Lightning: One Strike and You’re Out!

The weather was deceptively clear, even balmy, on a walk up Old Fall River Road after a successful climb of Ypsilon Mountain. This unpaved road, which climbs to 11,796 feet at Fall River Pass, had not been reopened to summer auto traffic. It had been necessary to hike down the old road to Chapin Pass from the Alpine Visitor Center on Trail Ridge Road before ascending Ypsilon.

Climbing back to our cars, my hiking companions and I were less than half a mile from safety when the sky suddenly blackened and thunder echoed ominously. It was a difficult situation. We were much closer to the Alpine Visitor Center than to the tree line, yet the higher we climbed, the greater our danger of attracting lightning. Because all alternatives were bad, we decided to try to reach the visitor center from the east before the storm reached it from the west. Of course we lost the race.

Rain and hail pelted us in sheets. We tried counting five-second intervals between lightning and thunder to estimate the number of miles to where the bolts were striking; our count yielded only four seconds for the thunder to travel to us from the strikes. We hoped we could get inside an old cabin nearby that had sheltered road workers many years before, but it was locked (and has since been removed).

Under its eaves, we at least found protection from rain and hail. Because we no longer generated heat by frantically hurrying uphill, we began to chill. There were dry, warm jackets in our packs. I and another hiker left hiking companions strung out along the cabin wall and ran around a corner of the building; the recess of a door on the other side would give us a bit more shelter for putting on the jackets.

We had barely turned the corner when the universe erupted in one all-encompassing boom. Its volume knocked us to the ground. Back on our feet, we returned to our friends and found them thoroughly shaken. Lightning, they babbled, had struck right where we had been standing seconds before! Sparks had flown off and hit the individuals standing on either side.

No one was seriously hurt, but all of us were seriously terrified. Lightning does strike twice in the same place—frequently, in fact—and it was thundering all around. We scattered quickly for the lowest depressions we could find, trying to stay away from each other and from watercourses and rivulets that could conduct currents along the ground to us from lightning strikes.

Actually, our friends were wrong. Had lightning struck exactly where we had been standing, the hikers on either side would have been badly injured or killed. Lightning did hit nearby, though, and the strike’s voltage had diffused through the ground along lines of least resistance, dissipating in strength as it traveled.

One line of this “step voltage” had radiated to a piece of an old shovel lying on the ground under the eaves. Had we not moved, it would have radiated to us instead and caused injury or death. Most people who are hit by lightning are victims of step voltage rather than of direct strikes. But the time between strike and conduction of step voltage is a very small fraction of a second, far less than human senses can perceive. It certainly seemed as though lightning had smashed directly into the midst of the group.

Rain pelted our hollows of scant safety, and we wished we had sleeping pads or climbing ropes to squat on for insulation from the ground and from more exposure to step voltage. Such equipment, unfortunately, is unnecessary for reaching the summit of Ypsilon Mountain. We could only stay as low as we were able, with as little of our bodies as possible touching the ground.

At last the storm passed over. Its fury had lasted a scant few minutes, but it seemed much longer. Looking west, we could see another storm following close behind the first. Lightning was striking the Never Summer Range and heading our way—fast.

We ran for the shelter of the visitor center at Fall River Pass. Running 0.5 mile uphill at full speed, laden with heavy boots and packs, in oxygen-short air at 11,500 feet poses definite problems. On the other hand, flashes of lightning and extreme fear are marvelous incentives to effort. As we ran we heard sirens wailing across the tundra and hoped that rescuers were coming for us.

We were on our own and were nearly dead from exhaustion when we stumbled, gasping, into the safety of the visitor center. The second storm hit as the door swung closed behind us.

Nearly dead does not count. We learned then where the sirens were going: to a parking lot on Trail Ridge Road where a woman had been struck directly by lightning and killed. Standing on the equivalent of a mountaintop, she probably had died from an “upward stroke” of lightning. This type begins in the ground and sparks up to clouds. The huge amount of electricity exposes the conducting object (in this case, a human body) to a temperature as high as 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Death is almost inevitable.

The victim might have been struck by a “downstroke” with the same result. Yet strikes that originate in clouds usually dissipate in the surrounding air so that the actual strike consists of only a few thousand volts. By contrast, an upward stroke can generate 2 billion volts. Seventy percent of the victims of downstrokes survive, although often with some sort of permanent damage.

The amount of shock a person receives from voltage running along the ground depends on the nearness of the strike and on the conductivity of the ground surface. The chances of survival depend largely on the reaction of people nearby. The victim may appear dead, because heartbeat and breathing are usually stopped at once by the electrical shock. Nevertheless, closed heart massage and artificial respiration should be commenced immediately. The heart frequently will restart by itself; the lungs will not. Although lack of oxygen for long periods can cause brain damage, victims have recovered completely after having had no oxygen for as long as twenty-two minutes. There are additional injuries from lightning that may require first aid: burns, cuts, shock, internal bleeding, broken bones from falling. Some of them may be fatal if not treated.

It is easy to understand why many mountaineers are fatalistic about lightning. Their attitude is unfortunate, for it fosters carelessness, and there are some ways to avoid being hit. Obviously you should not be the highest object around when a storm threatens. If at all possible, get below tree line. You will be very safe in a forest. This is quite different from huddling under a lone tree, which would make you an excellent candidate for receiving strong step voltage. If you can see an old lightning scar twisting around the trunk of a nearby tree, you are too close to the tree.

If caught above the tree line by a storm, you should stay away from edges of cliffs and from high boulders; also stay away from rock debris and vegetation at the bottom of cliffs, for both conduct step voltage. Cracks and shallow niches in the mountainside also should be avoided.

The best procedure is to crouch among flat-topped boulders. Because such ideal places are scarce on the tundra, a depression may have to do. But depressions containing water are annoyingly uncomfortable and are dangerous because of step voltage. Crouch with feet together to avoid making your body an arc for electricity.

Included here are a few extra hints for avoiding lightning in Rocky Mountain National Park and Indian Peaks. First, because storms tend to gather in the afternoon, you should begin hikes to peaks early enough to reach the summit and leave it by early in the day. Having to end a hike by climbing to a trailhead above tree line, such as on the Old Ute Trail or Fall River Pass, is less than ideal.

Second, certain places apparently are preferred lightning targets and might be avoided during storms. On the list are Deer Mountain, Specimen Mountain, and Mills Moraine. Trail Ridge seems like a favorite target, but that could be because it swarms with so many potential victims. Longs Peak is the highest point anywhere around—except for the climbers who are standing on top of it.

All in all, lightning is nasty stuff. Nevertheless, fear of lightning can inspire evasive action, which reduces the chance of being hit to acceptable odds. Only the foolish lack such fear.