Part 11

At that time, a hurricane was thought to have four stages of existence. First was the formation stage, often with circulatory winds and rain developing in a pressure wave coming westward over the Atlantic or Caribbean. Second, it quickly concentrated into a small but very violent whirl and, over a relatively small area, had the most violent winds of its existence. In this stage it might not have been more than one hundred miles in diameter. Third, it became a mature storm, spreading out, and although its winds did not become any more violent, they spread over a much larger area, maybe as much as three hundred miles, or more, in diameter. Fourth was the stage of decay, when it began to lose its almost circular shape and the winds began to diminish. Now it went off to the northward and became an extra-tropical storm or struck inland in the south and died with torrential rains and squally winds.

This hurricane seemed to be an exception. As it spread out to cover a bigger area, its winds seemed to develop greater fury. A Navy plane went in as it approached the Carolinas and found extreme turbulence, winds estimated at 140 miles an hour, torrential rain that penetrated the airplane, and no visibility through the splatter and smear on the windows. And when the stalwart crew came down below the clouds, the sea was a welter of foam, with gusts wiping the tops off waves that reached up to tremendous heights.

While no planes were lost in probing this terrible storm, a destroyer, a mine sweeper, two Coast Guard cutters, and a light vessel were sunk. An Army plane estimated the winds at 140 miles an hour. The weather officer, Lieutenant Victor Klobucher, said that it was the worst storm that had been probed by the hurricane hunters up to that time. The turbulence was so bad that, with both the pilot and co-pilot straining every muscle, the plane could not be kept under control, and several times they thought it would be torn apart or crash into the sea. On returning to the base, the fliers found that 150 rivets had been sheared off one wing alone.

On the morning of the fourteenth of September, the terrible tempest was close to the eastern tip of North Carolina, apparently destined to sideswipe the coast from there northward with devastating force. There was some alarm in Washington. It might possibly turn more to the northward and its center might come up Chesapeake Bay or up the Potomac River. A violent storm in Washington at that time would have been detrimental to the prosecution of war plans. In 1933, a smaller hurricane had taken this course and its destructive visit to the Bay region and the Capital had not been forgotten. Also, in the minds of the military was the opportunity offered that day to explore a big hurricane and find out more concerning its inner workings.

On that critical morning, Colonel F. B. Wood, a veteran flyer in the Air Corps, came down to Bolling Field outside Washington with hurricane-probing on his mind. After talking about it to the men around the field, he decided to try a flight at least into the outer edges of the storm as it passed to the eastward during the day. He thought about the junior officers and men being sent into these furious winds and he felt it was a good idea for one of the head men to go out and see what it was like.

Wood talked to Lieutenant Frank Record and found he was anxious to go. He grabbed the telephone and got Major Harry Wexler on the line. Harry was a Weather Bureau research official who was in the Army for the duration.

"Harry, how about taking you out in the hurricane today?" Wood asked. "I'll pilot the plane. Frank is going along."

"Sure you can take me out, but you've got to bring me back," Harry answered. "This is a round trip, Floyd, I hope." Wood agreed to do his best to make a round trip out of it.

At two o'clock that afternoon, the trio took off and headed east with some misgivings. They knew that this was one of the worst tropical storms that had been charted up to that time. The hurricane was then centered near Cape Henry, Virginia. The wind at Norfolk had been up to ninety miles an hour. Colonel Wood described it as follows:

"Immediately after take-off, we penetrated a thin overcast, the top of which was about fifteen hundred feet, and then proceeded to a point approximately twenty miles northeast of Langley Field. The boundary of the hurricane, as seen from the latter location, was a dense black wall running along the western edge of the Chesapeake Bay. The airplane was turned on a heading so as to fly a track that would lead straight toward the estimated position of the center of the hurricane. Altitude was three thousand feet. A drift correction of 30° was allowed to account for the estimated one hundred miles per hour cross wind encountered at the outer edge of the storm. Immediately on entering the outer edge, the atmosphere turned very dark and a blanket of heavy rainfall was encountered."

Very surprisingly, the flyers reported that in this area a strong but steady down-current was also encountered. The latter was contrary to the accepted idea that all of the area encompassed by the steep pressure fall in a hurricane contains ascending rather than descending air up to great heights. Although visibility was very low, due to the heavy rainfall, there were very few clouds below the altitude of the airplane (three thousand feet), except for some scud over Cape Henry.

