Three Record-Breaking Lightning Strikes Hit Our Off-Grid Community

One of our neighbors is a professional weather tracker and posted the facts behind this astonishing event

I had just finished making a morning latte and was settling into a comfy chair in our glass-walled living room when it happened. I felt the earth vibrate. This was strange in itself since our house and the surrounding meadow are situated on an enormous granite slab.

I thought we were having a tremor until I saw something I had never seen before. A brilliant zig-zag bolt of white lightning streaked through our meadow at a horizontal angle, slightly above the ground.

A roaring KABOOM and crack followed. It was so loud our sturdy home shivered. Our living room was illuminated like a hundred spotlights turned on at once.

I stared into the meadow, hoping to see Zeus, sender of thunder and lightning, rising from the bowels of the shocked earth.

“Take that you puny humans! Like my energy? Too bad if you don’t because more is on the way. I have to dash and throw a few more bolts. Later gator.”

Another series of strikes ensued, but this time they were in the sky. The air reeked of ozone and the clouds had a black underbelly where strikes were visibly taking place. Our landline phone rang with a call from one of our land partners.

“Did you lose power? We did until we tripped breakers and it thankfully came back on. Could you believe that noise! Any clues to what’s going on?”

Here are the details, thanks to our neighbor who was as blown away as the rest of us, although he was a bit further from the triple hit zone. All three strikes were a five-minute walk from our front door.

“What a lightning storm on August 29th! I work for a company [Vaisala] that operates a global lightning detection network. In the image that shows cloud-to-ground lightning, you can see three dots. That’s just east of our place. Many of our neighbors felt the impact of that strike [which hit the ground at 8:41 a.m. in three places all within 1/10th of one second] with an intensity of 100k amps. A typical lightning strike is about 30k amps-so this was a big strike for our part of the world.” Pascal Storck, post on Facebook.

Our neighbors directly across the road lost power when their phone and modem sent out sparks and blew up. The strikes were very close to their home. I speculated the bolts may have reconfigured to a horizontal slant after hitting their land.

They flashed through our meadow, possibly tracking underground cables. The trajectory continued moving uphill to our land partner's home before meeting its end with another KABOOM!

All of this took place at the speed of light.

A grace existed in this storm. The day before, an atypical summer storm delivered sheets of rain, continually streaming down for more than an hour. The earth was so bone dry from summer drought it eagerly drank in the needed moisture.

Without nature’s support, our forested island might’ve gone up in wildfire flames. The energy in those bolts could’ve created multiple fires and there was little we could do to control it. The drenching downpour had protected the trees and forest.

I have a long history with lightning, stemming from early childhood. Growing up in a parched desert, any indicators of a storm-bearing rain brought relief.

I sang made-up ditties for raindrops. But what I really longed for was the magical summer heat lightning that rose up and over the ridge of Rattlesnake Mountain at sunset. Heat waves were still rising from the ground and temps barely cooled down until midnight had come and gone.

The play of dancing light strikes against a backdrop of blackened thunderclouds moved me to awe. The sun began surrendering its glare to striking hues of magenta and purple. A passionate painter was at work, sharing the ephemeral beauty of a golden setting sun.

An internal barometer shifted my nervous system to high buzz and opened the door to wonderland as I gazed upon this magnificent sight.

I’d dance circles on the grass, a mini whirling dervish spinning to the rhythm of booms and cracks. I tilted my head back and merged with the bolts in the darkening sky until I dropped from dizziness.

If I could get away with it, I’d build a small fire in the gutter with sagebrush tumbleweeds and stolen matches as I muttered incantations.

My boyfriend had a summer job as a Wilderness Ranger during a couple of his college years. I’d drive up the canyon to a trailhead and hike up to his base camp so we could explore together sometimes.

At the end of the season, he described a pristine alpine lake he discovered on a cross-country trek. We decided to visit it on our last hike of the fading summer.

I should’ve known our adventure would be more than a hike after a bear sauntered up to where we were sleeping under the stars and snorted straight into my ear. This four-star alarm sent me flying out of my sleeping bag in one heartbeat.

I spotted the huge black bear loping away under the light of a nearly full moon. We had scared each other and I ended up with a very wet ear.

