Cloud Smoke

Day 1: April 28th. Take Off.

It's me, Patrick (Burger), Trevor (Burger), Lam-lam, and David.

The fellas ready and waiting. Patrick is a little pissed at me for being late. Trevor seems a little awkward and nervous. His first chase – he's fifteen or something.

Not sure if David is staying with us. I hope he's not; dude's a little annoying.

Game plan; dry line building in NM. We aim to be in the OK panhandle late 29th. Patrick leading.

We are stopping at Walmart for supplies on the way out. Sundry necessities; e.g. water, Cheetohs, caffeine, and beer. Pretty sure Trevor's too young to drink.

Caravan: Two F-150s. Lam-lam and David in one (thank god). Me, P. and T. in the other. Playlist mine, volume P's. T in back with headphones. Taking 40.

Weather: Clear sky. One pocket of cumulus above West Memphis.

Day 2: April 29th. First day.

Terrible night's sleep. Strange motel; yellow and made of plastic. Weird. Strange bugs in the corners of the room. Shower water cold and just as yellow as everything else. I slept on top of the covers.

The only good news so far is that we did drop David off in Arkansas. He mooned us as we drove away – as I say, annoying.

Been to Oklahoma a few times. First time to the panhandle. It is very flat. You can almost wave to fellas a town over and see them wave back (you would need binoculars I guess. Or maybe, like on the sea, the curve of the earth makes this impossible).

We're lying about, playing poker and watching the weather channel, surfing boards. I'm watching Patrick's face, rather than the sky, for a sign. The dry-line hasn't even advanced yet; we might be in stasis for a while.

Lam-lam only visible when going from his room to his truck, and back. He looks completely uninterested. Why come?

Day 4: May 1

Didn't write yesterday, because there was nothing to write about. We are back in OKC, chasing a front. Peter leapt into action this morning; potential for a triple point somewhere west of El Reno. Popcorn stopping about there.

Trevor and Lam-lam wanted to stop for BBQ. Peter told them fuck no – he's in heat.

Afternoon now, long day of driving and chasing nothing. Cap's too deep. I'm starting to side with the others who want to stop. Bud and cards sounds fine to me. But I don't quite have the backbone to whine to P.

Pulling over for the night at an Air BnB south of Norman. Cute little tract of tiny homes. Their yards are like something from a tabletop miniature – almost too perfect. Illuminated by glowing bulbs which trace from tree to tree and run along the picket fence. In this dusk, with the lighting and the flat ground with view onto the front (nothing strong enough to pop the cap yet, but they're trying), I'm feeling very poetic. Trevor discussing his first beer. Tonight's the night!

The woman who owns the home lives next door. Yikes; funny little lady. Lusty grandma (LG) is what I keep thinking for some reason. Maybe hispanic, maybe native? Little beady eyes, and long plaits of foamy gray hair. She seems to have become rapidly enamored of our Trevor. He has gone pale as a ghost. He'll need that beer sooner than later me thinks.

Inside house is nice, clean. I'm crashing on the couch. Trevor on the floor; Lam-lam and Patrick in the bedrooms. No weird bugs; some fireflies on the outside of the windows which is fun. Good shower, thank ye little baby Jesus.

Boys and I setting up to play poker; ordering pizza.

Late (and drunk) Updates: Trevor had his first beer, waaaaahaaay! He didn't like it and left half. I won at poker, again. Patrick thinks tomorrow the cap will give way. Lots of sheer. Pizza was great, but had to take off the mushrooms. Who eats fungi and why.

Lam-lam choked on a peanut. Probably almost died; we were too busy laughing to help.

Oh, and to top! LG invited herself to our card game and sat right next to Trevor. She's a handsy gal too! Poor kid was looking to Patrick all night, hoping for rescue – but P; he's unmovable.

Day 5: Get your ass in gear.

Trying to write in live time, but difficult today; cos we're in action. Racing north where its getting organized. P. leaning out the window while driving. Don't crash big fella.

Afternoon. Day heating up; if its going to happen, its gonna be now.

Lam-lam keeps stopping to pee! Why has he suddenly developed a condition. Maybe its serious. Maybe he'll die. This guy really irritates me.

Stopped at Love's. The clouds are trying to break the cap. They're squeezed up. Ain't happening. Patrick keeps cursing. Trevor is bored as hell, and I think a little carsick. Another failure or about to go down? Watch this space.

Another failure, it turns out. So disappointing. We are returning to our BnB. At least Trevor has LG to console him.

Pizza again. Mushroom again. Who's ordering?? Next time I will. Lam-lam eyeing the peanuts warily like a hyena eyeing a tired lion. Will he dare to strike? This is the most drama in a week. I hope the lion gets stuck in his throat again.

Guess who's back? Looking at the reviews online; people have marked LG as 'attentive'. Yeah, no kidding.

