Photo by Michael Woodall “There is a special place in my heart for Tornado Alley, but the Sonoran Desert monsoon is, by far, the highlight of my year.” — storm chaser Susan Strom

Storm chaser Susan Strom has found global fame with Arizona’s monsoon season.

It’s a rainy summer evening, and storm chaser Susan Strom is glued to her computer screen tracking the latest weather patterns to see if the night warrants a chase. Unlike most Phoenix residents who dread the scorching summer, Strom’s favorite months are July and August. “I love Arizona, but there’s not enough hot, stormy weather,” she says.

Known among storm chasers in the Southwest as “The Lightning Lady,” a nickname coined by the manager of the processing lab at Tempe Camera (where she develops her film), Strom is one of the state’s few female storm chasers. “It’s a fairly male-dominated activity,” she says. “I guess women see the danger versus the thrill.”

With her camera and tripod in the passenger seat, she’ll drive as far as Tucson or Flagstaff any night of the week to photograph what she calls “the split-second frontier.” Her dazzling lightning storm photographs are published in numerous books and calendars, showcased in prominent art exhibitions, broadcast on The Weather Channel, and the subject of television news segments from Arizona to the United Kingdom.

Tempe Camera’s processing lab manager, Len Bahl, says Strom has the chops. “Getting a first-rate lightning photograph is an enormous challenge,” he says. “Strom’s shots are super-sharp and have strong composition because she’s well-researched and everything’s pre-scouted when the storm rolls in.”

Photos courtesy Susan Strom, the “lightning lady” Amethyst Cloud, Fountain Hills Lake

Lightning photography is best achieved at night, but her 9-to-5 job as a college counselor in graphic design rarely suffers. “If it’s summertime, my co-workers know what I’m up to,” she says, smiling. “Luckily, storm nights are scattered, so I can catch up on sleep.”

Trained as a graphic artist, Strom began her career designing magazines in California, then developed her passion for photography working as a magazine art director.

One evening, after moving to Fountain Hills 16 years ago, she heard a deafening boom and dropped to the floor. The next morning, she looked at her yard and saw a “tree was split in half with a scar burned straight down the middle,” she says. “From then on, lightning made me really nervous, even seeing it from a distance.”

Since fear stems, in part, from the unknown, Strom set out to make lightning known. “I read everything I could get my hands on,” she says. “Fear was soon replaced by fascination, and I would never have guessed what happened next… I actually looked forward to the monsoon. But the odd thing about lightning is that it happens for just a split second, not long enough to get a good look. Photography seemed the answer.”

Strom insists on unadulterated images and does not alter any of her photographs, but getting that kind of undoctored clarity took a few seasons to practice.

“My first year storm chasing included four- or five-hour drives each night. If I drove Highway 60 through old mining communities and vast stretches of open land to the eastern part of the state, little towns like Safford gave me lightning all night long. Or I’d find myself near some dry lake bed in Willcox at two in the morning. Thousands and thousands of miles added up on my truck. Wherever lightning went, I wasn’t far behind.” 

Sky Summit, Usery Mountains

Eastern and southeastern Arizona are favorable for storm sightings. Mountainous areas, optimal wind patterns and elevated dew point can also boost lightning activity. To improve her odds, Strom chases near the onset and end of the monsoon season, especially mid-July and Labor Day weekend.

Over the past 12 years, Strom has photographed severe weather patterns in 10 states but prefers Arizona’s dramatic desert landscape. “There is a special place in my heart for Kansas, Nebraska and the rest of Tornado Alley, but the Sonoran Desert monsoon is, by far, the highlight of my year,” she says. “In Arizona, the clouds are higher, making the lightning more visible, and the storms are framed with mesas, cactus-covered ridges and dramatic mountains.”

Many people ask Strom the question: “Have you ever been struck by lightning?” So far, her watchful eye, years of experience and expert knowledge have kept her safe. Still, flash floods, severe wind gusts – potentially in excess of 100 mph – sandblasts that include dust and debris, and downed power lines are life-threatening hazards of the hobby. During one storm, more than a hundred tarantulas washed out from nearby rocks over her feet.

Strom stresses studying the science of storm behavior just as wildlife photographers study the animals they stalk. “You can only push your luck so far,” she warns.

Although many storm chasers travel in groups, Strom prefers to work alone despite the risk. Before monsoons, she likes to listen to country music and munch on a burger at the 1880s-era Mammoth Saloon in Goldfield Ghost Town in the Superstition Mountains. “Late at night, the ghost town is dead quiet and the tourists are all gone,” she says. “If I get lucky, I’ll get a great shot of a spectacular storm.”