out Try to visualize the process. A stream of vapor has been warmed and is ascending. A mile up and it has cooled not only by the reason of altitude but also by the process itself. About each little dust-particle in the surrounding area vapor forms—vapor cannot form without something to form on, there being always enough dust from deserts and volcanoes to go round. If the cooling proceeds the tiny globules enlarge and as they increase in weight they settle and fall. Falling, they unite with others. If the air-strata are very warm and thick the drops may grow to a very considerable size. We see these in the middle of our great winter rains when the insweep of southern winds with all their warmth and moisture is very extensive. Also the first few drops that come from the thick, hot lips of the thundercloud are usually immense. The best way to measure the size of a raindrop is to have it fall in a box of dry sand. It rolls up the sand and measurements can be easily and accurately made. But the most interesting way is to let the first drops of the thunderstorm fall upon a sheet of blotting paper. Heavy drops in winter mean a heavy fall, because they denote high temperatures which are uncommon and are bound to be followed by considerable condensation as the cooling proceeds back to normal temperatures. Small drops in summer mean either cooler weather, or sudden condensation. Small drops in winter are a sign of very thin moisture-bearing strata, or low temperatures, indicating that the rain will be light, protracted, and liable to change to snow. Hail is frozen rain. Winter hail is small and harmless and rarely falls to any depth because the exact temperatures that bring forth the hail rarely continue for very long at a time. Hail in winter is merely the stepping stone to either rain or snow. But in summer hail is a serious matter. It shows that there is a violent disturbance of the atmosphere in progress. Vertical air currents, probably abetted by electricity,—the authorities are not sure—often carry the stones up several times. They take on layer after layer, coalesce, and sometimes fall the size of eggs, apples, or any other fruit, If a thundercloud looks particularly black or if it can be seen in commotion think of hail and seek shelter. It is pretty difficult to predict exactly when hail is going to fall in summer. It is a possibility with every large storm, but a probability with only a very few during the summer. It accompanies tornadoes. In winter hail falls before a rainstorm, even when the ground temperature precludes the possibility of snow; some lingering stratum of cold air has ensnared the drops on their way down. Snow is not frozen rain. It has an origin of Snowflakes are so light that after the storm processes are over and the sun has come out the residue may still float lazily to the ground. The wild disorder of the snow flurry will only last a few minutes and never leave much snow on the ground. Snowstorms that come on the wings of the west wind may be severe, but they will be short. They are unusual in the east, but sometimes the Snowstorms arriving on a high wind last only a few hours. Snowstorms that are long in gathering and increase to considerable intensity continue a long while. Those that follow a sudden clouding up are of no importance. The snowstorms that leave on a high wind from the west or northwest are followed by a cold wave. Those that continue after the storm wind has died away are succeeded by calm, clear, and usually warmer weather. In northern districts a snowstorm may be looked for after a period of cold weather. In middle districts if the cold has been severe the reaction to warmer may bring rain instead. In such cases generalities are of no use, and the possibilities must be determined by the man on the spot. The best conditions for snow through the middle districts are occasioned by an area of low-pressure with its attendant precipitation crossing the southern half of the country while the northern half is under the influence of an area of high-pressure with its attendant frigidity. The cold air flows into the southern storm with the result that the middle districts get the If the storm has two centers, one over Texas and the other over Montana, as is so frequently the case in winter, the subsequent high pressure will come too late to affect the temperature of the zone of precipitation and the latter will likely be rain in the middle districts. Sometimes the cyclones cross the country on the Canadian border and enough warm air is sucked over the line to give the inhabitants of Montreal a thaw and rain. This happens to them only once or twice a winter. And even more rarely a cyclone over the Gulf with an anticyclone above it will give the Gulf States a taste of winter, but rarely more than a few flakes. It really all depends on the influx of air, its rate and direction. It rains in Alaska and snows in Georgia on the same day merely because at one place the air is coming off the Pacific, and at the other it is flowing from the center of a refrigerated continent. And the progress of these storms is one of Nature’s greatest poems if you take a minute to think of them sweeping on in