The ‘2026 Atlantic Hurricane Season’ officially began Monday, June 1, this week.
Forecasters across the globe – and more importantly in our area – are predicting a “below average” season of activity.
The hardest part for me to reconcile is how they define such a phrase.
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, better known as NOAA, has said that an average season in Texas has about 14 named tropical storms and seven actual hurricanes.
For me personally, those numbers are rather high to be the “average” of anything.
I think it’s worth noting that we really didn’t experience any named tropical storms or hurricanes making landfall in Texas – and last year was also touted as below average.
Not to mention, NOAA actually uses its forecasting models to predict the actual formation of storms rather than estimating those that will likely make real landfall.
Still, it’s not exactly instilling a foolproof sense of trust in their formulas when they can expect 14 tropical storms or less to come from the Gulf.
But, then again, I’m not a weather forecaster outside of the arthritis in my right ankle joint telling me when we’re due for some rain!
NOAA is citing a strong El Niño weather pattern to develop which very well could suppress the formation of tropical storms and hurricanes.
Plus, the last time NOAA assumed a below average season was in the future it was 2015!
I don’t know about you, but my 2015 hurricane season experience was trash for other reasons outside of weather forecasts.
Either way, hurricane season doesn’t end until Monday, November 30 – so we’re in for a long haul through the most brutal summer months.
Each and every year we make it through the hottest parts and I’m usually left wondering how I managed by the end of it all.
I mean, just looking ahead at the forecast for this week shows high 80s and low 90s with enough humidity and chances for rain that I’m fully expecting to walk outside into soup weather.
Naturally, I’m not meaning the fun kind where everything is cold, rainy and possibly gloomy in a way that makes you crave eating soup.
No, I’m talking about when it feels like a sauna outdoors and you can’t even make it from your door to your vehicle without being practically drenched in sweat.
It’s the kind of soup weather where you swear you’re being cooked in a huge pot of soup – sort of like those old school cartoons where characters like Bugs Bunny end up in a giant cauldron and are being cooked over an open flame.
And I’m going to be real with you all, I can’t stand those sorts of sensations and immediately wish those wind turbines south of Bay City could turn into fans to help circulate the humid air around better.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m always praying for a relatively useful breeze – nothing over 20 mph, but enough to where I’m not agonizing through those 15 feet to get to my car.
If my prayer goes unanswered, that means I’m borrowing mom’s car for the meeting I’m covering or errands I’m running because her air conditioner is much more powerful and reliable than my own.
After all, I’m probably doing one or both of those things at her request any way, so it’s only fair to use her vehicle, right?
