Nature’s dark side, Day 2: May 20 Moore tornado

Paul Hellstern/The Oklahoman

I was hoping yesterday that the predicted severe weather for Monday would fizzle out, sparing us a repeat of what happened Sunday night in central Oklahoma. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Things just got worse.

This time, the bulls-eye was in Moore, a suburb of about 50,000 on Oklahoma City’s south side. It’s been the site of several large tornadoes going back to 1998, including the infamous May 3, 1999 storm.

I worked in Moore for about 3 1/2 years at a small paper there, so I know the town pretty well. I’ve known its mayor, Glenn Lewis, from way back. In 1999, I was working at the Oklahoma City paper, and was sent to Moore right after that deadly storm.

I remember thinking that outside of a hurricane, there could be no worse natural disaster than this. Fires burned from wrecked buildings. Smashed homes as far as I could see. National Guardsmen being bused in to help with relief efforts. The smells of wet timber, gasoline and natural gas. Stunned, mud-caked people walking out of their wrecked neighborhoods carrying pets or sometimes random items like fishing poles or whatever else was salvageable. Trucks towing trailers hauling the wounded.

It looked like a war zone.

The statistics were mind-boggling Winds clocked at 320 mph, the fastest ever recorded anywhere. An estimated $1.2 billion in damage. A tornado that was on the ground for hours, carving a path from southwestern Oklahoma all the way to Tulsa’s doorstep. Forty-four killed.

Surely we’d never see anything like this again.

And then we did.

As of this writing, the tornado registered an EF-4 (winds up to 200 mph). Its damage path was more limited, but the level of destruction in Moore is at least roughly equal to what happened in 1999. Two schools destroyed, and many of the 24 found dead so far were kids huddling inside those school buildings, thinking they were in a safe place.

Sue Ogrocki/Associated Press

Moore rebounded from the 1999 storm in spectacular form. People rebuilt, and under steady leadership, the city transformed itself. Prosperity abounded.

I have no doubt they’ll do so again. But I don’t blame folks there for feeling weary of this. In between this storm and the one in 1999 have been other less severe but still destructive — and deadly — tornadoes that have hit this town. And this time, with so many of the dead being kids at Plaza Towers Elementary School, the depth of the tragedy seems particularly  cruel.

I promise that this site is not going to transform into some sort of weather or current events blog. But it’s hard to think of much else when so many people I know are dealing with this mess right now. Say some prayers for Moore. Go online or by text and donate to the Red Cross. If you’re close to the Moore area, find out what your local churches, employers and relief agencies are doing to help and join in.

Bob Doucette

On Twitter @RMHigh7088

The dark side of spring in the Southern Plains: Oklahoma tornadoes, May 19

I’ve written a number of posts about the importance of getting outside and embracing the elements, no matter how unpleasant that might be. Bitter cold, high heat, rain, snow — these unpleasantries can teach you things and make you stronger. Mental toughness is often what you need to battle the things that the natural world throws at you — heat, cold, storms, altitude and whatnot. Mental toughness is also what you need to “conquer” yourself.

But yesterday I was reminded that those elements sometimes go way beyond taxing. Sometimes the elements are malevolent. Deadly. Unstoppable.

I’ve been living in the Southern Plains for nearly 30 years. West of the Rockies from south Texas all the way up into southern Canada, and southeast into the Gulf Coast, tens of millions of us live in places prone to massive thunderstorms and the tornadoes they sometimes bring. We’ve had a mellow spring so far this year, even a bit on the cool side. It wasn’t mellow yesterday in my former hometown.

Tornadic storms thrashed the Oklahoma City area before heading northeast. They petered out before hitting my new hometown of Tulsa, but left their mark in my old hometown of Shawnee. Dozens of homes and other buildings were damaged or destroyed, many people were injured and two people were killed.

These were massive storms spawning huge tornadoes. Poring over social media, I snagged these photos.