The waves in Chesapeake Bay were enormous. A freighter plowing through the Bay was being swept from bow to stern by huge waves which at times appeared to engulf the whole vessel at once. Spray was being thrown into the air at heights which appeared to reach two hundred feet above the surface of the Bay. From the appearance of the water, both within Chesapeake Bay and east of Cape Henry, it is not surprising that a Navy destroyer of the 1850-ton class was sunk there. One of the foremost thoughts in the men's minds at the time was that should the aircraft be forced down in the hurricane, neither life rafts, "Mae Wests," or any other lifesaving device would have saved them from drowning!

The flight was continued on toward the assumed position of the center of the hurricane. Although the downdraft continued strong, very little turbulence was encountered. The airplane lost a speed of about seventy miles per hour in the necessary climb required to make up for the downward motion of the air. The heavy rain continued. At a point approximately fifty to sixty miles inward from the outer edge of the hurricane, they suddenly entered an area of rising air. This area also contained fairly dense clouds below, but very thin clouds above. The sun was visible through the thin clouds overhead. They seemed to be on the edge of the center. The vertical air movement was of such magnitude that the airplane was lifted from the three thousand foot level to five thousand feet before power could be reduced and the airplane nosed downward. Turbulence in this area was also considerably more severe than in the zone of descending air just passed through, but was not of such severity as to endanger the flight.

Although the flight was continued for a few minutes on toward the point where the center of the hurricane was thought to be, the conditions of flight remained constant; that is, moderate turbulence, rising air, and the sun faintly visible through the thin clouds overhead. The men thought they were off to one side or other of the center, but not finding it, and not knowing the direction in which to fly to locate it exactly, the airplane was turned around and flown on a track which was estimated would lead toward Norfolk. An altitude of five thousand feet was maintained on the way out. The dark band of descending air and heavy rainfall was traversed in the reverse order as during the incoming flight. They emerged from the hurricane at a point approximately thirty miles east-northeast of Norfolk.

Afterward, Colonel Wood felt more confident about junior officers flying into hurricanes, but there were many questions yet to be answered. Incidentally, the three men in this plane and the members of the squadron who flew into the same hurricane from Miami were awarded the Air Medal in February, 1945, for their bravery in these flights.

Colonel Wood drew the following conclusions:

"Although one of the more important points indicated by our experience during the aforementioned flight is that hurricanes can very probably be successfully flown through after they have reached temperate latitudes, it should not be accepted as conclusive proof that all hurricanes may be flown through. Although there have been several instances of flights into hurricanes before they migrated out of the tropical regions, it is not known whether, at the times the flights were made, any of these storms were of an intensity that even approached the maximum possible. Further, it is not known for certain whether the hurricane that passed along the Virginia coast on the fourteenth of September is typical of all hurricanes once they reach temperate latitudes. Indications are that this hurricane was about as severe as they ever get to be at these latitudes, but insufficient flying experience in hurricanes has been obtained to determine conclusively that all hurricanes in temperate latitudes are safe to fly through. Any pilot who in the future might desire to repeat the experience referred to in this statement is advised that any hurricane should be approached gingerly and with a view toward making an immediate 180° change in his track, should severe turbulence, hail, or severe thunderstorm activity be encountered.

"It is believed that the method of examining a hurricane by flight reconnaissance that would produce the most revealing results is to attempt an approach to it from the stratosphere. It is thought, further, that such a flight could be made over the outer rim of the hurricane and a let-down into the center or hollow eye of the storm be made with complete safety. A record of the temperature at various flight levels while descending through the central (hollow) portion of the storm, together with photographs of the cloud structure, would be of tremendous value."

In October there was another hurricane in Florida. It began in the western Caribbean on the thirteenth and crossed western Cuba on the seventeenth. On the south coast the hurricane winds created an enormous tide. More than three hundred people were killed, and a Standard Oil Company barge was carried ten miles inland. When the big winds roared across Florida on the eighteenth and nineteenth, it was a severe storm with a calm center that was at one time about seventy miles long.

As it drove violent winds and seas toward Florida, an airline company, Transcontinental & Western Air, decided to investigate and sent an experienced pilot, Captain Robert Buck, in a B-17, to fly through and observe the weather and electrical phenomena in the storm. Of course, he considered the flight hazardous but he was willing. Any person who had experienced the violent winds of these storms or read about their destructive effects was likely to assume that a plane at low levels in the middle part of the storm might have its wings torn off.

Buck started to climb into the edge of the storm at Alma, Georgia, going in warily at four thousand feet and finding only light to moderate turbulence from there to nine thousand feet, after which it became smoother. This was in accordance with the reports of other fliers who had ventured in at high levels, and he was reassured.

