The man who watches helium balloons

Ice fell from the sky and clung to the fragile trees and vines of Saratoga. Snow pelted the roadways in Glens Falls. The winds blew through Poughkeepsie at gusts of more than 30 miles per hour, and Bob Kilpatrick knew all of it was going to happen in advance.

"Here, there is no such thing as a normal day," says Kilpatrick, one of approximately 15 meteorologists providing forecasts at the National Weather Service office in Albany.

The center is one of four NWS offices in the state and covers a region that spans from the Adirondacks to the Hudson Valley, from the Catskills to the western fringes of Connecticut, Massachusetts and Vermont.

The work goes on 24 hours a day, seven days a week at the center on Fuller Road, which sits about 15 miles, "as the crow flies," Kilpatrick explains, from the primary radar the center uses near Thatcher State Park.

Forecasting, he admits, is an inexact science. And despite technological improvements over the years that have allowed paper maps to be replaced by high-resolution radar data, there is still a lot that is unknown. Perhaps the greatest predictability is in the turns of a phrase used by fellow meteorologists.

"We do have our favorite phrases, like 'wintry mix,' to describe a potpourri of snow, ice and freezing rain. In the warmer season, one of the favorites is 'The Triple H,' -- hazy, hot, and humid," he says.

The most commonly used phrase, which is reserved for ice storms, is not appropriate for print, jokes Kilpatrick, who is given to peppering his speech with phrases like "sampling the atmosphere aloft," and, "air mass contrast."
Ask him what has been most memorable during his forecasting career, which dates back to the mid-1970s, and Kilpatrick reels off a list of local disasters: The blizzard of '93; the Memorial Day tornado of '98 and the flood of '97, when a section of the State Thruway bridge over the Scoharie Creek collapsed, plunging four cars and a tractor trailer into the water. Ten motorists died that day.

Kilpatrick also recalled a tragic storm that hit the city of Newburgh in November, 1989. The storm came with high winds that knocked down the wall of a school, killing nine children. Maybe it is simply human nature, but sun-filled days with cloudless skies don't seem to make the list of lasting memories.

After 35 years on the job, Kilpatrick continues to watch helium-filled weather balloons hoisted from the forecasting center twice a day. He continues to answer questions from news media services across the state about what tomorrow will look like, and he will respond to similar inquiries from his friends and neighbors when they spot him on the street. And he will carry on with the important work of forecasting the future with his inexact science.

"There will be a wintry mix, but it's going to turn to snow," he said matter-of-factly. "The skiers will be happy, if nothing else."

Thomas Dimopoulos
The Post-Star, January, 2009