Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Summer Thunderstorm

[Four years ago on this date, I was hiking the Appalachian Trail in western Massachussets. This is what that day was like.]

The storm hits hard and fast. Towering thunderheads sweep in from the west, driven by strong winds. Thunder and lightning crash ever closer as I near the top of East Mountain in western Massachusetts. At 1,900 feet, it’s pretty low but still the highest peak around. I climb quickly, hoping to beat the worst of the storm over a natural target for its lightning. The last thing I need is to end my Appalachian Trail hike dead from a lightning bolt.

Only a few hours ago, I nursed the illusion that maybe the storm wouldn’t materialize. A day hiker warned me early on that the afternoon forecast called for severe thunderstorms and, sure enough, clouds were visible in the west as I crossed Route 7 with Red and Gary. But more than anything, the day was just hot, muggy and still. Thunderstorms were the least of my worries as I limped into the Corn Crib, a local nursery doing a brisk business selling food and drink to hikers. All I wanted was to sit in the shade and drink something cold. Soda and ice cream were welcome and refreshing, although its benefits quickly faded as I walked alongside the Housatonic River. I joined Red and Gary in a quick swim in the river–anything to cut the heat.

I knew that the storm was imminent as I began climbing up from the river. The clouds that had been in the west when I was sweltering across Route 7 were now overhead, the day had become dark and windy. The breeze felt great but I knew what was coming. Lightning flashes. I count down. “One thousand one. One thousand two. One thousand three....” Thunder ends my count at eight seconds. The storm is about a mile and a half away, heading my way. I continue up the slope, wondering how exposed the ridge will be. I conjure lurid images of my body fried by lightning or ripped by splintered wood. Trees bend in the howling wind. FLASH! One thousand one. One thousand two,...One thousand five. CRACK! Closer. Suddenly, a sign: “foul weather alternate route”, a blue blazed side trail. I make the turn, hoping the side trail will keep me safe.

The alternate trail is distinct but less so than the AT. I look carefully for the path on the ground, scanning trees for blue blazes. FLASH! CRACK! Right over me. I wince at the close call. The first rain drops strike my parka, followed by more and more and more. Now it’s pouring. Lightning flashes, thunder rumbles. I pick up my pace with each bolt, somehow hoping that speed will keep me safe. Thunder and lightning continue to explode around me. The blue blazes seem to disappear against the wet bark. I worry that I’ve lost the trail but no, here’s another blaze. I crest the summit under a canopy of trees, not exposed rock, still nervous each time lightning strikes.

The woods are wet. Rocks, roots, branches and leaves glisten with a moist sheen in the forest darkness. The day has cooled dramatically. Now I’m cold unless I move and move fast. I’m scared, too. I worry about the lightning, which is still close but seems to be–maybe–moving away. I worry that I’ve lost the alternate trail. I worry that I’ll miss the next shelter because it will be south of the junction with the AT and not clearly marked. The wind and rain have sapped my confidence but all I can do is push on. I sure can’t stop here.

The junction with the AT is unmarked. No sign alerts southbound hikers to the alternate trail. I wonder how many unfortunate souls end up on the rocks in a storm because they did not see the alternate trail. I thank the spirits for the sign that I saw. I head north on the AT, hoping I’ve not missed the shelter. No rain now but moisture drips from all surfaces. The thunder is a safe rumble in the distance. I pick my way over wet rock and muddy trail, thinking that I should have seen the shelter by now. I wonder where Red and Gary are. Damn, I hate being alone at times like this.

Finally, a sign for the shelter! A short side trail leads down a steep, rocky slope. I see the shelter below. Red and Gary are there. So are Pickle and Pinata; they got in before the storm. We decide to stay in the shelter since no good tent sites are available. We change into dry clothing. We slap at the mosquitoes now emerging after the storm. I’m happy to be dry and safe with my friends and not sprawled atop East Mountain, felled by lightning. I lucked out once again.

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