At eleven thousand feet the rain changed to sleet. This was not unexpected. Ordinarily it is much colder at such a height than at the ground. The temperature drops about one degree for each rise of three hundred feet. Although the plane was flying in instrument conditions and "blind," there were no ordinary water-cloud particles, but simply haze and sleet.

At 12,700 feet, with the temperature at the freezing point, the plane flew through moderate to heavy snow with very large flakes. The climb was continued and the snow remained moderate, but as the altitude increased, the size of the snowflakes decreased. The air was perfectly smooth, with the exception of about one minute of light turbulence at 16,000 feet. During the entire climb no ice was encountered, but there were a few patches of snow sticking on the airplane. This was definitely not ice. Due to loss of radio reception on all receivers, including the loop, it was difficult to obtain the wind accurately. It was estimated to be easterly at approximately eighty-five miles an hour, to about 16,000 feet, where it changed to westerly with about the same velocity.

At 19,400 feet, the temperature had dropped to 27°. At 22,800 feet, the snow was light and fine and the temperature was 18°. The temperature had dropped to 14° at 24,600 feet.

At 25,000 feet, the plane broke out of the side of the storm near the top. At 25,800 feet, the plane was flying in the clear where the temperature was 18°. During the entire climb from 9,500 feet to 25,000 feet, no fog was encountered, only particles of snow.

Near Jacksonville, Florida, the tops of the clouds dropped sharply to 8,000 feet. The plane flew east out to sea to check the eastern side of the storm and, satisfied that Jacksonville was close to the storm's center, proceeded to the coast again and to Daytona Beach, where the craft landed.

Pilot Buck concluded that the paramount danger lies in an aircraft becoming lost, due to the failure of radio navigation caused by static, coupled with the high winds. He said that a tropical storm of the type flown is not hazardous to aircraft in respect to structural failure and loss of control, if an altitude of over approximately 8,000 feet is held.

In December, all the men connected with the hurricane warning service in the Army, Navy, Weather Bureau and other agencies--including the top officials, the forecasters, the men who directed the flights, the pilots, weather officers, and others who made up the crews, the radio men on shore, and the Coast Guard people--were fully represented in a conference in Washington. Here they all went over their experiences and offered every possible suggestion for improving the service. Many things were needed, but two tough problems worried everybody.

One was how the crew could find out where they were in latitude and longitude or in distance and direction from some point on an island or on the coast after they found the center of the storm. After all, the weather observer, navigator, and the radio man might figure out how to get in the eye, and the plane might get into it, but if they failed to get their position accurately, the information was of doubtful value. This nearly always depended on radio signals from distant shore stations, for it was seldom that they could get a celestial fix as a mate does on a ship at sea. The second problem was communications--how to get the weather message off and be sure it had been received at a shore radio station, and see also that it reached the forecast offices promptly. All of this had many sources of delay. In a hurricane, the atmospherics were often excessive. At times the radio man on the plane could hear nothing but loud static in his ear phones. He was powerless to do anything except to send "blind" and hope somebody would receive it and understand what it was. Slowly these problems were solved in part as time went on.

_10._ KAPPLER'S HURRICANE

_Black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell._ --Milton

Kappler's Hurricane was one of the most violent of history. It got its name from a weather officer, a second lieutenant in the Army Air Corps named Bernard J. Kappler. The story includes the vivid personal reactions of a number of men who explored this tremendous storm as it built up its energy while crossing fifteen hundred miles of tropical and subtropical sea surface and finally ravaged parts of Southern Florida, including the outright destruction of the big Richmond Naval Air Base.

The fact is that this storm seems to have had its birth over western Africa. There were signs of it there and near the Cape Verde Islands on the first two days of September. Later there were some indications of its winds and low pressure in radio reports from ships but eventually it was lost for the time being, far out in the Atlantic.

Kappler discovered it on September 12, 1945. He was on a regular weather-reporting mission to the Windward Islands. Every day one or more B-25's took off from Morrison Field at West Palm Beach and explored the atmosphere on flights to Antigua, British West Indies, returning via the open Atlantic to Florida. On that day there was nothing unusual until the plane in which Kappler was flying was about two hours from Antigua. Here, he noted a black wall of clouds to the east and at his suggestion the pilot, First Lieutenant D. A. Cassidy, took the plane down to fifteen hundred feet and they looked around.

Without any doubt, a tropical storm was in the making. Its winds already were blowing around a center with gusts at about seventy miles an hour. There was moderate turbulence, with stretches of rain, but they had no

## particular difficulty in flying through it. They reported it to

headquarters and were told to land at Coolidge Field in Antigua and be prepared to take another look and report in the morning.

