Step inside for a better view.

It starts off innocently enough. A patch of warm, humid air up from the Gulf bumps into cold air down from Canada and mixes with dry air coming off the Rockies. If the high pressure cap weakens, the warm air rises, then cools and condenses into towering clouds. Those towers, if strong enough, punch a hole through the cap and signify the fireworks are about to start. Meanwhile, that rising warm air displaces the colder air, forcing it down. This causes the two air masses to "rub" against each other, creating a horizontal patch of spinning air. If a powerful updraft, skirting along the surface, decides to suddently rocket skyward, it literally pushes that spinning air vertical. The science is still shakey on just how this large area of spinning wind ends up strengthening and tightening into the Finger of God, but it does. And why does this warrant discussion? Because researchers have, for the first time ever, used a probe to capture images from inside a tornado.

So stick the Dorothy and Toto references up your ass.
This is the real deal.


Last summer, three scientists did the near impossible — they chased down a tornado and placed a probe with video cameras directly in its path. Some guy named Tim Samaras carried, along with an obviously huge set of steel balls, an 80-pound probe and placed that movable force in front of the unstoppable object. And the video of this atmospheric bullfight is simply amazing.

See for yourself.

Talk about mesmerizing video. The guy literally stands there watching the tornado eyeball its way straight towards his increasing pucker factor. Not only does he stand there watching it watch him, but he then decides the probe needs to be placed elsewhere on the road and moves it again prior to getting out of the way.

Bill Paxton could only hope to be this cool. And if the video doesn't leave you shaking your head in amazement, crawl back to your Playstation that has obviously convinced you fantasy is better than reality.

For additional footage of what an F4 tornado looks like up close and personal without forcing you to call your insurance agent immediately afterwards, check this out, too. It'll have you grabbing a shovel and building a basement if you don't have one in no time.

It was back in 1982 when we saw our first funnel drop down west of the football field during recess. Originally upset our game of Four Square was interrupted by a terrified teacher blowing her whistle and screaming for us to get inside the school, we found ourselves hypnotized by the angry pencil-shaped cloud. Who knew years later we'd find ourselves purposefully driving towards the dark clouds of spring looking to get a better view.


We've seen exactly one up close and personal; a set of three twisters touched down west and north of Kingman back in 1995. We were set up on the southwest corner of the supercell and saw a small one rip through an open wheat field. Apparently two others touched down in the vicinity that day but we never caught a glimpse of them.

But the best "holy shit here it comes" story occurred during Finals Week at KU back in '93. Earlier that day the National Weather Service had issued a Tornado Watch for the area. Sitting in Mallette Hall trying to fight through an ass-whip of an astronomy final, the sound of screaming tornado sirens announced the Tornado Watch had turned into a Tornado Warning. The TA administering the exam completely freaked out, picked up the tests, mumbled something about taking "current circumstances into consideration" when awarding final grades and ran out the door. Small wonder the rest of the class quickly followed suit.

As we walked down the hill headed back home to The Apartment Bar That Never Closes, we were literally knocked over by panicked students sprinting towards shelter. When we reached the apartment complex, it looked like a disturbed ant hill; students were scurrying all over the place. But there, in the face of impending doom, stood Chris and Brian. With eyes toward the troubled sky, ears toward the TV weatherman and cold beer in hand, they were impervious to the manufactured (and misplaced) chaos surrounding them.

"Have you seen it yet?"

"No. Guess the mean stuff is out by Clinton Lake."

A few other "brave" souls were standing in the parking lot looking skyward as well, while others were too busy diving into the nearest bathtub while reaching for the closest mattress to cover themselves with. And that's when it hit us; that's when the power of observation paid off. While the out-of-state students were quite certain the world was coming to an end, all native Kansans were struggling for a glimpse of the twister. As they ran in, we ran out. So the next time a tornado siren roars through your neighborhood and your neighbor can be seen walking outside for a better look, you know where he's from.