鈥淭he trouble with weather forecasting is that it鈥檚 right too often for us to ignore it and wrong too often for us to rely on it.鈥� 鈥� Patrick Young, American author
Folks, a 鈥渃old front鈥� isn鈥檛 just a between-the-sheets phenomenon, and thermocline isn鈥檛 just another fun word to spell with Alphagetti. And even the TV Jeopardy geniuses would be wise to steer well clear of the Adiabatic Process category. But overly academic as they may seem, these brainteasers actually do serve a purpose. Pig Latin as it is for the majority, for meteorologists, mastering this jargon is par for the course. And just as many of those in the medical profession are prone to weaving seven-syllable words into conversation, so too are forecasters likely to do the same with their unworldly lingo. To them, a 鈥渉ook echo鈥� isn鈥檛 the name of an obscure board game. It鈥檚 what else? A radar reflectivity pattern observed in a thunder clapper. Duh!
And that, in a nutshell, is a large part why professional weather forecasters hang in such rarefied air, revered and idolized by the masses. They actually know what this stuff means. This is their calculus. These prognostications are waited on with bated breath, their slick wizardry becomes unquestioned. Our leisure lives are crammed around their fancy maps and sophisticated computerized Doppler weather radar models. Umbrellas are lugged around on clear days on orders from these luminaries that leaking clouds were spotted some 50 miles northeast 10 minutes earlier. And we believe them 鈥� whole-heartedly. Why shouldn鈥檛 we? They鈥檙e well-respected weather peeps.聽
There鈥檚 just one thing, though, that doesn鈥檛 sit well with this environmental science. And you have to look real close to notice. But it鈥檚 there. In front of our noses, but behind our backs, it鈥檚 there. The soothing voices of these sharply-attired, quick-witted, hand-a-waving prophets aside, there is something fundamentally flawed about this hypnotic profession.
The six- to seven-day forecast.
Funny thing is, we 鈥� the ever-gullible junkies we are 鈥� actually demand to keep the drip flowing on this insidious meteorological racket. Our picnics hinge in the balance, as do landscaping chores and a veritable host of other alfresco dalliances. Information, please. Give us our meds!
It鈥檚 a subtle taunt, dangling just so at the windup of every carefully choreographed segment.
The next five days or so will bring showers and lower temps, but the weekend looks beautiful. I repeat: Beaut-i-ful!
Maybe, maybe not. It鈥檚 a well-known secret that these extended outlooks are laden with variables. Sure, computer models do provide the oomph for future predictions. But is this conjectural evidence, significant in its power to make or break backyard barbeque plans before they even get off the ground, compelling enough to make public?聽
Granted, fire whirls are serious business for anyone who studies them for a living, but for everyone else, just a plain old accurate short-term forecast usually suffices聽 鈥� tonight, tomorrow, the next day, three days max. Anything beyond that is a calculated guess. Not quite a par-five from the truth, but still, murky enough to omit from the equation.
The problem is, people have short memories. Four days from now, the two- to three-day forecast would be more or less accurate. But, add in those four days, and the extended forecast would be, for the sixth and seventh days, a virtual Etch-a-Sketch. Winds may shift direction, or wither out entirely. But we wouldn鈥檛 notice. Instead, we鈥檇 notice that the short-term outlook would be accurate. And why wouldn鈥檛 it? It usually is. It鈥檚 less variable. Weather forecasters, those who had raised their hands in science class, come to realize this fault and learn to exploit it through the camouflage of 鈥�50 per cent chance of showers late Tuesday afternoon鈥� or 鈥渁 groundhog somewhere saw his shadow today, so I see a 58 per cent probability for a blizzard late next week.鈥� Well, of course.
It鈥檚 a practice investors refer to as hedging their bets. Technically, they鈥檙e never wrong.
If news reporters were allowed the same professional latitude, many would be cited for contempt. Imagine a six o鈥檆lock news anchor working herself into a lather. 鈥淲ell, Charles, the suspect sure as heck looks guilty. Look at him, I mean, look at that smirk. Betcha didn鈥檛 know, my ex-husband wore that same look of indignation that night he staggered home late reeking of Sophia Loren. Yeah, Chucky, the guy鈥檚 guilty, all right. Guilty as sin.鈥�
Imagine.
It鈥檚 circumstantial evidence devoid of the graphical pageantry of an extended forecast. Perhaps Harris K. Telemacher, Steve Martins鈥� zany weather character in L.A. Story, summed up his role best; 鈥淚t鈥檚 sunny out right now, back to you.鈥�
鈥� Pollard is an instructor at S. Clair College in Windsor, Ont. He is the published author of Walking Home in Bowling Shoes published by Red Maple Press.
