In
late spring, when the National Hurricane Center comes out with its
annual hurricane forecast categorizing the number and strength of
storms that can be expected from June 1 through Nov. 30, something odd
happens. Weather forecasters and on-air meteorologists get this little
extra twinkle in their eyes, a slight indication of glee, in happy
anticipation of a busy hurricane season and subsequent job security.
At least, that’s what I always suspected, and my suspicions were
confirmed quite recently. In fact, I can name the exact date and time
that I lost a bit of faith in the sincerity and usefulness of the
majority of national storm forecasts, and that was Tuesday, Sept. 2, at
7:50 a.m.
At that moment, a pretty blonde national broadcaster was all smiles
covering a tropical forecast, and she referred to the three tropical
systems that were then in the Atlantic -- Hannah, Ike and Josephine --
as a “conga line of hurricanes.”
An odd word usage, one would think, since conga lines are generally
reserved for cruise ships and not for meteorological events. But the
phrase was used again by the forecaster a couple more times, and then
by her “extreme weather team” who used it throughout their
broadcast, just for good measure.
The next day, the conga line had changed to, and I quote, “The
three hurricanes are playing a game of follow the leader.”
Since when are hurricanes such a playful bunch? I fully expected
that during the course of the week, the hurricanes would be
hopscotching their way across the Atlantic, or perhaps skipping around
the May pole of devastation.
This is an indication of how feverishly news networks cover hurricanes,
and these minor terminology faux pas are just the tip of the iceberg.
Remember Ophelia? Probably not, as the 2005 storm that caused
countywide evacuations barely brushed the coast and resulted in nothing
but good shell hunting in the days that followed.
But that didn’t stop a national cable news network from setting
up camp on the southern beaches of Nags Head, well after it was evident
that Ophelia wasn’t a big deal, and giving a direct play-by-play
of all the inaction. I recall clearly turning on the TV and watching a
broadcaster in one of those ridiculous windbreakers that flap noisily
and excessively, just to punctuate how ferocious the environment is,
pointing out several small pieces of wood that were washing up on the
beach.
I remember this because my significant other, who was tuned in as well,
snickered and commented, “Shoot, driftwood is washing up in Nags
Head and it makes the national news?”
Of course, this is the same individual who saw the conga line comment
and started a conga-line across the living room, singing to the conga
line tune, “I-am-line-of-hurricanes! I-will-blow-your-house
down!”
My favorite moment during Ophelia was when the broadcaster, in full
hurricane regalia -- the windbreaker, the frantic arm gestures to keep
the hood on, the supposed blowing away in the wind -- unexpectedly
encounters a guy walk past nonchalantly in a bathing suit, looking at
the forecaster like he’s nuts.
And this isn’t the only case of storm grandstanding for ratings.
In fact, the best example of forecaster frenzy was during some flooding
in New Jersey several years ago. The news network outfitted a reporter
in the standard storm gear and somehow obtained a row boat so she could
row down the flooded street while doing her weather report. Well, in
mid-stroke, a guy in a tank top and shorts strolled by behind her,
revealing the secret that she was actually in ankle-deep water.
This is not to say that hurricane forecasts aren’t necessarily
useful. Far from it. There are actually plenty of applicable tips
I’ve picked up from hurricane coverage alone, such as taking
photos of my home before and after a storm and having a
“kit” packed up in my filing cabinet of important documents
in case of evacuation.
But there’s an equal number of head scratching, “Are you
serious?” moments as well, like the special report that advised
folks not to leave a favorite pet tied up outside during a hurricane or
a segment on the dangers of swimming in the ocean during a
hurricane’s landfall.
So what’s the problem with exaggerating here and there for
increased viewers and ratings, or a little bit of hurricane
overexposure?
It’s certainly not criminal, but it does present a bit of the
“boy who cried wolf” scenario – if all storms are
potentially deadly endeavors that require high functioning
windbreakers, then how does a layman know to prepare for one more than
the
other? And what about the tourism industry on the Outer Banks? Creating
a mountain out of a molehill certainly isn’t going to help boost
those hurricane season visitors.
If there’s a hurricane coming and a voluntary or mandatory
evacuation is called for or is ordered, then, yes, report and report
often, and advise us what to do. is reports from Hatteras village as
Tropical Storm Hanna was headed toward North Carolina earlier this
month.
But if a stick washed up on the beach, don’t turn it into a
national report. And if it’s too early to tell what a storm, or
several storms are going to do, then let’s lay off the party
terms and get down to basics. Chances are, some of us anal retentive
folks are marveling at the fact that you used a phrase like
“follow the leader” and might miss some important shred of
information that’s buried beneath the cool analogies.
Finally, for Pete’s sakes, quit wearing windbreakers, because we
can’t hear what you’re actually saying, unless that’s
the point of windbreakers in the first place.
Granted, my eyes will be tuned to the weather forecasts until hurricane
season is over, but I hope that the rest of the season will bring basic
information and reporting. It would be refreshing to see more projected
paths and historical tracks and fewer conga lines or water polo matches
of storms that might affect my home.
(Joy Crist us a frequent contributor to The Island Free Press, who monitors hurricane forecasts from her home in Avon.)
