An
occasional stray cloud blots the bright moon as I stare at the night
sky. There is no wind, just the roar of an eerie silence ringing in my
ears. At 11pm, I feel the pitter patter of raindrops pelting my face,
and throw up my tent. A few minutes later, the dull rumble of thunder
quietly buzzes on the horizon. The roar grows closer with every passing
minute. My tent erupts with a bright white flash as the storm cell
nears. I start to count to myself: one one thousand... two one
thousand... three—Kaboom! One
one thousand—Kaboom! One—Kaboom! The strong winds
noisily crash through the nearby trees as heavy rain pours over my
tent. As the storm crashes its way out, ten minutes of utter silence
scream through my head. A brief peek of the moon flashes from the
heavens, and is quickly followed by the distant echo of the next cell
barreling straight towards me. My heart pounds wildly as it nears. I
ask myself if this one going to fry me. Will I end up as a cooked meal
for some coyote or mountain lion in the morning? Do I want to try and
fall asleep when the cell passes, or be ready to get into the lightning
position if my hair stands on end, or my aluminum trekking poles
holding up my tent start buzzing?
<p>
The faint ring of thunder crawls in from the dark horizon. I count the
seconds as the brilliant flash is followed by the dull roar. My heart
pounds ever louder as the treetops swirl above, and my tent is
assaulted by rain that feels like machine gun fire from above.
<p>
Another half dozen or so of these thunderstorm cells pass directly
above. My tent flashes like a bright-white strobe; two strokes of
lightning pass within two hundred feet of me, and my ears ring like
I've just returned from a loud rick concert. The last storm cell
crashes into a high ridge in the Goat Rocks, and the area slowly slips
into a quiet darkness for the last time.<I> —Goat Rocks
Wilderness, PCT 2009