majesty, the one DEW AND FROST The very process that made the tumbler of ice-water sweat on the hot day causes dew. And the formation of frost is analogous to that of snow. Frost is not frozen dew, but the formation of moisture crystals at the temperature of 32° or below. Frost or dew form only on still, cloudless nights. Even if no clouds are visible, neither will form if a stratum of humid air has prevented radiation. Hence either dew or frost is a fairly good sign of clear weather. Three white frosts on successive mornings are followed by a rain. This saying holds water not because there is any virtue in frost to cause rain, but because a storm is normally due once a week. The frosts did not form when the anticyclonic winds were blowing and usually not more than three mornings elapse between the time that the anticyclone has lost its influence and the time for the next cyclone to appear. Frost indicates a considerable amount of moisture in the atmosphere, also, which tends to increase as the cyclone approaches. Frost may occur when the amount of humidity in the air is low and the barometer rising at any temperature under 50 degrees at nightfall, the clear skies permitting radiation enough under those circumstances to produce the necessary cooling. An evening temperature of 40 degrees with the clear skies and faint west breeze will almost surely produce a frost, provided the wind drops. In such circumstances the only hope for the farmer is that there is enough humidity in the air to cause a fog before the frost-point is reached. A temperature touching 34 degrees would not bring frost, however, if the sky was at all overcast. Frost is difficult to predict because a night shift in the wind, cloudiness that forms after midnight, or even a wind arising Fruit-growers resort to fires or to coverings to protect their crops. The fires are particularly worth while, not so much for their heat which at best cannot be expected to warm up the great outdoors much, but for the smoke which prevents radiation. A line of smudges such as campers use to ward off the mosquito would spread a pall of smoke over an orchard efficaciously. A snowstorm, the soft fluffy sort that falls in April or May, can do much less damage to vegetation than a severe frost. Temperatures are much lower on the ground than even six feet above the grass. Naturally these temperatures are those that really influence most vegetation and in England temperatures on the grass are given in the weather report with the ordinary observations, being as much as six or eight degrees lower on clear nights. There are places in the ocean with cold and warm currents with the air above them correspondingly different where fog is of almost constant occurrence. The Gulf Stream off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland has a temperature of 78 degrees, while the water on the Banks is 45 degrees so that fogless days are rare along the line of meeting. Frost is known in every part of our country, many localities in the plateau section being exposed to it every month of the year. The thin air and cloudless skies of the altitudes make radiation very easy and the daily variation of From the station at Pensacola, Florida (frost-proof Florida!), comes this statement: “Vegetables are subject to damage by frost during all seasons of the year.” Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, “Frost is likely to damage fruit or other crops in May and September.” Phoenix, Arizona, “Frost is likely to do damage in December, February, and March.” Baker City, Oregon, “Fruit and other crops are most liable to damage by frost in April, May, June, September, and October.” Kalispell, Montana, “Frost damage for fruit, May 15th to July 10th; for grain, June 25th to August 1st.” Montgomery, Alabama, “During March, April, and May fruit and early vegetables are subject to damage by frost.” THE THUNDERSTORM EXPOSED Probably nothing in the world causes more terror than a flash of lightning. In an Thunderstorms play pretty generally over our three million square miles with their hundred million population. Yet lightning picks out of this crowd only three hundred people a year who are foolish enough to be killed. That is, only three persons in each million to be sacrificed to the most astounding and beautiful display in the world, a mere handful compared to the mounds of motor car victims or to the 33,068 deaths a year attributable to railroads and the perils of track-walking. The trouble about the thunderstorm is that it does not lull one into the sense of insecure repose. It is too obviously after one. If the thunder were toned down a bit and the lightning a trifle duller the alliance might claim its thousands, like the inconspicuous housefly, and never meet an objection. But until the thunderstorm foregoes its bravado it will continue to bully the ladies into hysterics. But you can lessen the chance. You must not seek refuge under a tree. You should not take doubtful shelter in a barn. And you had best not sit in a draft by an open window if there is a tree just outside it. By these three avenues most of the thoughtless three hundred (a year) invite their end. Trees that are