She's actually fun (and sitting next to Trevor again of course) and has some tornado stories of her own. She saw 99' up close! Legend baby! A little more drink tonight to drown the sorrows. Trevor doing better with his Bud tonight. Patrick, perversely, has seemed to liven up – dude gets off on failure apparently. And living feathery lord, I forgot I have wheat thins.

Writing this before I forget. Maybe I just had too much to drink and didn't hear properly, but: LG taking us to some farm tomorrow? Or reservation maybe? I think reservation, to meet a friend. Patrick said we'll take the day unless there's some surprise, because it isn't likely to happen tomorrow. Oof, I feel a little funky. Must text Miranda tomorrow.

Day 6: May 3

We are leaving in half an hour or so to go meet 'Cloud Smoke' at the Chickasaw Reservation. Patrick jogged my memory; he's a fun guy apparently, who can help storm chasers out. He knows the skies around here or some such. Not really sure what it means, but we have the day off. Exploration is good collateral.

I called Melissa; she wasn't mad. Her words: I know you guys are busy on your trip babe! Don't worry about me! Have fun!

Why can't all chicks be that enlightened huh??

Weather is gorgeous if you aren't supposed to be storm chasing. This might as well be late summer for the atmosphere. We are trundling south of Paul's Valley toward the bluffs which are visible rising at the horizon like a wave on the Sea. Red dirt. Oxidized iron from the shale. Apparently a feature of pride – there is a Red Dirt music scene which was conceived in Stillwater.

There is some kind of hold up. P gets out to check whats going on and reports a kind of Chicken run moving across the road. To our east and our west are a series of flat warehouse style buildings. Did some Chicken's make a prison break? We might be here a while. I ask Trevor how he likes stormchasing, tee hee.

We arrive! Some kind of compound about two miles or so into Chickasaw Nation. There are five, six small sheds and a few double-wides. There's a scatter of trees, denuded of leaves and bark; they look like naked, twisting human bodies sprouting from the ground. A paddock keeps back some goats who seem interested in us. Chickens running about here too.

LG is familiar here, and walks us up to one of the double-wides, door open. This is setting up to be one of those awkward situations. I feel for Trevor. Here we go.

Wind Smoke is some strange guy. I've stepped outside while he goes to the bathroom to record what I can. He's ancient, or looks it. He kinda looks like LG, but decorated with Native motif – the hair things, the suede, you know... He ignored us for a long time and was catching up with LG as though we weren't there. He's pissed about the chicken farm up the road stealing business – apparently he sells too? The man has a dangerous energy about him – pint sized fireplug (where did I hear this phrase?) – and vacillates quickly between cantankerousness and mirth. Laugh: distinctive. It comes in three syllables – ha. ha. ha. – in slow, expending, breathes. As though he has been stabbed in the lungs and finds it hilarious.

Speaking of being stabbed. He has a blade on his belt. Let's hope ceremonial. He seems capable of a quick shuffle and slip. The old shuffle and slip; right between the ribs.

When he left for the bathroom, LG half clucked half hooted (not unlike a hen) and told us not to be fooled by all the native shtick. She said he's from Staten Island, and lived there until his thirties when he discovered he had a homeopathic dose of the Old Blood at which point he dropped all (including a fiance) and headed west. Well, well, well!

I can't really remember why we are here; but the day's getting hot. Patrick and I checking the numbers; tomorrow has a glimmer of hope. Definitely sweaty out here.

Ok – had a little time to check on our fraudulent host! He claims, with an air of mysticism, to have been in touch with the lands of Oklahoma for thousands of years. In fact, the Chickasaw weren't here originally, but came from further East as part of some treaty. Boo-yah Tonto!

We are now getting a funny combination of a haranguing and a tour. Wind Smoke is shepherding us from feature to innocuous feature on his plot, and with each telling us why it is some kind of perversion of European intrusion which he understands and we never will, and that we are also guilty in some way for it. LG keeps clucking; and I guess Tonto continues to be disappointed that he is not having the desired effect. He keeps saying, 'its hot as shit out here', and 'ah fuck it' before moving on to the next thing. (Question: I'm all for collective guilt n' all, but is pointing out the price of a heatpump the appropriate demonstration? Wind Smoke has clamped an arm around Trevor – who is desperately looking to Patrick for help – and is demanding an explanation for the price of installation, and why it should need any kind of permit. He seems to genuinely expect an answer! LG excoriating Wind Smoke for hurting Trevor. Patrick distracted by the sky.)

We are headed back to the BnB (though may stop at a grille on the way). I am here recording what went on when we returned to the double wide for two reasons. One, Cloud Smoke's fantastic claims which, absurd as they were, touch on our business. Two, Lam-lam's heroic and single contribution.

LG had us all settle in Cloud Smoke's tiny 'living room'. We were crammed onto the sofa – Trevor squished against LG – or perched on its ends. Cloud Smoke sat back in his rocker, and lay his head against the rest, eyes half closed. Or half open. The room was smoky and sweet (with just a hint of chicken shit). LG prompted him, saying 'these boys here are chasing tornadoes' (to which Wind Smoke Guffawed)' and I was telling them a little about what you do. So tell 'em why you're called Wind Smoke'.

