Hey, why didn't someone tell me about Dakota magic before? I've been hanging out around the Oklahoma and Texas panhandles all these years, waiting for the Holy Grail of Tornados to unfold before me. Maybe I should trade in Amarillo for Aberdeen.
It was Saturday evening, June 13, 1998. I was having dinner with some of the top storm chasers in the country at the Wagon Wheel Tavern in historic Marysville, Kansas. Fellow chasers Carson Eads, Tim Marshall, Alan Moller, Gene Rhoden and I sat down to a late meal after chasing a fast-moving, high-precipitation supercell along the Kansas-Nebraska border for several hours.
Late last May I had the opportunity to read many of the early issues of Storm Track. My friend and fellow chaser, Charles Bustamante, had packed nearly a dozen volumes of Storm Track for our latest excursion to the Plains. Near Glendale, Nevada, I recall reading a fantasy article/cartoon by David Hoadley. The star in this "Gentleman's Chase" wakes up somewhere in tornado alley, has a leisurely lunch, watches a storm develop nearby, and photographs a tornado while in perfect position after a brief drive. For him, it was just another typical chase day.