This operation was known as "Duck Fight," consisting of five B-25 aircraft and five crews made up of twenty officers and fifteen men. This

## particular group had been at British Guiana but had moved up to Florida

in May for the new hurricane duty. It was their job to explore this region twice daily, looking for weather trouble when no storm was known to be in progress. If a suspicious area was found, they were deployed and used in accordance with directives from the hurricane center at Miami. The Navy also had planes assigned to similar missions.

After breakfast on the thirteenth Kappler's crew took off again. About two hours out of Antigua, they encountered winds up to about eighty knots (a little above ninety miles an hour) but flying was smooth. The crew made a few jokes on the general subject of how easy it was to fly through hurricanes. The co-pilot, Lieutenant Hugh Crowe, had the controls. He turned toward the center and the wind picked up to 120 knots. Soon they were in trouble, with severe turbulence and heavy rain. The air speed fluctuated between 160 and 240 miles an hour and cylinder temperatures began to fall rapidly. Crowe fed power to the engines, but the plane began getting out of control. Cassidy had to help him keep the ship level. Kappler shouted that the pressure was dropping rapidly--the pressure altitude was seventeen hundred feet but their actual height was only nine hundred. Crowe said the turbulence was the most severe he had ever experienced. The plane yawed fifteen degrees on either side of the heading. The navigator, Lieutenant Redding W. Bunting, said dryly, "In my opinion a hurricane is not the place in which to fly an airplane."

By the fourteenth, it was obvious to all concerned that they had a really big storm on their hands. Its center had been north of Puerto Rico on the thirteenth, and on the fourteenth, moving rather rapidly, it was passing north of Haiti. The first plane took off from Borinquen Field, Puerto Rico, in the morning, Cassidy at the controls, and within an hour the crew were getting into it. At the end of this flight, Co-pilot Crowe said, "My respect for hurricanes has increased tremendously!"

First, the right engine was not running smoothly and after a little it almost stopped. Cassidy asked Bunting where the nearest land was and when he said Cuba, they turned 90° and made for it. After twenty minutes the engine was doing better, so they had a brief conference and decided to try for the hurricane center. Turning back, they saw gigantic sea swells and a white boiling ocean ahead. Soon they hit the worst turbulence Cassidy had ever seen, and with it there were intervals of torrential rain. It was terrific. The cockpit was leaking like a sieve. Most of the time it took full rudder and aileron to lift a wing. The plane got into attitudes they had never dreamed of. It was impossible to hold a heading, for the ship was yawing more than 30° and taking a terrible side buffeting. Maybe this lasted three to five minutes but it seemed like hours. Suddenly they passed through the edge of the center, it was smooth for about a minute, and then they were in the worst part again. Bunting noted a piece of advice, "When you are near the center, about all you can do is brace yourself and hold on to something that won't pull loose."

Bunting reported afterward that it took both pilot and co-pilot to control the ship and at times the RPM set at 2,100 would drop to 1,900 and then rise to 2,200, due to the terrific force of the wind. Kappler kept phoning the correct altitude to the pilot at short intervals because of the enormous changes in pressure. It was impossible to write in the log book so he scribbled as best he could on a piece of paper and copied it afterward. He noted that before entering the eye it was very dark. Inside it was cloudy but the light was better, indicating that the upper clouds were missing. When the flight was finished the crew was glad to be back at Morrison Field--to put it mildly!

Another plane at Morrison Field had been out the day before and soon was taking off again, at 2:00 P.M. The pilot was Lieutenant A. D. Gunn. He flew a direct course to the center of the storm--he hadn't realized the day before that he was elected to go through it again today, so he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. These two days had provided his first such experience. One cylinder head slid to a very low temperature in the heavy rain and Gunn dropped the landing gear and tried to keep it up to 100°, but one engine died. The turbulence was so bad that neither he nor the co-pilot could tell which engine was out. The severe turbulence lasted for a full thirty minutes, about ten minutes of this being flown on one engine, with the crew desperately working on the other while they bounced around. The flight engineer, Sergeant Harry Kiefaber, had to leave his seat because of water pouring down his back and the tossing up and down, with his head repeatedly hitting the top of the plane. He tried to go back to join the navigator but the plane started to fall off to the right and he had visions of ditching in a mass of white foam. The pilot got it under control but it seemed that they were being tossed around like popcorn in a popper. Gradually the turbulence ceased, the other engine began running smoothly and they headed straight for Morrison.