Almost Like Catching Lightning in a Bottle

In the summer of 1983, when I was 17 years old, I embarked on a two-week journey into Colorado’s Holy Cross Wilderness. My goal was to reach the top of one of that state’s most famous 14-thousand-foot peaks, Mount of the Holy Cross. The mountain is so named because snow gathers in a crevice shaped like a cross at the top of the peak. Because of its orientation, the snow never melts, forming a white cross that can be seen for miles.

My trip was book-ended by two notable events: On the first day, the all-natural peanut butter I carried leaked peanut oil and paste all over my 14-day supply of hiking clothes, sleeping bag and sleeping pad.

For the next two weeks, the wildlife of Colorado’s high country would find a feast in and on my backpack, whether it was on my back or not.

The second bookend came almost two weeks later, within minutes of our group reaching the 14,009-foot peak of Mount of the Holy Cross. I, along with two other members of our small group, was struck by a single bolt of lightning.