This one was taken from the parking lot of First Baptist Church of Shawnee.

Todd Fisher photo

Here is another shot of the same tornado, taken earlier, looking northwest. This photo was taken about a half mile from where I used to live.

Rachel Hankins photo

Another angle of that tornado, looking east, shows a closer look at this deadly storm.

KWTV photo

And here’s another, taken from Oklahoma Baptist University, looking northwest.

Jason Melot photo

Like I said, this wasn’t the only tornado that hit central Oklahoma on Sunday. Another very large and dangerous tornado smashed into the small town of Carney. Below is a video of that storm.

Sobering stuff. I know this is a post out of the normal boundaries of what I normally write about. But sometimes things like this are a good reminder about what the elements can do under certain circumstances. It’s a display of awesome power.

Unfortunately, when such power meets our fragile little lives, bad things happen. When it hits a place you used to call home, a place where a lot of friends still live, it hits just a little harder.

It’s supposed to be another rough one today, weather-wise. Here’s hoping we don’t have a repeat of Sunday’s events.

Bob Doucette

On Twitter @RMHigh7088

The Weekly Stoke: Drones, elephant justice, tick phobia and what makes an elite mountaineer

Jam-packed with news this week, we’re looking at a whole slew of the funny, serious and weird in this edition of the Weekly Stoke. So let’s get started.

Drones are used to wipe out terrorists, and some fear they can spy on American citizens. The U.S. Geological Survey has found another use that’s a little more benign.

Chalk one up for wildlife! An elephant turns the tables on a poacher.

Here’s something we suspected: Hiking can actually make you smarter.

National Geographic takes an interesting look at the physiological attributes of elite high-altitude mountaineers.

It’s tick season now, and if this post doesn’t freak you out than maybe it will at least inspire a bug spray purchase or at least a thorough tick-check.

We’re redefining wild spaces again: The National Park Service will allow bolts on climbing routes in national parks.

Here’s a list of some of the world’s most dangerous travel destinations.

And finally, a video of when Whole Foods gets to people’s heads.

Strength training royalty: A foundational list

I’ve been rather enjoying my running offseason. The runs are for fun and there’s less punishment going on. It’s also been interesting to see my muscles “fill up” again after months of training and races. All this, and still maintaining my weight in the mid-170s.

It got me to thinking about weight training, what’s important and those must-do things for people to have success. I’ve long said there is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all method to fitness. Training should  be goal- and sport-specific. But when it comes to the weight room, I believe that there are foundational exercises that need to be part of what you do. I call them the four kings of strength training. Here’s how I see it:

Chest press: Whether this is a barbell bench press, an incline dumbbell press or another variant of these two (notice: I didn’t mention decline bench), this needs to be a part of what you do. It hits big and multiple muscle groups: the pecs, shoulders and triceps. You can build off all other “press” moves with this as your capstone.

Pull-up: Any bodybuilder worth their salt will tell you this is a must. So might your best climbers. You develop a broad, strong back doing bodyweight (and for the advanced, weighted) pull-ups. Like the chest press, this hammers big muscle groups: The lats, delts, biceps and even the traps. Variants include palms out, neutral grip and chin-ups (palms in), and they’re all great. Can’t do an unassisted pull-up? Try using bands for assisted reps, or do flexed-arm hangs, ending with a slow negative down. And you might also try reverse rows to help build you up to where you can do pull-ups on your own. And whatever you do, NO KIPPING.

Squat: On this list of strength training royalty, the squat is the king among kings. It is, quite simply, the best strength training exercise there is. Your entire body gets a benefit, but the prime targets include the quads, glutes and hamstrings. These muscles are the engines of athleticism: Ignore them at your peril. Bodyweight squats, dumbbell squats and barbell squats (there are many variations, all good) are something that need to be in your training toolbox when it comes to lower body workouts.