tall and otherwise exposed are struck oftenest. The electricity in the cloud and the electricity in the earth are always endeavoring to combine. When this tendency becomes so strong that the resistance of the intervening air is counteracted the electric discharge between thundercloud and earth takes place. This happens most frequently from some pointed thing as a steeple, a tree if they are good conductors. Men and animals are sometimes charged with the electricity opposite to that of the cloud. When the lightning is discharged, even at a distance, the bodies revert rapidly from the electric to the natural state. This return shock or concussion occasionally proves fatal. That is the reason that trees are such poor protectors from the storm’s fury. Better a Barns are struck so often because the body of warm, dry air in them favors the passage of electricity. Those who hide in barns are sometimes cremated. After a severe thunderstorm in the Poconos I have seen as many as three barns on fire at once. Open windows, porches, and exposure generally are safe, but not safest. The cellar, that old stamping ground, is where instinct takes a few. Any closed room on the side of a house away from trees is good enough. But the risk of annihilation is so very small that one is repaid for taking it by the spectacle. A great thunderstorm surpasses anything in nature in the matter of architecture, coloring, directness, and surprise,—which, with selection, comprise the essentials of art. Imagine the crowds that would pay to wonder at the sight if a thunderstorm could be staged, say, at the Hippodrome! Some hot morning, if you have time to watch, you may see a thunderstorm born in the mountains. The warm, moist air flows up the mountainside and the essential start is made. The incipient storm moves off, and having started a whirl within itself, increases, like a rumor, as it goes. Before it has moved beyond your horizon it may have become a large patch of dark blue with billowy white crests on the top, and underneath hangs a curtain of rain. Chances are that it will not go far before encountering conditions that dispel it, but it may cover half a dozen counties before nightfall. As a rule these little heat thunderstorms do not amount to a great deal. They are originated by local conditions and leave things pretty much as they found them. But when a cyclone is passing in summer a series of thunderstorms or heavy showers with some thunder frequently take place instead of the all day winter rain. These thunderstorms mount up against the wind. Their clouds are black. The word black is an indulgence of the The cyclone winds come from the south or southeast just as they do in winter, but this quarter may not bring the heaviest rainfall in summer. There may be showers or even clear skies, but the day will be humid and hot. A haze of cirro-stratus cloud will gradually overspread the sky from the west, darkening into a blue from the original whitish or gray. Lightning does not appear from the cirrus, but after the sky has grown pretty dark a ridge or tumbled cloud will be seen low on the western horizon. Meanwhile the wind will have died down. The lightning, at first only a faint glimmer, will have become more frequent and noticeable. If it is striking at a distance of fifteen miles the thunder will not be heard. As soon as the storm center, where the heaviest rain and the electrical display are taking place, gets within the fifteen-mile radius thunder will be heard to growl, and the tumbled cumulus clouds which may have lain along the horizon for hours will begin to approach. The storm will be upon you in ten minutes likely after the arc of foreboding blue and white cottony cloud has begun its charge across the sky. Light quickly fades Behind the arc stretches a curtain of uniform blue or gray. If the gray is lighter in places the rainfall will not be heavy. If the curtain is a uniform blue a heavy rain is sure. If the bow of clouds can be seen to tumble or is continuous and approaches fast the wind is certain to be severe,—may be from 30 to 60 miles an hour for the first few minutes. Sometimes a cloud of dust advancing before it demonstrates its force. This moment immediately before the storm breaks is the dramatic moment of the entire cyclone. As in a tragedy, the interest has built up to this supreme occasion, this knife thrust, from which interest recedes until clear skies show that the play is over. From 12 to 36 hours is the usual time required in winter. In summer the cyclone takes even longer to pass a given point, but the period of rainfall, in which the winter storm’s amount is often surpassed, may not last fifteen minutes. First the blow, then a crash of thunder, and the rain in big drops, which lessen rapidly in size as the whole world seems involved in the vast forces of the storm center. Most of the precipitation occurs in the first fifteen minutes, sometimes in the first five. A hearty storm will deliver an inch in The general condition of the air after a thunderstorm is cooler, dryer, and more invigorating than before. Ozone has been liberated, dust has been washed from the air and vegetation. The surest sign of a continuation