by Tim Dyer
Hello from lightning central – Georgian Bay! Yup, I dunno how it happened, but in the last few years our tranquil old Bay has become a raging giant – tossing out some pretty violent summer storms. I suppose you could blame global warming, el nino or the jet stream. Personally I think some folks out there haven’t been paying their taxes. This is Ontario after all. In any event, we have had to deal with the fallout so to speak.
A couple of years ago on a family kayak trip, four of us raced to shore as the sky became uncomfortably stormy. We made it, and my sister was about to step onto a rock while shuttling gear. Milliseconds before she moved, the rock exploded in a shower of light and fragments. A sign from God? I don’t think so, it was a damn good lightning bolt deciding to touch down in an unfortunate spot. She escaped unharmed, but badly shaken.
This past summer a White Squall kayak trip to northern Georgian Bay had an even nearer miss. The group had settled in for the night, gathered under a tarp to enjoy a glass of wine and supper. Sheesh, it was almost their last supper! But I digress … anyway, there they were – taking in the best of a Bay summer’s evening when a fast-moving storm cell roared in. The leaders did the leaderly thing and ordered everyone to their tents. What happened next is a tale of fortune smiling down on people who must have paid their taxes. Very powerful lightning bolts struck and discharged through the tent areas. A husband and wife who were sitting on their thermarests under a tarp had the ground surge travel through them. It passed through his arm from his hand (he had momentarily touched the ground) up his elbow and over to her leg and finally exited out her foot. They survived with hardly more than a good scare and a great story. The thermarest was examined later and found to have burn marks where her foot was.
Meanwhile, the occupants of one of the dome tents nearby were minding their own business, lying full out on their sleeping pads – when along comes mister ground charge. It contacted one of the poles and shot over and down the other side of the tent along the pole. The poles lit up the tent like a circus. Then the lovely smell of burnt nylon filled the air. Again, the folks escaped with nothing more than cheap seats at their very own light show. Examining the pole later, it was welded shut at every joint! Later they dutifully lashed it onto their kayak (it wouldn’t fold down) and it now has a place of honour on the White Squall porch – a memory of a moment they really want to forget.
To finish the tale, occupants in the third tent felt the charge go through, but thankfully were untouched.
When stuff like this happens, the bald truth is that dumb luck plays the starring role. Sure, they followed lightning protocol and did their best – but when that kind of energy touches down, you just gotta hope your bills are paid up. But in the interests of pretending that we do have a choice, I would like to offer some thoughts.
If the tent folk had been following the idea of crouching on their pads, trying to minimize points of contact with the ground, I think they might have fried. First, the folks out under the tarp proved that a thermarest on its own might not insulate, particularly if there is a pressure point (e.g. a hip) pushing into the ground. When you think about it, a tiny bit of pressed foam isn’t much protection from a few million volts. So, lying flat out on a fully inflated pad might just be the ticket. Secondly, if the tent mates had crouched instead, their heads would have been darn close to the poles, and we know what happened to them.
When underway, you don’t have the luxury of setting up a nice camp. First rule is get the heck off the water. Then, crouch on something that can insulate e.g. your pfd or your partner’s head (just kidding). You don’t want to be the highest, nor the lowest, so this is where mediocrity is good. My own take on the crouch is that if you are going to be there for a while, you might as well get comfortable – so I would be inclined to sit. If you’re thinking, a water bottle and a raincoat are a good idea. The latest thought is that danger lurks well before and well after a passing storm – and even a 20-second delay from lightning to thunder is not healthy. There is a lot more to lightning and how to prepare for it than I’ve talked about here. I just wanted to share our shocking misadventures.
Finally, being the lazy rotter that I am, I’ve decided that next time old mister storm comes my way, I’m going to run for the tent, blow up my pad ’til I can’t blow no more, then I’m gonna lie down with a good book and a shot of rum – hoping my number isn’t called to that great kayak rack in the sky.