Tonto waved a hand and said 'They don't want to hear that shit' and without pause, proceeded to tell us the 'shit'. 'They call me Wind Smoke because when it comes to the wind, I bring the smoke brother. I bring the heat, baby. You fellas lie down at night, maybe after a good meal, or a romp with a woman, and you put your smooth baby heads down on your pillows and ok, maybe you fall asleep. Maybe you don't, and you watch TV. This doesn't happen to Wind Smoke. My sleep is when I wake up. I say, 'ok, Wind, it's time to wake up' and I go to my room, back there, put my head down, and I wake up.' He says this with the easy cadence that suggests he might be telling us a story about forgetting his car keys or something. None of us knew what the hell he was saying. He rambles on a bit more about this and says 'do I wake up here? (He rubs his hands down the front of his shirt and shakes his head) No. I wake up here, and he taps a finger against his head. And up there (he points up). I lose my centrality and become all and nothing. And, if my soul is passionate enough, I can steer the clouds as if it were a ship. I can bring it here! I can bring it there! Starboard! Portside! Man the cannons!' At this point I was scrambling to jot down what he was saying. Even Patrick who'd been anxious to get moving was now drawn in by the absurdity of it. 'Fire. Flotsam. Jetsam!'

He stopped here and leaned forward to look at us. His brows were raised, and there was a hint of a smile; an almost completely implausible expression. We sat in a horrible silence, until it was broken.

Enter Lam-lam. For the first time all day, he peeled his face off of his phone and offered a single, authoritative line; 'what the fuck'.

What a stupid way to lose half a day. We're all a little irritable now. I think LG can sense it and is being defensive. She say's Wind Smoke really does have a track record in bringing weather, and that if we'd asked he might have done it for us. Poor woman; what will we do when we leave. Maybe Trevor should stay and live with her.

No more writing tonight; time for drink and a movie.

Day 7: May 4

We're on. The cap is being eroded by high shear. We've got a triple point development up north. Its go time.

Stopping at Love's. We all need caffeine. Got a few Dorothy's in our company. Maps out, cherry coke everywhere.

Trevor picking up on the energy and getting a little nervous! I tell him, 'we go into the fire!'. That should make him feel better.

You can see the triple point pretty much. The clouds are still just cumulus, but CAPE is very high. This is now just a waiting game. Come 2 o'clock, this is gonna shoot right up.

Excitement building. P. back out the window. We just saw an intercept which looked like a deep fryer basket tipped upside down. Lam-lam on the radio claiming that there is development to our South. We still haven't made the call, but if we go any further north, it'll be too late to go back.

Stopping at Love's. Gas. Caffeine. Bathroom.

Committing North. P. and I agree. Just more organized. Getting dark, the wind line was nicely stratified. Dry, dry, dry. Boom – wet.

Hmmm. Still not organizing. No mesocyclone visible. Lam-lam reporting something south. Patrick and I stealing anxious glances. Trevor keeps saying 'I don't think we'll get a tornado'. Me thinks he doth protest too much.

Well damn, its not happening. Very messy structure. Slight rotation; we stopped roadside. Hint of a funnel, came to nothing. Scud maybe. Stopping at Love's.

Unbelievable. We made the wrong call. Reports south of multiple on the ground; some damage, road closures, etc... we got bunk. P. and I to do a post mortem. North at noon looked far more promising. What went wrong??!

Back at BnB for the night. Tomorrow's prognosis? Not a chance. Pizza, beer, tears. That's all.

Day 8:

Well, our expedition is over for now. We are driving silently back to Arkansas. No way am I picking that weirdo up again. Silver linings; I won't have to see Lam-lam for a long, long time. I get to see Melissa soon. Trevor is the only one who seems happy; relieved I guess.

Final Note: Make of this what you will. T. scanning videos (now with storm's behind us, you watch his bollocks grow!) of the action yesterday. Multiple weak tornados, and one preliminary rating as an F-2. T. yelps and yanks on our shoulders – it was right in Paul Valley.

A news report states 'Multiple tornadoes in the county, with one doing extensive damage to the Paul Valley area. Trailers and mobile homes suffering severe damage, and a Poultry Farm reduced to scrap metal.'

Chickens. Well we knew where that was. We'd have had it on top of us!

Trevor gave me the phone so I could watch some viral footage of the twister. It was a drill bit with an agile base, darting here and there. It was precise; probably only a hundred yards across, widest. I felt a throb. I watched the video again, but this time bent my ear to the phone, cracking the volume to max. It was full of noise, and crackle, and the hysterics of whoever recorded it; but straining I made something out. I listened again. And again. And yet again. Finally, there it was, emerging from the ambient noise of the footage, as the cyclone wound here, leapt there, trampling the Poultry Farm out of existence. The unmistakable sound which brought my heart to a near stop: a slow, exhaling laugh; 'Ha. ha. ha.'.