, 5 min, 968 words
Tags: adventuring kayak-adventures
On our training trip, we all learned a ton. Much of that learning came from our peers. Sometimes that meant someone "flipping their boat" (jumping out of it) because they were left unattended on a launch. Sometimes it meant our friends feeling cold because we'd forgotten hot water. But one learning experience stands out as entirely provided by mother nature. We had an unplanned lightning drill on our third day. It was a nerve-wracking experience, but it also showed us how well our training prepared us, and brought us closer together through a shared experience.
We were out near Aialik Glacier in the morning, and we'd all rafted up for a discussion after traversing the ice. Afterwards, we set out to pick our own lines through the ice-covered waters. I'd gotten feedback that picking lines was something I needed to work on, so I set off on my own, and a few other people fell in behind me. As I understand it, it was at this time that Erin, one of the guides of the day, noticed that several people's hair was standing on end.
As you may know, this is a late and very serious sign of a thunderstorm approaching you, and represents a nontrivial danger of getting struck. This has been discussed in a number of places. In particular, the picture shown here has provoked a lot of discussion. The bottom line? If your hair stands up: get inside fast. Failing that, get to a less-bad place outside. That means moving to lower ground, crouching on an insulated surface and making yourself as small as possible. One place you do not want to be is on the water in a boat.
So when people noticed hair standing on end, suddenly we weren't taking the leisurely paddle we'd originally planned. This became an on-water lightning drill, one in which we were acutely aware of the very real danger.
In short order, Trent suggested that we fall into a single line to speed up our path through the ice. Once we escaped some of the thicker ice, we rafted up and briefly discussed our plan of action. That plan entailed getting off of the water (back to camp) as quickly as possible. To facilitate that, Trent put Emily and Sid, two confident and experienced paddlers in single kayaks, in charge of bulldozing a clear path through the ice. The rest of us fell into line behind them and paddled efficiently toward the shore. A trip that normally takes an hour took us around 30 minutes. We wasted no time.
Along the way, tension was palpable. None of us really knew what was going on, but we knew we needed to get off the water. But there was also a fascinating feeling of calm and peace. We knew what we needed to do, and we were working towards that as fast as we could. There was nothing more to worry about. I was pleasantly surprised by that feeling, and some of my colleagues felt it too.
Back at camp, we were all relieved to be back ashore. All signs of lightning had gone away. Hair was well-behaved again. Fiberglass paddles weren't buzzing as they passed through the air. On the whole, life seemed like it had returned to normal. We set about making lunch. Then Erin noticed another guide's hair starting to stand on end again. Looking around, everyone with long hair had the same thing going on. In the space of a minute, our tarps were down, crazy creek chairs had been found, and everyone was crouched down and spaced out on the beach. The textbook recommendation is fifty feet between people, which reduces the risk of multiple people getting hit at the same time. We went with more like twenty, just because of space constraints. After about ten minutes of tense attentiveness, our hair "weather antennae" said the danger had passed. We warily went on with our day, and it didn't happen again. We still don't know what caused this, whether we were actually in danger, or whether we need to worry about it happening again.
This was a tremendously powerful experience for all of us. Seeing how the whole group came together to stay safe was really inspiring. I took away a few key points for managing potential emergencies in the future: