Lightning Dance on Whitney Peak: A Story of Resilience

Mother Nature can be as gentle as a lamb or as fierce as a tiger. One July morning in 1980, while backpacking with my boyfriend Mark in the Colorado Mountains, we experienced both the lamb and the tiger in a single day.

This is a story about resilience, staying calm and acting quickly. Sometimes, there are split decisions to be made and other times it is best to wait. 

Getting There

The 14,000 foot Mount of the Holy Cross peak in the Sawatch Range sits is a gorgeous piece of country filled with many twittering birds, squirrels chattering, as well as the unpolluted scent of pine trees.

I was living in Denver at the time and we wanted some fresh air. Denver has it good qualities, but clean air quality isn’t one of them. Getting into the mountains is literally getting a breath of fresh air. 

We started hiking a muddy jeep trail that stops at the Holy Cross City, now a ghost town. If you decide to drive in- Beware- this is for experienced jeep enthusiasts only!  

Yellow daisies, purple irises, lupine, and red penstemon played hide-and-seek among rusted pipes, tailings, and the last standing cabin. I often wonder how successful this town was before succumbing to the harsh elements of this high elevation.

Further along the trail is Seven Sisters’ lake that sits near the base of the 13,000 ft. Whitney Peak. We settled here for an evening under a mountain of boulders with Whitney Peak towering high above us. 

Following the Trail to View the Holy Cross

The next morning we bushwhacked up and over the ridge to find our view of the Mt. of Holy Cross better. Then found the trail leading right towards it.

This trail is well used, lots of people come up here to feel the energy of this special place. And there it was. Looking up into the clear, blue sky, you can see the ice crystals still hugging the crevices of the infamous cross.   

To me, it signifies protection and peace. Little did we know that we would be drawing from those virtues.

A Sudden Storm!

After a leisurely lunch, we continued back down the trail this time in the direction of our campsite.  Just as we were about the hit the top of the trail, a large, black, ominous cloud appears on the horizon, racing right toward us!

We look at each other, surprised at this new development. 

What should we do now? I asked. 

We were standing on the summit of Whitney Peak and there wasn’t time to get off the mountain safely.

Mark said, “Put on your rain gear and squat in these boulder depressions.” We quickly pulled our jackets from our daypacks and hunkered down among the boulders, preparing for the worst.

Lightning flashed all around us, sparking the boulders. I was so glad to be with Mark—he knew exactly what to do. He yelled, “Don’t touch the rocks with your hands, just sit on the soles of your shoes,” then tucked his head close to his chest.  

The rubber soles on our boots was our only contact with Mother Earth.  I hugged my pack like a teddy bear and prayed. I hesitantly open one eye and watch the lightning  dance ferociously close to us.  

Hail the size of marbles stung and bounced off our backs while thunder clapped its praises loudly overhead.   I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. 

Then as suddenly as it began, the hail turned into a light rain and the thunder and lightning stop.  

We instantly stood up and walked over to the edge of the rocky  mountain and looked below. The route to the bottom was bulging with large, wet boulders and loose gravel. 

“What do you think?”  Mark asked. 

“Do we have a choice?  We can’t risk getting caught up here if another storm blows through.  Let’s go for it!” I replied. 

Safety at Last!

We scrambled over the edge, grasping at whatever we could find to climb down safely. Once, a small avalanche of pebbles broke loose beneath Mark’s feet. I slid down most of the way on my backside. 

A few minutes later we descended Whitney Peak safely.  I glanced up and was surprised at the steepness of what we had just climbed down.  A second later, another bolt of lightning flashed close by, prompting us to move again.   The rain came back in buckets.

 We slithered over to a small clump of bushes for shelter in search of our tent.  Finally, we saw it, still standing, waiting for us. We stumbled across the wet, slippery knoll to our Gortex home in the Rockies.   

Once inside, we stripped off our wet, soggy clothes and snuggled gratefully together into warm, dry sleeping bags.

All summer, we both were a little shaky from this experience,  Mark more so, because his job was climbing phone towers to repair them.

Perhaps the most important lesson was that we didn’t lose our heads and kept a positive attitude which enabled us to survive a potentially dangerous situation and we came out winners.

There’s no doubt that Mother Nature demands respect. We have much to learn from Gaia.

Do you have a particular adventure you would like to share that symbolizes more for you than the trip itself? Let me know here.