
Navajo Point, a wonderful sight, glistens in the lowering light as I observe the storms over the Navajo Reservation to my east. "If this throws a boundary, we're in for something special," I say to my dad. I set up my gear and handed my dad a spare tripod for his phone. He is an official storm photographer for the day which which makes me proud. The line of storms quickly does what I wanted it to do: an outflow boundary is forced and a haboob is immanent. My camera, framed and ready to go waits for the chance to catch something special. My dad's phone, on the edge, waits for the rarest haboob to strike. Moments later, dust and lots of it appear in the distance. The cameras start rolling. A little plume turns into a large plume as it nears the rim. My dad stands in disbelief along side me, in awe of an event we will never see again as the winds pick up to 60mph. My passion of storm chasing, shared with my father, made this moment much more special.