The wind tries to murder my apartment so naturally I go out to meet it.
The weatherman—Steve, I think his name was—swore that today would be as bright and golden as his own bald spot. I suppose he’s as good as predicting the weather as he is trying to grow that scruff of a ‘stache.
Either way, I thank my lucky stars for his ineptitude and climb into my Hybrid. Dorothy was a gift from my sister’s friend’s cousin and she. Was. A. Beauty. Every time I slide into her leather seats, she takes my breath away. Or that could just be the leftover peanut butter and Nutella sandwich. Dorothy, my beautiful chartreuse Hybrid, welcomed me with all the right beeps and alarms. For all I know, she could be warning me of a potential gas leak but now is not the time to worry about that. I put Dorothy in reverse and she huffs out a sigh at waking up at 12 in the morning.
The rain has joined forces with the wind to pummel Dorothy and me to the ground but we’re stronger than we look. We’re a blinding green speck in the otherwise glaring world that is New York City. For my profession, this is possibly the worst place to live but there’s something about the city that sinks into your skin and refuses to let go. This is my home: the little apartment with pipes that sing ‘Rain, Rain, Go Away’ and a cat with more attitude than my great-aunt Willa.
Thunder clouds are a roiling mass in the sky, lighting the twilight sky with flashes of lightning. It looks like the middle of a mythical war between the sky and the ocean. I can smell the raging waves of the sea even though I’m more than 50 miles from the bay. That’s always a good sign when the storm comes out to meet me instead of me meeting it. At least I have all my gear with me right now. I remember that last storm in Texas. In the middle of Tornado Valley in the middle of tornado season without a single scrap of gear except my beauteous, cracked IPhone 6. Yeah, that was a fun ride.
For now, Dorothy is packed with all the new goodies. A high frequency radar, a portable sized seismic reader, weather radio, and all the cameras I’ve gotten for my birthdays. My personal favorite is the Nikon D3300 with the 24mm 2.8D AF lens. The roads are flooded and stragglers are rushing about, looking like frenzied, sopping wet cats. My windshield wipers work overtime, streaking across the glass with a squeak. One hand on the wheel, I quickly tune in to a reliable weather channel—obviously not Steve’s—and grin at the ominous forecast.
My new muse’s name is Hurricane Adira. Currently a category 2, it has winds of 100 miles per hour. I’ve been following storms like this for almost two years, searching for the perfect picture to capture the fierce but stunning heart of the storm. This may be the closest I’ve gotten to it and with all my gear, too! As I keep driving toward the smell of salt water, the people on the roads start to wink out. They don’t all have what it takes to be a storm chaser. You need grit and an unquenchable thirst for adventure.
My grip tightens on Dorothy’s steering wheel and I move my foot gently onto the break. I am a swashbuckling adventurer but I know my limits. Even Steve cannot deny the danger. The winds are so loud, I mute the radio and focus purely on not skidding. Dorothy and I move in tandem, sliding a couple yards forward at a time. I can feel the storm prickling on my skin and I can taste the dark sky like a cool and crackling flame. Mist coats everything in my path and lightning rains down from the heavens faster than I can think ‘One Mississippi.’ Oh yes. This will be a good one.
A thunk jerks me out of my blissful reverie and I squint to see a little pebble sliding down my windshield. Ah. This may be a slight problem. I would choose Dorothy over any one of my friends but there’s a slight problem. She’s old. I spent about as much money as I bought her for on repairs alone. Then there’s the couple extra hundred to fit in the latest storm chasing tech. She can take wind and rain and snow, but she can’t take hail. I grit my teeth and put one purple boot on the gas. Dorothy lurches forward and I can’t tell if we’re driving so much as doggy paddling. I’ve almost reached the docks and I quickly scan for a garage. The next best thing is the parking at Cheesecake Factory.
Parking Dorothy across the span of three parking lots, I drop a kiss on the steering wheel and cover my Nikon D3300 under my Yankees jacket. The instant my foot touches the asphalt, it feels like I stepped in an ice bucket with only my socks on. Shivering, I struggle forward, my head bowed to the storm gods for their favor. I have on a pair of goggles so I don’t have to make my way through the storm using echolocation. It isn’t much help but at least I can open my eyes and take in the view. The docks are the perfect place to see the storm. The winds whip through the sky, tearing open the storm clouds and letting hail and lightning leak from the heavens. I slide in underneath an overhanging so my head is covered and click my camera on.
I see the hurricane in the distance, her swirls a thick and creamy silver. Rain wraps around me and the sound of thunder reverberates in my core. This. This is exactly why I do what I do. If Mother Earth is capable of giving us such a beautiful scene, why would we not try to bottle it up? I take one last breath in, the salty mist bathing my tongue, before I raise the camera to my eye. Tampering with the lens, the closest zoom doesn’t capture the full strength of the Hurricane Adira. I need to get closer.
I leave the shelter of my hanging and tramp down the closest dock. There isn’t any roof to protect me so I have to make this quick. The waves lap at my legs as if they’re ordered by the sirens to take me captive. I crouch down, bending my legs so I have better balance. I can barely feel my toes and I wiggle them to make sure no stray fish have gotten in my shoes. So far so good. I raise my camera once more and in that exact second a wave rises almost above my head and comes crashing down. I lose my grasp on my camera and it goes out to meet the sea. Meanwhile, I fall back onto my elbows and choke on the taste of saltwater. I can no longer deny the sea wants to take me as its own. The waves coil around my feet and I cough up what remains of the ocean inside me. My hair is plastered to my face and I swipe a hand through the curly mess. My camera’s gone and I left my phone in the car. There’s no way I can picture the storm now.
But maybe that’s why Mother Earth crashed down on me. Because nature is best in its pure and raw form. She will protect you as long as you see but do not touch.
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