The nuts and bolts of safely surviving a lightning storm

As the evening weather guy for KING-TV, Jeff Renner knows which way the wind blows. While lightning is the biggest danger posed by thunderstorms, he cautions, it's not the only one: Dry streambeds can turn into raging torrents, he says, while "what begins as fire in the sky can set off wildfires no human can outrun."

Yes, there's simply no defense for lightning, Renner writes in his new book, "Lightning Strikes: Staying Safe under Stormy Skies" (The Mountaineers Books). So what's a camper or hiker to do?

Anticipate (problems, before they happen). Assess (the situation, if you're already in the open). Act (accordingly). Aid (the unfortunate injured).

The "four A's" sum up his advice for dealing with lightning bolts and the thunderstorms that produce them. He should know. Renner is an outdoors enthusiast — he once kayaked from Shilshole to Port Townsend — and licensed pilot who's been slapped around by thunderheads while at the helm of a tiny Beechcraft.

Over drinks at a local cafe — where a one-time firefighter approaches to reminisce about lightning-caused wildfires — he recalls the ferocious storms and awe-inspiring funnel clouds of his Ohio childhood.

From Thor to Thunderbirds

Weather, he notes, has demanded respect for centuries: The Vikings had Thor, the god of thunder, while storms and lightning have played roles in Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Ancient Greeks called a thunderbolt "Zeus who had descended," ready to maintain order and mete out justice.

Aztec and Mayan peoples modeled pyramids after high volcanoes over which thunder and lightning assembled, while the same forces led to the Pacific Northwest Indian tale of the Thunderbird. Today's weather wonks, meanwhile, have classified lightning's various forms in cereal-marshmallow terms such as red elves, red sprites, blue jets and Saint Elmo's Fire.

Lightning results as updrafts and downdrafts of cold and warmer air collide within clouds like a Riverdance of scuffling shoes, building up negative charges that finally react under pressure.

Bolts approach the ground, attracting positive charges; as they connect, the positive charges shoot toward the cloud at about one-third the speed of light. ("That's the actual lightning bolt we see," Renner says.) The effect fires up surrounding air to temperatures beyond those on the sun's surface, unleashing the sonic boom we call thunder.

At any given second, about 200 lightning bolts are pounding the planet. One in five people struck by lightning die. In the last half-century, more than 8,000 Americans have been killed by lightning — more than have been killed by tornadoes, floods or hurricanes.

A fatal encounter

Lightning is relatively rare in the Northwest compared to some places, but disasters happen. In 1952, University of Washington students Bob Grant and Paul Brikoff were ascending Mount Stuart, a 9,400-foot peak in Washington's Central Cascades. As they neared the summit, the small puffs of cumulus that had roamed the sky earlier mutated into towering, dark cumulonimbus clouds.

Out of nowhere, a lightning bolt threw both climbers to the ground. Another strike followed on its heels, then a third.

In his account, Grant told of being hurtled over a 20-foot cliff by one blast. The dark skies, thick with driving rain, suddenly seemed intent on pursuing the wounded climbers like a grizzly hot on the trail of human blood.

Another pair of bolts targeted Brikoff. Grant blamed the second of those strikes for the direct hit that killed his friend; doctors would later estimate seven separate bolts struck him.

The incident, Renner writes, illustrates "the danger posed by lightning and the need for vigilance as well as graphic proof that lightning can and will strike the same place or people twice."

According to the state Department of Health, eight people died in Washington between 1980 and 2000 as a result of lightning strikes, including three from 1996-98. The statistics don't include indirect causes such as lightning-produced fires or accidents.

"You really venture beyond your house, and things can evolve very rapidly," Renner says. "And we can't walk around with radar strapped to our backs. Not yet, anyway."

Avoiding strikes, then, requires more than good luck. "It requires both a plan and understanding," he says. If, of course, you're still brave enough to go outside.

Renner doesn't expect hikers to thumb through his tome in the face of approaching mesocyclones, but he does hope its lessons will provide memorable reference material later. He suggests a mix of common weather sense and meteorological savvy, including a knowledge of warm, cold and stationary fronts.

Anticipating means paying attention to forecasts, especially National Weather Service-issued weather watches and warnings.

"The time to act is before you leave home," he writes. Once at your destination, local rangers may be happy to fill you in on the latest: The more well-informed you are, after all, the less likely you'll end up in a situation requiring life-threatening rescue efforts.

And if the four A's happen to help you out, you can probably add a fifth: Appreciate (the advice).

Marc Ramirez can be reached at 206-464-8102 or mramirez@seattletimes.com.