of unsettled weather is the failure of the atmosphere to cool off. If the air remains sultry and heavy and depressing another shower is due. In such circumstances the wind will not have begun to blow with any great promise from the west. A close, sultry morning is the best indication of a thunder-gust. The large piles of cumulus clouds are called thunderheads for the very reason that they almost always precede a thunderstorm. The heaviest electrical disturbances have cirrus clouds a few hours in advance of them very much as their winter relatives. A thunderstorm that does not cause the barometer to fall considerably will not amount to a great deal. If this disembodied sort of lightning continues to flash from the western sky it is quite possible that the storm will reach you. If it shows on the northwest or north of you the chances are that the storm will be carried around. If the wind is from the southwest and the lightning appears there only the progress of the clouds will show whether the storm is pursuing the normal track from the west and around you or whether it is edging up toward you. One cannot be very well surprised by a thunderstorm of any energy in camp as the lightning shows as much as two hours before the storm breaks and The sort of lightning that spends itself illuminating the clouds in serpents and willowy branches confines itself to the altitudes and is very beautiful and harmless. It is accompanied by thunder that sounds hollow, that rumbles over the sky, and usually does not end with the crash and thud of the more vigorous variety. Such lightning and such thunder are more often connected with the sort of storm that comes up very swiftly on a western wind. It gives shorter warning than any other sort of thunderstorm and is not connected with the cyclonic area. I have known such a storm to manifest itself low in the west, approach, and break within twenty minutes. Much wind results and not much rain, although the temperature falls. Lightning with storms of this impromptu kind rarely does any damage. But if the storm rises slowly against the wind, requiring an hour or two or three to approach and break, the lightning will grow almost continuously, some of the flashes being broad streamers cleaving the western sky. It is this sort of lightning that does the damage. The thunder, instead of rolling like an empty barrel, hits into a series of concussions. If the lightning The approach of the center of disturbance may be gauged by the length of time that elapses between flash and crash. In reality the thunder occurs immediately after the discharge of electricity, but sound travels so slowly, compared to light, that a minute may intervene between stroke and clap. You may count the seconds, noticing the regular decrease, signifying the nearing of the crisis. Soon a flash in front and a simultaneous peal will show you that you are in the thick of things. The next bolt or two may hit very close and you can appreciate what it means to be on the firing line. Then the next river of fire with its detonation streams behind you and you are saved. In a severe thunderstorm there are several centers, several nuclei that shed destruction like great batteries and their progress over and beyond you has its thrills. You may find the exact number of feet away that the bolt hit by multiplying the number of seconds elapsing between the lightning and thunder by 1120. But an easier way is to allow a mile for every five seconds on the watch. One or two seconds, and you are pretty near the center of the fray. Our atmosphere is never lacking in electricity. This electricity is always positive in clear weather and sometimes negative in cloudy. Science concludes, then, that negative electricity invariably indicates rain, hail, or snow within a radius of forty miles. Moist air is a good conductor. Our powerful motors can now produce a spark of electricity several feet long. But some of the flashes that shoot across the sky in a big storm extend over five miles. The duration of the flash varies from 1-300th of a second to a second. The reason that lightning does not always pass imperially along a straight line is that some air, either moister or warmer than the air around it, offers less resistance. The lightning takes this Altitudes of thunderclouds vary. They may hover above the earth at 800 feet. They may be a mile high. They have been observed on peaks of mountains three miles high. Many other electrical phenomena are observed in the mountains. The study of these will undoubtedly benefit meteorology and perhaps go far to explain the unsolved problems of the Service. One kind of thunderstorm that is rather rare is that which arrives in winter with the passage of an energetic cyclone. Often when the wind, having been in the southeast for most of the storm, is passing around and reaches the south or southwest the rainfall culminates in a deluge and thunder is heard. One or two such storms are a winter’s complement. They usually terminate the rainfall for that particular cyclone. I have never heard of damage caused by these winter electrical storms, and they occur only in exceptionally well-developed areas of low pressure. Lightning