Santa Ana Wind |
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Santa Ana winds are a godsend to Southern California surfers and a nemesis to firefighters, homeowners and eczema sufferers.
The hot, dry, strong gusts are actually born near the Rocky Mountains. Typically seen between September and February, the offshore breezes begin when a ridge of circling high pressure builds over the Great Basin, forcing air downslope from that plateau. That air is then pushed westward out through the deserts where it warms at a rate of 5 degrees per 1,000 feet before kissing incoming swells (and fanning autumn fires) on the coast at anywhere from 25 to 50 knots. Weather forecasters don't refer to the gusts as Santa Anas until they're 25 knots or upwards. The winds tend to peak at night and in the early morning when California's predominant onshore breeze, a tempering factor, is dormant. Heavy lore surrounds the winds. Besides being the ruin of certain fire-plagued towns (Malibu, Laguna Beach) and the magical element in many a legendary fall swell, the Santa Anas are said to fuel aggression and even foretell a coming trembler -- the so-called "shake and bake" syndrome. Noted serial killer Richard Rameriz, aka "The Night Stalker," went on a healthy killing spree when these relentless blowers acted up in 1984, and the Los Angeles Police Department often report an upsurge in violent acts such as road rage and domestic abuse when the winds linger too long. More importantly, they're immortalized in Randy Newman's "I Love L.A." ("Santa Ana wind blowin' hot from the north/And we was born to ride") along with similarly Southland institutions The Beach Boys and Santa Monica Boulevard. Granted, he probably should have said "hot from the northeast," but "Short People" is a better song anyway. Earthquakes, fiery wreckage, homicides and singer/songwriter homages to the City of Angels aside, Santa Anas can make the surf really good if they coincide with a quality swell from any direction. When those high-pressure systems park inland and a low marches up from Mexico or down from Alaska, all obligations -- birth of your child, brother's wedding -- are on indefinite hold. Striking the surf head on, they hold up falling lips and hollow out pitching waves, turning Southern California's otherwise often unspectacular beach and reefbreaks into emerald green tuberiding playgrounds. Ironically, since they generally knock a foot or so of incoming swells, Santa Anas can actually flatten an otherwise small but ridable swell, leaving surfers beachbound to ponder 6-inch perfection as it reels down the beach. Also, in winter, they skim the warmer water off the ocean's surface and swell up the icier stuff from below. But for both of these negligible flaws, and that death and destruction stuff, they are forgiven. For when the Santa Ana winds, pregnant with dust, blow in from the desert and meet the humble California surf, they send light wisps of water up from the crests of descending verdant waves and make mystic for surfers from Oxnard to San Diego. -- Greg Heller, October 2000
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