Deadlift: Probably the most basic of lifts, you’re just picking up a weight off the floor. And yet it is so crucial and beneficial. The standard barbell deadlift (grips on this vary widely) will work your quads, hams and glutes, but also are a major driver in back development. Variations of the deadlift, like the Romanian deadlift, tend to target the hams and glutes more. And they do it so well.

Cycling off of distance training has allowed me to appreciate lifting more, and I’ll take full advantage of it during the weeks to come. I believe that weight training is a key component to becoming a better athlete — even a better endurance athlete. And more to the point, I believe strongly that these four kings of the gym are the bedrock on which successful strength training is built.

Bob Doucette

On Twitter @RMHigh7088

Fine dining, backcountry style

Kitchen prep.

I get a serious kick out of reading the restaurant reviews from one of the writers of my local newspaper. The guy knows his food, and his recommendations are not taken lightly.

I also confess to being a huge fan of the television programs Anthony Bourdain produces. Part of it is the travel element, but also his wicked sense of humor, excellent screenwriting and music tastes. On top of all that, I want to eat the things he eats.

I’ve never been a cook of a chef, and I’m not the guy you would want writing about cuisine. I just like to eat, and eat well. The fitness side of me wants to treat food as fuel, but the rest of me says otherwise. Taste matters. So does setting.

This is a particular problem for those of us who like to spend time outdoors. Sure, if you car camp or otherwise have access to the tools that make cooking away from home easy, you can work wonders. But what if you’re backpacking for several days? Living from a tent? Packing as light as possible to cut weight? Cooking with a camp stove?

Often times, those dining experiences are relegated to dehydrates foods, energy bars, trail mix and powder drink mixes. Or maybe some beans and rice. Often those backcountry or outdoor dining experiences are long on atmospherics and short on taste.

But not always. I got to thinking of a few times where the food, the surroundings and the company made for some of the most memorable meals I’ve ever had.

Serve yourself-style. As fresh as it gets.

Catch of the day

If you’re stuck living away from the coasts, you know all about bad seafood. The fresher, the better. And that doesn’t happen very often when you live far from the sea. All we usually get that somewhat qualifies as fresh fish come from catfish filets gleaned from large fish farms.

But all is not lost. You actually can live inland and get a meal more fresh than anything served at a Boston bistro or San Francisco eatery.

In this scenario, I was with my brother-in-law, Mark, somewhere near the town of Eagle in western Colorado. Inside a small alpine valley was a mountain stream, with its flow interrupted by frequent beaver ponds.

Storming through the weeds and sloshing away in this little wetland, we’re on the prowl for brook trout. They don’t get very big – a foot-long brookie is a whopper – but they are quite common and oh so tasty.

On the streams, we searched for those sweet spots behind boulders, in front of riffles and around the bends. But the real action was in the beaver ponds. Lots of hungry fish in still, deep pools carefully engineered by those tree-gnawing rodents we all know and love.

The end of the day brought us a modest catch, but more than enough for dinner. Mark was the man in this scenario. He came prepared. Corn meal, salt, pepper and some vegetable oil. We cleaned the fish at the campsite, fired up the stove and fried up a few filets for the evening meal. The simple ingredients, paired with the brookies’ light, flaky and tender meat turned out to be the perfect end to that day.

I dare you to match that dinner in terms of freshness. You can’t surpass it. Straight from the stream, to the campsite, to the pan and on my plate within a couple of hours. That’s how you do fish.

Only the finest of dining companions will do.

Fusion fare

First, we went up 1,000 feet. Then down 1,000 feet. Then up 4,000 feet.

And it was then that we were only half done, atop the summit of Mount of the Holy Cross last fall. The next half of the journey would be retracing all those steps back to camp. Twelve miles round-trip, and 6,000 feet of total elevation gain.

A simple breakfast and high-calorie snacks helped power me through that ascent, but there is only so much sweet-tasting stuff you can handle before something more savory is required.

That’s not just a preference. It’s fact. When you’re burning through thousands of calories on such an endeavor, your body needs its salts. That’s why you see pretzels and salted potatoes sometimes offered during long races for runners’ consumption.

