Spouting silliness, seriousness

       Waterspouts certainly stir up excitement on Anna Maria Island.

       To confirm, just ask to see the March 27 analytics for The Islander’s Facebook page. That morning, a waterspout formed in the Gulf of Mexico and moved east, toward the island. Witnesses posted photographs to their social media accounts, as well as to The Islander’s Facebook page, where likes, shares and comments compounded to drive views across our community and beyond.

       I contributed one of the photographs, taken from east of the Anna Maria Island Bridge near a stop for the Manatee County Area Transit No. 3 bus, which runs on Manatee Avenue/State Road 64 between the public beach and Interstate 75.

       That morning, I cycled through the various stages of witnessing the development of potentially severe weather — hmm, cool, umm, uh-oh and whew. 

       I’d visited the Kingfish Boat Ramp, then hiked east across the bridge, where I lingered to look for dolphins, and decided to catch the bus to the mainland near the entrance to Neal Preserve. 

       I was waiting at the bus stop, watching puffs of dirt rise with the demolition of the sales office at One Particular Harbour, when I noticed storm clouds in the west. Hmm. Did the clouds form with my back turned as I crossed the bridge?

       The sky darkened and I noticed a white, vertical column. A waterspout? Cool. 

       I took out my iPhone, took a few photos, posted to Facebook, texted colleagues, joked with some friends and other silliness.

       Then I thought about the nature of waterspouts — they can be associated with severe storms and have all the characteristics of land tornados. And waterspouts can become tornadoes on land. Umm.

       Next stage: Uh-oh. I thought about the approaching storm, all that I didn’t know about that waterspout, the new enough MacBook in the bag over my shoulder and the unpredictable wait time for the MCAT bus.

       I jogged to Neal Preserve before sprinkles turned to a driving rain and found cover at a picnic shelter. From there, I watched the waterspout move east, then south and then disappear. Whew.

       An hour later, the blue skies and bright sunlight were back.

       We see our share of thunderstorms and occasional waterspouts and for many people on the island the morning’s weather probably was ordinary, even forgettable.

       But a couple of people wagged a finger my way, leaving me to wonder why people take risks in threatening or severe weather. 

       I couldn’t tell whether I was seeing a tornadic or fair-weather waterspout, but I know waterspouts can carry fish, frogs, turtles, even children.

       I couldn’t tell the strength or size of the waterspout, but I know they can be thousands of feet tall.

       That morning, I was like a kid in a lightning storm, or a motorist driving through a flooded road, a homeowner pushing the snowblower with temperatures 25 below zero, a golfer playing an 18th hole in a thunderstorm, an islander watching the hurricane brew from the beach.

       Will I be silly or serious next time? 

       Hmm.

       At least I purchased an umbrella — that day, on my phone, while waiting for my ride.

Did you know?

       The National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration says waterspouts probably occur more frequently in the Florida Keys than anywhere in the world. About 400-500 waterspouts a year may form around the keys.

       However, while the Keys may have more waterspouts, the Tampa Bay region has the greatest number of damaging waterspouts, according to NOAA.

This column was published in The Islander newspaper

Archives for The Islander are online here.


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