I think one of the two things that were so surreal about tropical storm Talas, or Number 12 as we call it over here, was that it only got started after it was supposed to be over. Moving excruciatingly slowly, it kept us waiting and waiting for it to pass. When it finally passed, then it started raining, and that’s when all the stuff you’re seeing on the news happened.
Heavy wind, but relatively little rain yet:
On the night it landed I posted to my facebook page, “Why does it only get interesting after dark?” I like windstorms and was kind of bummed I’d miss this one while I slept. I was woken up many times through the night, and then finally in the morning, by rattling windows and pounding on the walls. The wind was just as strong in the morning, and continued through the afternoon. As time stretched on, we watched the weather updates on TV throughout the day, with the weather commentators noting that it was only going as fast as someone on a bicycle (and they don’t mean a Bianchi around here), and then giving it the name ノロノロ台風 (noronoro taifuu), or sluggish typhoon.
When the sluggish typhoon finally rode its mama-bicycle far enough away that the wind died down, it started to rain. And rain and rain and rain. A freakishly direct line of rain clouds spiraled in toward our peninsula, delivering up to 1,800 mm of rain in a period of six days. For comparison, the wettest typhoon on record happened in 2009 in Taiwan, with 2,327 mm of rain. So while 500mm more rain would have been disastrous here, we’re somewhere in the same category I think.
Another factor that contributed to the intensity of this storm was the tides. During the period of peak wind we had three high tides, which were enhanced by the steady, powerful winds, and got blown onshore, over seawalls, into drainage systems, and most importantly, reduced the draining potential of the swollen rivers.
Although it rained hard and long here, the majority of the clouds broke as they hit the eastern mountain slopes on the other side of the peninsula, and that’s where the record rainfall numbers happened. But the landslides that the continued rain caused happened all over the peninsula, and that’s the second thing that was really surreal about this storm–that it happened here, after all.
The storm made landfall on Shikoku, far enough away we locked the steel shutters into place but didn’t worry too much. Any typhoon that makes landfall will cause deaths in one way or another, but after the numbers climbed slowly, spread out over Shikoku, our peninsula, and elsewhere, they began to climb faster–and only here. Although Mie and Nara prefectures got more rain, Wakayama has a higher number of dead and missing by far, and now the newscasters say it every time they take inventory. The numbers aren’t catastrophic, but there are people within two degrees of separation there, people who live in areas I know well.
In fact, the landslide featured in the video below cut off the overland route to the other side of the peninsula, essentially stranding an area where I used to teach. The road will be cleared soon enough. I was hoping to take my scooter over an incredibly narrow mountain road, the back way into that area, to check out the landslide from the other side–but that road starts in the area of Tanabe hit by a gigantic landslide, a tiny neighborhood where three of only six households were flattened. Although I can’t help the area that’s been cut off, visiting would be fun. But I can’t get over the feeling that taking that road to get there would be akin to disaster tourism.
I was happy to see that most of the rice still in the fields was still easily harvestable, with only a few fields really flattened. A local junior high school’s sports fields were hit pretty hard, and a landslide narrowly missed cutting off the main bridge to where I used to live. Click on any picture below to start a slideshow of the pictures included.
Here the river is much lower than at its crest, but still really dangerous.