I was too tired and lazy to do much cooking myself. So I resigned myself to eating whatever edibles I had left at camp before retiring for the night.

But being among a group of mountain people, and mountain people being generally awesome, generosity abounded.

A couple of dudes grilled up some bratwursts over the campfire. They then hurried those tubes of meaty, fatty goodness away, sliced them up, then plopped them into a pot filled with mac and cheese and a sprinkling of diced peppers.

Best mac and cheese ever. A got a sampling of it just as it came off a two-burner Coleman stove. They need to serve that mess in restaurants.

Just then, another couple confessed to over-buying on food and had a box of convenience store White Castle burgers they didn’t want. They offered it to me, which I gladly accepted. Wrapped in foil, these little grease bombs cooked nicely over the fire and filled that salty/savory urge my body craved. Such nice people! I shared what beer I had, knowing my offering was an inadequate trade.

As the night went on, more goodies were passed around, usually in the form of cookies, potato chips and fine scotch. A warm, low glow of the fire brightened the faces underneath knit caps pulled tight over folks’ heads. Hours drifted on and a whole bunch of stories were swapped between people who all seemed to know each other well from past ascents, and yet included me just the same. I wasn’t an equal to any of them, but felt a part of the gang nonetheless, even if temporarily. This was their world, and I was just a guest.

And one of the best things about being an outsider invited in is feeling the gratitude toward people’s hospitality. The best meal isn’t always about atmospherics, mood-setting or even the quality of the cuisine. Sometimes it’s the company you keep.

The right setting can make all the difference.

Breakfast for three

So I noted earlier that great meals aren’t always about the setting in which you dine. But let me tell you something: Sometimes they are.

About seven years ago, I was on a little backpacking trip in northern New Mexico. We’d hiked about five miles into the Wheeler Peak Wilderness Area near a small alpine lake somewhere around 11,000 feet.

The previous night was a little rough in terms of sleep. None one at camp had done a whole lot of sleeping in a tent lately, and certainly not at that elevation. I got up first, fired up the stove and began to boil water for the morning’s breakfast.

It was going to be simple for me: instant oatmeal. I got the water boiling, mixed it with the oats and munched on this modest meal alone just before everyone else finally roused.

The woods where we camped were gorgeous. The smell of pine was amazing. The only sounds (aside from the stirrings inside the tents) were birds greeting the morning.

And then my solitude was interrupted.

Uphill from me, a female bighorn sheep slowly ambled its way into camp, its lamb in tow. They weren’t skittish. They paused to take a look at me, and their curiosity satisfied, continued their leisurely walk downslope.

I wished everyone else there could have seen them, but then again, we had a big day of hiking ahead and they’d need all the rest they could get. And selfishly, that was a moment I kind of liked having to myself. A brief one, but very memorable. Sort of like a gift, and it was all mine.

Best breakfast ever? I won’t go that far. But certainly the most memorable. And definitely a backcountry dining experience that trumps just about anything I can think of at any restaurant to which I’ve ever been.

I think I will excuse myself from ever being a full-time food critic or foodie television rock star. But I know good eats. And I know a little something about great dining experiences, even if they don’t quite fit within the norm.

Bob Doucette

On Twitter @RMHigh7088

The Weekly Stoke: An afro-centric ascent of Denali, deadly animal encounters and a couple’s dream goes awry

Dust-laden snowpack could mean serious water issues in the U.S. (USGS photo)

Just when I think it might be a light week in the world of the outdoors, stuff happens. A lot of stuff. In the mountains, in the jungles and elsewhere. Let’s get started:

Some more news on the environmental front that is not so good. Desert dust settling on the western snowpack is having some serious repercussions.

How’s this for a TV movie of the week: Rich man meets exotic gal. They trade in their high-living digs in the U.S. to build the ultimate mansion/nature preserve on a Costa Rican jungle mountaintop. And then they went nuts. Not everyone made it out OK. From Outside Magazine.