has many times been observed during heavy snow storms. I have never heard any thunder with it. The discharge must have been very faint. STRATUS Courtesy of Richard F. Warren Stratus is merely lifted fog in a horizontal form, the lowest of all, and the simplest as regards structure. It means neither rain nor snow and the apparent clearness of the blue above it would indicate clear weather to come. But through the break in the stratus near the horizon shows a cloud of firmer texture, which is less reassuring. Stratus over the land in winter takes the appearance of long bolsters of gray through which a pale blue sky shines. Such clouds may blanket the sky for days without causing a drop of rain. If they show a tendency to glaze over expect snow or rain, but not in large quantities. The fascination that a thunderstorm has for THE TORNADO The birds, the flowers, and the tornadoes are all busiest in spring. And the tornadoes probably make the largest impression. A tornado is merely a whirl of air, caused, as are all the other whirls, by a striking difference in temperature in adjacent areas. A tornado is a local and restricted example of the same thing that a cyclone is. But a tornado rarely crosses more than a single state; a cyclone strides continents. A tornado lasts, in one place, about a minute; a cyclone affects the weather for three days. A tornado never survives the night; a cyclone plods on for a week. And yet if you are betting on destruction put your money on the tornado. What it lacks in the realms of space and time it makes up in intensity. Its sting is fatal. Tornadoes occur chiefly in the spring because Now that you’ve been through a tornado you know how it feels,—almost. After the funnel passes hail falls, lightning flashes through the lessening murk. Heavy rain succeeds, and if you’re alive you go out and rescue the perishing. The wind velocity in the path of a tornado is enormous,—anything up to 500 miles an Stories of any degree of incredibility crop up after each tornado, often with accompanying photographs as proof. People are plastered with mud, pianos are deposited in neighboring lots, babies are hung up unhurt by their clothes in tree-tops, and often one person is killed and another nearby escapes unhurt, Bible-fashion. Tornadoes may form almost anywhere, but they are never found on the immediate Pacific coast. They are most common in the Mississippi Valley, are rather common in the Gulf States, and have occurred throughout most of the East at one time or another. Since there is no way of stopping them the next best thing is to know the conditions that The only tornado that I have ever witnessed was an undeveloped one in England, and a bit lethargic compared to those of the Prairie States. But even this blew an entire train off the track. It had all the other appurtenances of a tornado, the hail, the twisted trees, the narrow southwest to northeast path. The fact that the houses had only corners of their roofs blown off showed that as a tornado it was distinctly second-grade and without power to explode. England, shortly after, was raided by three As our country builds up the destruction from this most powerful of all phenomena is likely to increase. Bureau warnings over phones may result in the saving of some lives; cellars will undoubtedly be built in the principal zones. But the problem is an interesting one, for unlike the waterspout, cannon cannot be employed to shatter an emptiness that stalks the more malignantly the emptier it is. THE HURRICANE The tropical hurricane is undoubtedly nature’s mightiest exhibit. The hurricane is the cyclone par excellence. It does not differ from our ordinary weekly cyclone in the essentials of The genuine hurricane is a West Indian production. It is generally cradled in those islands south and east of Jamaica and Cuba. It is nursed by the trade-winds. The first notice of its birth is an alteration in these winds, which are among the most regular observances on our planet. An extensive formation of cirrus clouds spreads over the sky and the barometer, which has been stationary for some days, edges off and begins a long and gradual fall. Great rollers are noticed for a day or two before the winds rise. A hurricane moves slowly. This tropical organization is superior in depth to our shallow, disc-like, continental cyclone which is one and rarely over two miles thick. The hurricane rears its head three, four, and even five miles high. Instead, too, of dissipating its force over thousands of miles at once it is only a few hundred miles in diameter. Its center moves methodically along at the not very impressive speed of fifteen miles an hour, while our cyclones hurry along at thirty. But the hurricane is thorough. The wind about its center reaches a velocity of 120 miles an hour. This velocity has never yet been attained on the Our cyclone always has an eastward trend; the hurricane has a parabolic course. It begins by moving west on the trades, drifting and dealing destruction to the banana and sugar plantations of Jamaica. It enters the Gulf of Mexico, and since it is then pretty much out of the influence of the trades it curves to the right and begins