We have big-sky cloud formations to enjoy, ponder and maybe hide from. They range from interesting to downright scary, and it is fun to recall some clouds that made me skedaddle faster than greased lightning.
We often see the standard cloud types and formations which, as a sea captain, I have studied closely, such as cumulonimbus, nimbostratus, cirrus, altocumulous and others, which all have their unique shapes and altitudes.
Here are fun word-facts about root names of clouds: 1) Cirro-: curl of air, high; 2) Alto-: mid; 3) Strato-: layer: 4) Nimbo-:rain, precipitation; 5) Cumulo-: heap.
They give us fun little challenges because you can do a Google search, go outside and compare to what is up in the sky.
Some of those can help you understand what is coming next, like rain or another type of cloud formation as a weather system plays out overhead.
My weather eye is always out for more exciting or ominous cloud formations that mean something locally, and perhaps even imminently.
Cloud formations often give us warning of what is coming, or occurring nearby.
For example, we have our local cloud cap over the mountains behind Goleta and Santa Barbara that seafaring people call the “fingers of death.” We know from experience at sea that those particular cloud formations develop when there are strong northwest winds in the western part of the Santa Barbara Channel.
The fingers of death serve as a warning of what parts of the ocean we should steer clear of. When Ma Nature gives me a sign about dangerous conditions, I pay very close attention and react accordingly.
I recall being far out to sea and watching stratus clouds behave strangely. They swirled, bulged, twisted and formed an scary looking five-mile long horizontal twister on the underside of the stratus directly above.
I told everyone aboard to hang on while I turned the boat and skedaddled as fast as those 500 horses on the back of my boat would go.
I didn’t want that long horizontal twister to detach, drop one end, and become a twisting waterspout that could churn the sea to a froth.
On other days I’ve closely monitored wedge shapes of dark water-filled clouds that look ready to build quickly into towering thunderheads with their anvil-shaped tops that pack a serious wallop. Those anvils look angry ready to ignite thunderbolts.
Out on the water, we scram away from those pretty quick because when the lightning starts flying those of us on boats naturally think, “Yup, guess we’re the tallest thing around out here.”
That is not a comforting feeling.
Cloud watching is fun and informative, and I’m glad the cloud season is finally here. Let’s hope for lots and lots of clouds (and wet ones) this season.
