The
Santa Ana Effect By
Wendy Hinman |
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It starts in stillness, what we natives call “earthquake weather.” Trees don’t move, dogs are wary, the smallest voices are heard. It is more than a calm; it is almost like nothing. No one needs a weatherman to tell us a Santa Ana is coming. We know while we sleep the Pacific will hush itself and the leaves will begin to shake, streets will seem to sweep themselves and all tranquility will be blown away. There are many myths behind Santa Ana winds. The heat comes from the desert. The name comes from the Spanish for Satan. This wind is a prelude to a tectonic shift and mammalian behavior is adversely affected. Most are false. The Santa Anas come in fall and winter when the Mojave and Sonora are cold. Air comes up over the Rocky Mountains expanding, cooling and shedding water vapor. High pressure over the Great Basin (that would be Nevada) moves clockwise forcing the air down slope. As this quickens it produces strong winds, which heat up as the compressed air moves along (29ºF for every mile). Trapped by the Sierra Nevada and Coastal ranges, if this high pressure is greater than the coastal pressure when it hits the western side of the desert, the winds are channeled through local mountain passes where they pick up speed (25 knots and up, sometimes to hurricane force). This is the case in Santa Ana Canyon - where the winds get their name and where people in the OC have been known to throw their patio furniture into the pool and tie down small children.
The Santa Anas are both good and bad to our surf. The waves brave the wind, but the fight makes them smaller. The wind hits waves head on, but keeps the lip up longer, opens the pipes and laughs in mists off the backside. The hot wind squeegees the warm water off the top and brings up the colder water from below. This is good for ocean life, but can drop water temps up to 7ºF. But if there is any kind of a swell, few surfers complain about having to use a thicker wetsuit. Firefighters and policemen are the ones who can be forgiven for whining. The Santa Anas drop humidity sometimes less than 15 percent, which makes the chaparral just so much kindling. If a fire starts, the wind wreaks havoc. Midwesterners compare blizzards. We talk about legendary brushfires. We’re still comparing everything to ’03. And no study has been conclusive, but police departments report increases in violent crimes and road rage. Add a full moon and it is So Cal living as extreme sport. With summer temperatures in winter and the smog pushed offshore, there is nothing like a Santa Ana sunset. It is hard not to dig out a beach chair, slide into your flops, park on a cliff and watch God paint the twilight, “with all the colors of the wind.” •
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