As black as the skies appeared, perhaps it wasn’t such a wise move to attempt 14,060-foot Mt. Bierstadt so late in the morning. Afternoon thunderstorms are fairly predictable this time of year in Colorado, but today’s storm was developing significantly ahead of schedule. I reassured myself that it was a straightforward climb and that, being so close to Denver, I would have plenty of company along the way. So with a marmot-chewed hiking pole in the grip of one hand and a stout spruce branch held in the other, I launched myself up the mountain, hoping I could reach the summit before conditions grew too dangerous to continue.
The bulk of the traffic was descending rather than climbing, and it didn’t take long before thunder began contributing a baritone chorus of discouragement. Darkness intensified behind Mt. Bierstdt, and a few prudent souls reversed direction and retreated downhill. I surged ahead as fast as I could until, out-of-breath and physically spent, I won access to the rocky summit, where I could stare into the heart of the storm.
A black cloud mass hung over the neighboring Fourteener, Mt. Evans, and its dark tendrils had nearly enveloped the skies overhead. My intention to traverse the jagged Sawtooth Ridge and reach Mt. Evans was now out of the question. A 53-year old man had died while attempting that crossing just two weeks ago.
Behind me, I overheard, “We need to go, now.” and I noticed that my fellow occupiers of the summit were making haste to leave. The reason: everyone’s hair was standing up like the Bride of Frankenstein. I’d seen this effect before; the static charges along the summit ridge were a likely precursor to a lightning strike. The upwelling of electricity was going to be released soon, and it would be a bit stupid to be standing here when it happened.
But then a strange noise caught my ear, and I moved away from the panicked group to listen better. The very air seemed to be buzzing… and my eyes grew wide as I realized what it was. Everything was audibly crackling with static electricity – my hiking poles, my backpack, and especially the space between my shoes and the mountain. The longer I stood in one place, the louder the crackling sound grew. I needed to move.
I’d heard this sound only once before in my life. Seven years ago, in Colorado’s Never Summer Mountains, a hiking buddy and I were debating whether to continue and bag an eighth peak in the range, or descend before a nearby storm swallowed us up. Our discussion was interrupted when we noticed an unusual hissing sound. We wondered aloud where the noise was coming from until, as one, our heads slowly swiveled to focus upon Matthew’s hiking pole. We leaned in closer. The pole was buzzing with the electrical charge of an impending lightning bolt. “RUN!” we cried, and fled down the mountain just as flashes of lighting began erupting all around us.
The static charge on Mt. Bierstadt was far stronger than what I felt seven years ago. And the adrenaline rush from all this energy was addictive; I didn’t want to leave! I dallied, waiting until I was the last climber on the summit, and then I helped escort an older woman off the summit ridge. Once the ground stopped sizzling beneath my feet, I let the woman continue and rested awhile on my own.
The storm grew. A half-hour later, during my descent, a bolt of lightning finally struck the mountain with such ferocity that the very air felt split apart, and the ground shook like an earthquake from the sonic reverberations. Then the hail materialized, as if summoned. Beads of ice shot down from the sky, fast as bullets. As I ran down the trail, I was also in awe of how painful it was! The hail was hitting my cheekbones, hands and legs hard enough to cause bruises. I pulled my hood over my head, but my calves felt like they were being attacked by hornets, and I couldn’t force myself to stop long enough to put pants on.
The beating continued for some time, and then the hailstones mercifully gave way to a heavy rainfall. I accepted the punishment, though I can’t say I was any more than mildly chastened. I had too much fun on that mountain. Still, when I reached a stream near the trailhead, I cast my makeshift spruce walking stick into the rushing water and let the current carry it out of sight. Bierstadt was my final Fourteener of the year, and I intend to give myself time to rest, reflect, and recharge my reserves of common sense before I venture out into the lightning zone again.