Free It's Raining Fish and Spiders by Bill Evans

that use GPS for positioning and wind-finding. The computer display immediately showed the information that was coming back from the radiosondes as they fell through Mitch before splashing into the water and cutting off.
    On the computer, I could see that Mitch was a bad boy, with winds of 180 mph and gusts to 201! Dozens of radiosondes were deployed during our half-dozen or so passes, sending back crucial information that would hopefully save people’s lives.
    The ride was rough times ten—bouncing around, lightning flashing everywhere, lashing rain—until we hit the eyewall. Once we punched through, conditions were completely different. The air was calm and the weather was clear. I looked up and saw blue sky above us and the other side of the eyewall in front of me. What a ride!

    Inside the eye of a hurricane
National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration/Department of Commerce
    Soon the calmness was over as we entered Mitch’s strongest part, the northeast quadrant.
    Holy cow! The engines just made some kind of wowing, whirling noise as we hit the large intestine of Mitch. It’s as if the airplane is in the hand of a small child, zooming us around, up and down like a toy!
    Looking out the window at the left wing tip, I saw a bright ball of blue-white light, like fireworks, a giant sparkler.
    It’s St. Elmo’s fire!
    St. Elmo’s fire forms on aircraft wing tips, antennae, the tail, nose, and propeller blades. It has also been seen atop ship masts, tips of trees, tops of power poles, grass blades, and has even been seen glowing on the tips of the horns of cattle. It’s rare and only happens when the atmosphere is superelectrically charged, as in a storm like Mitch. It’s heatless and nonconsuming, and can last for minutes. It’s beautiful, but scary.
    Ancient Mediterranean sailors believed Elmo to be their patron saint. Many people believe that the appearance of St. Elmo’s fire is a guiding hand during a terrible storm. They believed that the ghostly, dancing flame is a sign that the storm is weakening or ending.
    Iceman’s cool voice comes over the headset, telling me that it won’t hurt our aircraft. He also said St. Elmo’s fire can sometimes be heard singing on the aircraft’s radio, a frying or hissing sound running up and down the musical scale.
    Iceman then added, in his smooth, resonant baritone, that it’s actually a sign that lightning is about to strike the plane.
    What!?!
    Blammo! You guessed it! Lightning just zapped the plane. We took a big dip.
    Hey, we just took Mitch’s best shot and we’re doing fine…except for my stomach. Whoa! If only they had this ride at Disney World! They could call it the “Whirl and Puke.”
    I don’t know if St. Elmo’s fire is a good sign or not; it was certainly quite the show and a big hit with the crew.
    Minutes later, we exit the upper right of Mitch to smoother air and our first pass is complete. Oh boy! Only five more times to go!
    Five passes through Mitch later, my face is green and my hollowed eyes are rolled back in my head. How do these people do this for a living? Would someone please come and put me out of my misery?
    Mitch tossed me around like a wet dishrag. I had the great pleasure of filling three hefty airsickness bags. I tossed not only my big breakfast, but lunch and dinner from the day before. I launched things I had eaten in previous decades. I threw up my great-grandmother’s meat loaf that I ate in 1967. I was soaked in sweat right through my flight suit.
    To top it off, Iceman resonates through my headset, “You did great; you only passed out for about ten minutes.”
    Thanks, Iceman.
    The crew was amazing. This was like a day at the beach for them. I am so thankful they are on our weather team!
    I read the written report that was sent back to the Hurricane Center. It had all the usual information about the conditions of Mitch during the flight: wind