Commentary: Hurricanes measured by impact on people

  • Published
  • By Col. Michael J. Underkofler
  • 514th Air Mobility Wing commander
JOINT BASE MCGUIRE-DIX-LAKEHURST, N.J. --  I'm not a school-trained meteorologist, but I know a little about the science of hurricanes. I used to fly in them, collecting data like air and water temperature, wind direction and speed, and barometric pressure to send to the National Hurricane Center in Miami, Florida. With great accuracy, scientists there make storm path and intensity predictions. What they can't predict is the toll these storms take on human lives. Unfortunately I've seen this other side of the physical devastation--the havoc, frustration and despair left behind when the wind dies down and the water recedes.

Despite being somewhat dangerous, it was fun flying in storms and being associated with the Air Force's world-famous Hurricane Hunters. Some storms produce incredible up and down drafts, capable of throwing the venerable C-130 weather reconnaissance aircraft way off the desired altitude.

One reason we fly into hurricanes is to find the exact center, or eye, of the storm which helps predict its path. The true center also normally registers the storm system's lowest barometric pressure. Typically, the lower the barometric pressure, the worse the storm. Flying in the eye of the storm can produce absolute euphoria. It's incredibly calm and peaceful, and the surrounding clouds resemble encircling seats at a sports stadium. The euphoria, however, is short lived as within minutes you're kicked back into pea-soup clouds fighting turbulence and aircraft icing.

I quickly became a weather geek, closely following the wind and barometric pressure of hurricanes. The first one I flew in produced winds which reached 100 mph and a low pressure of 960 millibars (mbs) which classified it as a category 2 storm. I dutifully recorded this data in my personal log book. Sadly, the next year I helplessly watched as Hurricane Isabel tracked up the coast, headed toward my hometown in North Carolina. I followed the winds and barometric pressure and made really sophomoric pilot guesses about possible storm surge levels and damage. Isabel attained winds of 165 mph and a low pressure of 915 mbs, a category 5 storm out at sea. From a distance I dutifully noted this storm's stats while sadly my childhood friends were left to deal with the results--immense damage and suffering.

Two years later Hurricane Katrina barreled in on my home in Mississippi. My family evacuated, and my children never returned to see the destruction. They moved to a new house, in a new town and made new friends, most of who never understood or could comprehend what my kids had endured. My life-changing storm was one for the record books. At one point it reached winds of 175 mph and a low pressure of 902 mbs. Again, I dutifully recorded the storm's stats.

I really thought my days of dodging and dealing with storms were over when I moved to New Jersey to command the 514th Air Mobility Wing. Who would ever think a late season storm would roar up the east coast and hit us here in New Jersey and in New York with winds registering 110 mph and a low pressure of 940 mbs. This time I was fortunate, there was minimal damage to my home, and I only went without power for four days. As you know, thousands of others weren't so lucky.

Now after Hurricane Sandy, I've decided that I'm not going to closely follow and record storm winds and barometric pressure anymore, trying to predict a storm's landfall intensity and the resulting damage.

What difference does it make? Storms are fickle and indiscriminately destroy. Some houses remain while others nearby are wiped away. People drown in wading-level water while others survive after being swept out to many fathom-deep rivers or the ocean. Cherished keepsakes are destroyed, routines upended, many needs go unmet, disappointments ensue, while fear, depression and anxiety lurk around every corner. I guess I've finally realized barometric pressure readings don't predict much about how storms will impact lives.
My job is now ground-centric, focusing on what I can do to help Airmen mitigate the damage from Hurricane Sandy. Not just the emergent requirements, but those that challenge our long-term mental, spiritual, and emotional well-being. It does no good to rebuild a house if it is no longer a home. I've seen first-hand the effects of post-storm stress--fractured relationships and deeply scarred hearts. It will take quite some time to recover from this storm; it's much tougher than simply throwing out debris. But with the support of friends, family and fellow Airmen, we'll get through this.