The morning sky was cobalt blue and the temperature was perfect as we trekked to the stunning lake. We set up a tarp pup tent, threw down ground cover and sleeping bags and started a fire for dinner as the high altitude, night chill crept in.

The hike had been strenuous so we crashed out early and were in deep sleep when a storm began brewing. Strong gusts of wind sent our puny tarp flapping and woke us to a mind-boggling sight. We were immersed in a foggy white cloud, busily creating weather.

Hailstones began pelting the tarp as bolts of lightning blasted the surface of the lake and the ground around us. I was a 20-year-old immortal, operating in inner child mode. I became excited beyond the pale.

My boyfriend kept apologizing for bringing me to death’s door as we struggled to bolster the tarp before it flew away in the powerful gusts. I had the opposite reaction and was laughing like the Fool who stepped off the cliff in the Tarot deck.

“What a show! Oh hell yeah! Look at those bolts being made in the cloud! This is Mother Earth at her best. Way to go elements!”

“But we could die! And it would be my fault!”

“At least we’ll go out in style!” I shouted back amidst the cacophony of another hailstorm battering our weary tarp. We huddled together in our soaked sleeping bags, a bizarre duo of a thrilled weather junkie and a shaken, responsible young man.

The fireworks lasted for at least an hour until the storm moved on. We were exhausted and barely dozed the rest of the night. Regardless of the danger, I was grateful to have witnessed the birthing of lightning.

I thought I might outgrow my adoration of wild weather as I matured and realized the dangers it posed. I didn’t. My admiration ended up heading in the other direction.

The more I was exposed to lightning’s power and force, the greater my appreciation. No matter where I traveled, lightning showed up and often unexpectedly.

Spring delivered erratic weather this year, similar to many areas in our climate-changing world. A warm sunny day could be replaced by a cool, wet week overnight.

Berries were ripening before their time. Farmers were scratching their heads and pondering when to sow their seeds.

The first week of Spring produced a series of rainstorms. This weather was expected in the Pacific Northwest, where we live adjacent to the Olympic rainforest.

The overcast eventually cleared and the sun broke through, lighting up the chartreuse green life flourishing in all parts. I ditched my rain jacket one morning and headed out for my five-mile daily walk through back country and woods.

I reached the dirt road along the coast and looked skyward through the canopy of tall firs after detecting a new smell in the air. Was that ozone?

An enormous thundercloud was moving in like a stealth spaceship. I was midway on my walk and had no choice but to continue onward.

Thunder began making its presence known and a flash announced lightning in the distance, coming closer by the minute. Sparse raindrops turned into balls of hail, bouncing off my hat.

The road was vacant and no one was in sight as I strode along. The hail increased and lightning arrived directly overhead, producing instant illumination in the deeper forest.

I had an involuntary yelp when a small bolt grounded itself on the road ahead and a weak tree succumbed gracefully to its final resting spot. My pace increased with fervor as sweat exited my pores, keeping me more than warm.

Ten minutes later the storm disappeared as mysteriously as it had arrived. The clouds cleared and a deep blue sky saluted Spring once again. Songbirds began chirping joyful tunes and were spreading their wings in the warming sun to dry.

I arrived home still amped, with wet clothes, eyes aglow and eager to share with my husband who left for a game of pickleball before I had gone for a walk.

“Could you believe the storm that came out of nowhere?” I blurted out excitedly when I saw him on the deck.

“What storm? We didn’t have weather at the pickleball court and there wasn’t any rainfall here. Look at the dry grass.”

I shared the storm story as my wet clothes and hailed-on hat began steaming in the now-hot sun. My husband was marveling at the sight.

“You might be responsible for that mini-storm. Maybe it showed up for your eyes only. Perhaps you’ve been saluted as a bona fide weather witch by the force of lightning. I have no other explanation. Do you?”

Our neighbor across the road visited yesterday, inquiring if our system had also been disrupted by weather fluxes. She looked at me with a glint in her eyes and a warm grin as we discussed the elements.

“Do you know there are some rumors floating around about you? If you’re a human lightning rod, send those bolts in another direction next time. I’ve lived here close to fifty years and I’ve never seen lightning like this. Do your best woman. I’m outta here before I get zapped.”

What more can I say?

That is until the next lightning storm shows up. And it will.