Living with tornadoes in the southern states thanks to climate change

By JLBane

Having experienced first-hand the sheer power and ferocity of hurricanes, tornadoes and water spouts I have more than a little sympathy for the people of Alabama and Arkansas; regions among others which have been battered by extreme weather conditions in the past few days.

Recent months have seen aberrant weather conditions in that region claim more than 500 lives with an estimated 1500 still unaccounted for. Worst hit areas yesterday include the town of Denny, Arkansas which by all accounts has been levelled and three people are known to have died.

Arkansas, Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama, Texas and Louisiana all meet the Gulf of Mexico, a huge oceanic basin which has been severely affected by the recent Deep Horizon oil spill caused by an explosion on the BP rig. The clean up job is still ongoing but the local eco-system has been decimated and a vital part of the planet’s heating and cooling system, the Global Conveyor Belt, has been adversely affected too. Due to the amount of oil and so-called ‘dispersants’ remaining in the water, the ocean’s convection carriers are unable to do their jobs properly meaning that the cold waters which usually flow down from Alaska are not reaching the Gulf and as a result the entire area is warmer than it would normally be.

It is no coincidence that we are seeing an increase in tornados and aberrant weather conditions after the Gulf of Mexico spill and the regions affected are sat right on top of that disaster.

Deep Horizon, the BP oil spill has had a far reaching impact on the Gulf of Mexico.

Climate change could well be playing its part too with a recorded increase in temperatures since 1980. Indeed between 1980 and 1998 the global temperature rose by 0.5 degrees celcius as confirmed by the US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the UK’s Met Office and the IPCC.

Doesn’t sound like much but its effect on the environment is enough to cause the kind of crazy weather we’ve regularly seen over the past few decades. The predicted rise of a further 1.5 degrees by 2050 would mean these conditions becoming the norm.

I remember all too well the night I was woken by a water spout on the south coast of England. We lived opposite the beach in a small fishing village and in the early hours of an Autumn night in 1985 my house was pummeled by a wall of water. I looked out of the window with an exhilaration born of fascination and sheer terror to catch the most fleeting glimpse of a black spout crossing the sea heading inland towards the bottom end of my street. The spray it generated lashed windows and doused houses in its briney fury and the noise of that squall against the glass was like artillery hammering out shells on the front lines.

The next morning we awoke to the news of houses no more than a few hundred metres from my own being flattened and the community began a clear up and rebuild. Luckily there were no casualties but our little village was shaken by the storm, long after it had cleared.

Two years later in October 1987 we were subject to a devastating hurricane which tore across the coast with scant regard for anything it touched. We were evacuated from our homes in the early hours of the morning as a precaution and upon arrival at the village hall we were welcomed by the rest of the coastal community.

I can’t describe what the hurricane looked like as I was inside the whole time, but the sounds of roof slates, litter, fence panels and tree limbs smashing against our temporary refuge were enough to tell us that we were not safe beyond those walls, and many questioned whether we were any safer inside.

The one good thing to come from these incidents was the community spirit which got us all through those harrowing nights and the subsequent weeks and months of recovery.

The morning after the hurricane I wandered the streets in the stillness and calm. My small world had been transformed into a post-apocalyptic nightmare, strewn with victims and wreckage. Every trace of damage had its own sad story to tell.

I saw the corpses of birds; majestic seagulls that only a day earlier had graced the sky and skimmed the sea. Once-houses lay in rubble and cars were smashed and folded like waste paper, such was the force of the hurricane. Trees that had stood for decades and witnessed generations of children grow and move on were uprooted and left shattered across streets or plunged through walls and roofs.

The most striking thing was the silence. After the raging winds and chaotic claxons of debris chiming against brick and metal of a few hours past, the morning stillness was almost unnerving. There was a sense of calm but also an ominous reminder that we had somehow survived the onslaught of nature.

Years later we were still remembered for our hurricane and the local Indian restaurant even changed its name to reflect that.

I know what it’s like to live through these weather conditions and my heart and thoughts go out to the people in those southern states whose lives will be in turmoil after the devastating weather that has battered the northern coast of the Gulf of Mexico this year.

Please share your thoughts on the matter of these aberrant weather conditions or climate change by leaving a comment.

Read about the climate change blame game; NAWAPA‘s proposal to ship water from Alaska and its impact on the Global Conveyor Belt, and tips to conserve clean water.

images: feelfree.co; treehugger.com; columbiaweather.com

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