Irma reminds us of all we don’t know about the natural world

On Sept. 8, 1900, a hurricane drove 15 feet of storm surge over the thriving city of Galveston, Tex., maximum elevation 8.7 feet. At least 6,000 people were killed in what remains the deadliest natural disaster in U.S. history. 

Trees bend in the tropical storm wind along
 North Fort Lauderdale Beach Boulevard as
 Hurricane Irma hits the southern part of the
state on Sept. 10 in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. 

Most of them had less than a day’s warning that a storm was approaching and had no inkling of its power.

I thought of that when I read a report by the Associated Press as a storm of similar intensity rolled over the coast of Cuba and headed toward Florida. The AP quoted a businessman from St. Petersburg, Fla., who was irritated that Hurricane Irma was headed toward his town and not toward Miami as predicted. “For five days, we were told it was going to be on the east coast, and then 24 hours before it hits, we’re now told it’s coming up the west coast,” the man complained. “As usual, the weatherman, I don’t know why they’re paid.”

Arguably, they’re paid for the thousands of lives they may have saved by sounding warnings that the people of Galveston never received. Thanks to radar and satellites and weather planes and forecasting supercomputers — to name only a few of the advances of the past century — the world watched for days as Irma whirled steadily westward across the Atlantic Ocean, a slow-motion bowling ball headed for the pins. The speed of its winds, the spread of its bands, the pressure in its eye were tracked like vitals in an intensive care unit.

Read what David Von Drehle has written in The Washington Post -  “Irma reminds us of all we don’t know about the natural world."