Rider On The Storm

As I child, I was terrified of storms. Especially those that occurred in the summer, when a strong contrast between hot and cold air made them particularly violent. I remember one occasion in August, when I had just turned six, I was out shopping with my parents just a few kilometres west of Salerno when suddenly there was a loud noise coming from the direction of the Apennine Mountains.

A huge cumulonimbus cloud split the sky in half, with hot and sunny weather on one side, and a very strong thunderstorm on the other. As the storm got closer, lightning fell a few hundred metres from us, and hail whitened the streets in minutes. This was a totally new experience for me, and I ran into my father’s arms in terror. It’s a memory that remains with me to this day. I was afraid. But I was also in awe.

Like the pull of a gripping horror movie, my fear morphed into fascination as I grew older. When a thunderstorm broke out at night, I would rush to my window to witness the night’s sky put on a brilliant show. As a young boy without a computer, I wasn’t able to access meteorological forecasts or detailed weather maps. But if I heard thunder, or sensed the sky was threatening, I would wait giddily in anticipation, ready with my parents’ camera in the hope of capturing a fleeting moment forever.

This led to my interest in photography, focusing mainly on the beautiful landscapes that form my home region of Campania. Here in Salerno, we are fortunate to have the Amalfi Coast to the west, and Cilento National Park to the south. Our coastline overlooks the southern Tyrrhenian Sea, between the Gulf of Salerno and the Gulf of Policastro. It is an area of natural beauty, and a perfect canvas on which storms can paint their beguiling magic.

The first time I captured lightning striking just a few metres away, was really special. From that moment on, it became almost like my drug

Before long, my landscape photography focused almost exclusively on the niche that was getting the most attention and bringing me the most joy: storms. What once frightened me is now an intense adrenaline rush. The first time I captured lightning striking just a few metres away, was really special. From that moment on, it became almost like my drug.

The storm season in southern Italy lasts almost all year, but the best time to hunt is from March to November, when the contrasts between cold and warm air are at their highest. At the end of winter, with the lengthening of the days and the longer daylight hours, the ground heats up more than in the colder months. Consequently there is more energy in play.

Living a few kilometres from the southern Apennines, thermo-convective thunderstorms often occur during the afternoon. They are characterised by the development of huge cumulonimbus ‘anvil’ clouds that develop up to the highest limits of the tropopause: the boundary in the Earth’s atmosphere between the troposphere and the stratosphere.

At the height of the thunderstorm season, it’s possible to see storm cells at sea, often associated with the arrival of a cold front that accompanies them. These are viewed as being more dangerous, since the warm sea provides more energy than the spring or winter months. Most of the time they develop at night, when it is easier for us storm chasers to photograph lightning associated with waterspouts or tornadoes.

For me, the best conditions in which to shoot storms are when there are isolated thunderstorms expected. This ensures the rest of the sky is clear, especially during the darkness of night when you can admire the lightning bolts flashing out from the storm. Known as ”positive lightning’’, it is perhaps the most fascinating electrical manifestation that can develop from thunderstorms. These are extremely powerful discharges that are among the longest lightning that can be observed during a thunderstorm. Arising from young cumulonimbus clouds, they have the peculiarity of appearing to fall from a great distance from the cloud that generated them.