This group of Denali climbers is made up of all-black members. Here’s a story about why they think that’s important.

Here’s a list of ideas for first ascents. It’s kinda funny.

Here’s another list that lets you know if you’re an outdoorsy person.

Five people were killed climbing a volcano in the Philippines.

A climber was killed when he was attacked by a swarm of bees.

And then there’s this animal encounter: A hiker falls to her death in France, and within an hour, vultures kinda took over from there.

And then there’s this video of Courtney Sanders finding a way to train despite injury. She’s a little hard core.

Enjoying the fruits of my labor

Somewhere around mile 9 during a training run a few weeks ago, I’ll have to admit that I was feeling pretty done.

I was tired. Sore. My feet hurt. A week away from my last race of the spring, I was weary of the toil.

Then came the taper week, followed by a beautiful day in Oklahoma City and a great experience during the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon’s half-marathon event.

When that was over, I vowed to take the next couple of months “off” from race training and just try to stay in shape until the fall race season drew near. There are mountain adventures to be had this summer, and just an overall need to dial it back a bit and focus on other fitness goals.

One of the things I’d missed over the past three weeks was trail time. I got outside, but it was important to log “road miles” and that meant steering clear of trail running for a short time. A short time that seemed, in many ways, like an entire season of life.

So I finally got back to those trails. And boy, I missed them.

For starters, spring happened. The last time I was out on the dirt, leaves had barely begun to appear on the trees. It’s been an unseasonably cool spring here in northeastern Oklahoma, and gratefully, wetter than in the past couple of years.

Upon my return, the woods had exploded in greenery. It’s amazing how different the forest looks, smells and behaves once the foliage emerges from its winter hibernation. I found myself running a little harder, feeding off the energy that was being unleashed this spring.

And that brings me to the continuing reward of all that training in the weeks and months beforehand. I felt strong from the get-go, powering up that first hill, then flying downhill into a deep ravine. I was then confronted by a steep uphill, which I dispatched quickly. After taking in the view from the top, I took off on the final couple of miles.

The trail, called Ho Chi, is one of those undulating, roller-coaster stretches that are a lot of fun when you’re fresh, but pure labor if you’re a bit pooped. That day, however, I had plenty of gas left in the tank. I dug in on the uphills, and feeling strong, I opened up on the downhills.

Do you ever pick it up so fast that you can literally hear the speed in your ears? Like you’re slicing into the wind? It doesn’t happen on my normally slow plod, but it’s a familiar sound when I sprint, or get on the bike, or hit the slopes. Speed. Air whipping past your head as you cut through it at ever-increasing velocities. I set a pace that bordered on wild abandon for no other reason than I could.

That felt awesome. To feel that fresh, that strong, was a wonderful prize to claim after a pretty busy winter and spring of training and racing. Gone were the crowds of race day and the drudgery of tired legs. I had the trails mostly to myself – surprisingly few people were out, despite the blue skies and 59-degree temperatures.

Fine by me. There comes a time where sport is sidelined. Training and fitness take a back seat. What emerges is something much more akin to play.

Isn’t that one of the major reasons we do this? Sure, a lot of people get into running and a whole bunch of other fitness endeavors to lose weight or otherwise get healthy. It’s a lot of work. But why? To enjoy life? If you could combine the two, why wouldn’t you?

Whenever a sport ceases to be fun, it’s not a sport anymore. It’s a job for those who get paid to participate. For the rest of us, it’s a task. A chore.

To get anywhere, there will be work involved. Probably some suffering. But at some point it needs to be enjoyable.

And that’s where I found myself. Dirt under my feet. A wooded canopy overhead. A cool breeze in my hair. It was just four miles, but a joyous four miles that I welcomed with an almost childlike bliss.

Now who doesn’t need that?

Bob Doucette

On Twitter @RMHigh7088