to act like any other storm by heading directly for the St. Lawrence. If it passes out through the Florida straits it never reaches the St. Lawrence but speeds up the coast and out to sea, usually at Hatteras to follow the shipping routes across the North Atlantic. But if it has become so involved in the Gulf of Mexico that it cannot escape to sea again, it comes up through the Gulf States and on toward New England. Fortunately as it goes inland its intensity diminishes because it has not so much energy-giving moisture to draw from. Also its sphere of action widens, its embrace is less mighty, its characteristics more those of an ordinary continental cyclone. It manages, however, to deliver gales of 80 miles an hour along the coastal plain, increasing to 100 at the exposed places such as Hatteras and Block Island. While scarcely a year goes by without one of these West Indian hurricanes distinguishing itself on our shores the one that visited Galveston in 1904 eclipsed all. It chose to turn in the vicinity of the city. The gale increased to over 100 miles an hour and the wind gauge then blew away. The waters of the Bay were heaped up and three thousand lives were lost in the flood and wreck of flying houses. This peculiar storm did not turn northeast at once but ascended the Mississippi, turning at the Lakes and proceeding down the St. Lawrence after having spent a week in our country. The listless doldrums have sent us 121 of these storms in the last generation. June has seen 8, July 5, August 28, September 40, and October 40. Sea-yarners have seized upon the hurricane to energize many a flagging chapter, and particularly But in real life there is very little excuse for the vessel to be caught anywhere near the disastrous center of the storm. Indeed, for generations sea-captains have known how to escape the deadly eye. By watching the barometer and noticing in which direction the wind is working round they can tell the course to a nicety The typhoons of the West Pacific are similar manifestations. The hurricane moves off from its birthplace so slowly that our Weather Bureau has an opportunity to size it up, to chart its probable course, and to warn shipping interests. The ship-owners, as a class, appreciate the service of the Bureau and obey its warnings. Vessels with cargoes of a total value of $30,000,000 were known to have been detained in port on the Atlantic coast by the Bureau’s warnings of a single hurricane. Now that a much vaster commerce will steam through these dangerous waters toward the Panama Canal the warnings will assume an even greater importance. The best description of a hurricane that it has been my fortune to read is in a story entitled “Chita,” one of the remarkable fictions of Lafcadio Hearn. As truthfully as a scientist and with great beauty of style he has pictured the long days of burning sun, the foreboding calm, the thickening haze, the ominous increasing swell of the ocean, a breathless night with the lightning glowing from between piling CLOUDBURST It is the American tendency to exaggerate. We call every snowstorm a blizzard, every breeze a gale, every shower a cloudburst. In our generous vocabulary it never rains but it pours. Consequently if we, in the East, ever had a real blizzard or a real cloudburst we should be at a considerable loss to find words for an unprofane description. I do not know how they manage out West where these things occur. A genuine cloudburst must be an amazing spectacle. It is caused by a furious updraft of wind keeping a rainstorm in suspense until so much water has accumulated that it has to let go all at once and the accumulation descends like a wet blanket. This phenomenon is staged in the mountains; most often in the Rockies where melting snow and desert-hot ravines provide the necessary extremes of temperature. Wind blowing up a mountain-side can maintain considerable force,—so much that a man cannot possibly walk against it. Black thunder clouds brew on the Even in the less impulsive East a couple of inches of rain make a surprising rise in a little creek. THE HALO The halo is a luminous circle around the moon or the sun. It is caused by the refraction of light passing through moisture, which at the usual height is in the form of ice-crystals. The halo when complete consists of two large circles whose diameters are constant, 45 and 92 degrees. Then there are often other arches in contact. At each point of contact occurs a parhelion which is a mock sun of brilliant colors and called a sun-dog. Since the sun-dog is brighter than the other parts of the halo it sometimes appears when the rest of the halo cannot Having now satisfied the demands of science all that can be forgotten except that the halo around either sun or moon means excess moisture in the atmosphere. The wide halos are seen in the high cirrus clouds 25, 36, 48 hours in advance of a cyclone. At first the ring is very wide and faint with several stars in it. If the storm is advancing rapidly the halo brightens and narrows and the stars fade. This is proof to show that the proverb stating that the number of stars inside the ring is a forecast of the number of days of storm is sheer nonsense. For