LIGHTNING AND THUNDER 133 



deluged and greatly damaged the lowlands of 

 northern Colorado. There were frequent lightning 

 strokes. The air was surcharged with juice. This 

 twitched and contracted my muscles and pulled 

 my hair with an accompaniment of snapping, 

 crackling, buzzing, and humming. 



The following day, while the storm was at its 

 wildest in the lowlands, I was descending the 

 mountains between eleven and nine thousand feet. 

 Much of the time I was in the broken storm cloud, 

 and, as I wrote in my notebook, "For two hours 

 the crash and roll of thunder was incessant. I 

 counted twenty-three times that the lightning 

 struck rocks, but I did not see it strike a tree." 



Those who have not been in a violent thunder 

 storm in rugged, high mountains perhaps cannot 

 appreciate the remark of an old mountain guide 

 who said, "The best thunders are always saved 

 for the mountains." The mountain walls, cliffs, 

 and long, receding slopes break, repeat, prolong, 

 and compound the thunders into a deep-toned 

 orchestra. 



I have heard of people having their shoes burst 

 off by a lightning bolt without their receiving seri- 

 ous injury. In Cripple Creek I saw a man at a 

 windlass in an open space slightly injured by a 

 lightning bolt which burst shoe-soles and uppers 

 completely apart and tore off most of his clothing. 



A dry, dead tree or limb is an extremely poor 

 conductor. But during a rain when covered with 



