The Day the Sky Disappeared: My Experience During Arizona's Historic 2011 Haboob (Dust Storm)
July 5th, 2011
A Front Row Seat to Arizona's Historic Dust Storm of July 5th, 2011
I live on the edge of South Mountain near the Phoenix-Laveen border. The view is silently beautiful. I can see downtown Phoenix and the hustle and bustle of its streets, yet hear nothing. It's serene. The nights are pitch black, and in the mornings lone coyotes roam the saguaro-covered hills while rabbits hop through the desert.
Today I returned home from work planning to relax, work on an article, and maybe go out for a drink later.
I'm typing on my laptop when I hear unusually strong winds outside. Curious, I step out into the daylight to take a look.
What I see stops me cold.
A massive dark cloud is approaching.
My camera doesn't do justice to its size. The thing seems enormous, stretching across the Valley. To give an idea of my living situation, my section of the adobe is detached from the rest of the house. At times I've felt a little like a sitting duck out here.
I head back inside.
Less than ten minutes later, the windows begin vibrating and my double doors start pulsing in their frames. I look through the blinds and see muddy rain smacking against the glass. The daylight is fading fast and a deep darkness has descended over the mountain.
I run to another window and peek outside.
I hear objects being thrown around. Something is crashing into the entry gate, vehicles, or maybe even the house itself. I can't tell.
None of my three roommates are home.
It's just me, Max the Shih Tzu, and my roommate's pup.
I peer through the blinds again and spot a mattress sitting on top of my roommate's van.
At this point the vibrating windows and pulsating doors have become much stronger.
I'm beginning to freak out.
The thought runs through my mind:
"Has Mother Nature gone wild? Am I in the middle of a tornado in the desert?"
Survival mode sets in.
I quickly consider making a run for the basement with the dogs, but it's located on the far side of the adobe and I don't even know if it's unlocked. If I leave now, I might be putting us in even more danger.
I decide to stay put.
I start calling friends, hoping somebody knows what's happening.
No one answers.
The internet isn't working either.
Thoughts of dying in a tornado in the desert begin to infiltrate my mind.
For nearly twenty minutes I pace around in panic while the storm rages outside.
Then, suddenly, everything goes quiet.
The windows stop shaking.
The doors stop pulsing.
The darkness begins to lift.
My phone starts ringing.
People are finally calling me back.
That's when I discover what I've just experienced.
I’d been sitting in the middle of a massive wall of dust.
The storm reached me on South Mountain before it hit many of my friends in Tempe and other parts of Phoenix. As it turns out, they were dealing with the same thing.
Friends tell me stories of being stranded inside bars, stores, restaurants, and even random people's homes while the dust wall sweeps through the Valley. Phoenix and Tempe are full of pedestrians, cyclists, skateboarders, and people constantly moving around outdoors.
Those who failed to find shelter became known as the "mud people." They emerged completely covered in dust and mud.
Pools filled with mud.
Cars left with their windows open fillled with mud.
Patios disappeared beneath layers of desert dust.
It was as if the desert itself had risen up and flung itself across the valley.
I'd never seen anything quite like it but I survived and now it's exciting to talk about.
…For a few moments though the sky had disappeared, the desert roared, and I genuinely believed I might be caught in a freak tornado in the middle of Arizona.
What I didn't know that evening was that I was witnessing a piece of Arizona weather history. It was my first dust storm, and it would become one of the most photographed and talked-about haboobs ever to sweep across the Phoenix Valley.
Just another story from life in the desert.