presently the ring closes and the stars disappear which would show according to the proverb that the storm had changed its mind and would cut down the number of days from several to none. The moon grows paler. The light that it casts upon the earth is eerie at this stage. Within a few hours the cocoon of mist is completely woven about the moon. The circle has closed. Snow or rain begins within a few hours after the moon has entirely disappeared. If it When the halo is actually a corona (red outside) the approach of the storm can be gauged by the rapidity with which the circle grows smaller. For a decrease in diameter denotes that the size of the moisture drops is increasing and therefore the storm is approaching. As a matter of fact the corona will have disappeared long before the time for rain. Still it is useful to know that if the corona increases in size the conditions are clearing. With the halo the reverse holds. For when the clouds are very high the halo looks small, and high clouds imply swifter winds and a greater distance from the storm center. The ZuÑi Indians who have an eye for the picturesque as well as for the truth state the chief fact about haloes happily: “When the sun is in his house it will rain soon.” Another saying of theirs anent cumulus clouds holds for our country as well as for theirs: “When the clouds rise in terraces of white, soon will the There are many little observations which the man who has kept the corner of his eye open may profit by and yet which are rather difficult to express in type. Who could describe an egg for instance whose springtide of youth was far behind and yet was not quite ready for the discard! In nature it is the fleeting moment of transition, the half-tones of the border that are so hard to catch, so difficult to portray, and yet so very important not to miss if one is to become sure. There follow some of the baldest and most communicable half-facts about the weather that should be used oftener to bolster up some opinion gleaned from more positive sources than to mould one in their own strength. Moisture in the atmosphere helps sight to a certain extent. For when the air is full of moisture its temperature tends to become equalized, obliterating irregularities which would otherwise reflect the vibrations producing sight and sound. So if one hears better or sees better on a certain day it augurs a moister atmosphere,—an auxiliary sign if there is a view that you are fond of looking at many times a day. In the city, alas, clearer vision on one day than another means merely that less coal is being used. But Another thing that the haunter of the woods may notice is that his smelling capacity is increased before a storm. The increase of humidity which precedes a rain buoys up odors and depresses smoke. Even in dry weather if you will stroll by a marsh you will notice how rank the vegetation smells and how the smells float in layers in the air strata of different humidity. One’s sense of smell is a very slender thread on which to hang a storm, however. Fires burn more briskly in dry air than in moist, but to tell the difference (if you can’t feel it) you must be very sure that your wood is as dry on one day as on another. Before a rain many plants close their flowers or shift their leaves. The dandelion, pimpernel, red clover, silver maple are good examples of this, but they would not be of much use in the North Woods. The closing, too, takes place only a few hours before rain and is merely confirmation of the signals rendered more adequately by clouds and winds. Bugs and flies are particularly annoying before a storm and it is surprising that the spider should not take advantage of this to get a meal. The stars are on a par with bugs as weather guides, although there are many proverbs that grant them much. One circumstance should not be neglected, however, and that is that wind mixes air and when air is well mixed atmospheric inequalities are less disturbing to vision. Hence when one can see the stars and the moon well wind currents are oftenest the cause. Even if it is not blowing on earth these wind currents may yet be blowing above to reach the earth later. In this way cold waves arrive. There is an old proverb about this condition, applying it to the moon, “Sharp horns do threaten windy weather.” But the stars are of second rate importance because they are so soon obscured. If you can’t see them it is cloudy, but you do not know what kind of cloud it is. If only the brightest show, a veil of cirrus is arriving. A dark sky with only a few dim stars is an omen of storms. If the stars twinkle it is because the varying In the days when almanacs were the sole guides to the weather a man with a sense of humor, Butler by name, got out one and dedicated it to “Torpid Liver and Inflammatory Rheumatism, the Most Insistent Weather Prophets Known to Suffering Mortals.” Rheumatism is following the almanac to the scrap heap, and it would be harder for a camper to guess what a torpid liver was like than to forecast the weather, yet for the majority of “suffering mortals” there is still much truth in the amiable observation of Mr. Butler, “As old sinners have old points |