SAFETY TIPS FOR THUNDERSTORMS
I’ve always had a fascination with weather. As a kid, I checked the Weather Network religiously (channel 23 😉) , twice a day, every day. As an avid hiker and backcountry camper, you’d think that weather obsession would have paid off.
Spoiler…it did not.
In my younger years, I often ignored forecasts and packed the cheapest ponchos. You know, the kind that rips instantly, holds in moisture and keeps out no more than a drizzle.
I learned the hard way that bad planning and storms don’t mix — including one humiliating Algonquin hailstorm where my pants ended up off at the worst possible time.
I now cancel trips when severe weather is coming, I brag to my family about my “grown-up” decision-making, and I even pat myself on the back for being cautious.
Because the truth is: there’s no safe way to be outside in a lightning storm. None. But storms still roll in fast, especially in the hot Ontario summers. If you hike or paddle long enough, you’ll get caught.
When that happens, here’s what to do — and what not to do 😬
⚡ What To Do If You’re Caught in a Storm
Avoid open areas and high ground. Stay in the woods, not out in a field or on a hilltop. Find a cluster of trees.
Avoid lone trees and massive trunks; they’re more likely to attract strikes. Stay low. Keep away from cliffs, caves, fences, power lines, and especially water.
Spread out. Keep 100 feet between you and others. Toss away conductive items until it’s safe. Kneel down. Feet flat on the ground, head covered, and wait it out.
Time it. Don’t move until 30 minutes after the last thunderclap.
If you’re near houses, ask for shelter. Porches, garages, barns, anything beats standing out in the open.
Sounds simple, right? Sure. Except sometimes, in the middle of a storm, common sense gets completely overruled by exhaustion, frustration, or plain old stupidity.
🌩 My Bruce Trail Mistake
By day six of my June 2024 Bruce Trail hike, I was wet, bug-bitten, and very much “done with the trail.” The morning had already tested me: soaking wet grass, slippery rocks and clouds of mosquitoes. It gave me a 3km stretch of road that I thought would bring reprieve from it all, but delivered horseflies instead (IYKYN).
I walked face-first into many spider webs, one complete with a spider living happily in the middle. I made that weird “pfft-pfft” sound while clawing at my face, then tossed my poles into the woods in a rage and unleashed a string of curses loud enough to scare the wildlife.
By the time thunder rolled in, I was on the edge of a forest, standing next to a farmhouse with a big wrap-around porch. Behind me was a safe cluster of trees, if I dashed back in a bit. It was the textbook scenario I’d always told my family I’d handle wisely: “If a storm hits, I’ll just duck into a porch, or head back into the woods. Easy.”
Then the little voice in my brain whispered: but you’re so close to your car.
It was less than 2km away, parked at Lavender Cemetery on a hilltop. My “safe haven” was sitting beside an iron gate under a lone tree, out in the open, high ground and all.
Still, I thought: If I just run, I’ll be fine.
So that’s what I did. I sprinted through the downpour, shoes sloshing, yelling at myself like some deranged motivational coach. At a passing four-way stop, a man was hauling stuff onto his porch. Did I ask him for shelter? No. I just waved like I was out for a fun jog.
Seconds later a school bus pulled up. Did I flag it down for help? Nope. I smiled and waved at the driver like, “Don’t mind me, I love a good storm!” She waved back with a smile and headed off in an empty bus in the direction I was going,
Then came the first flash of lightning, followed instantly by a bone-shaking crack of thunder. The storm was right on top of me. There were no “Mississippis” to count.
My brain screamed: “Ditch the poles!” I didn’t.
I kept sprinting, clutching my shiny metal conductors like they were safety bars on a roller coaster. Another flash, another boom.
My car finally came into sight — parked exactly where no one should ever stand in a thunderstorm. By some miracle, I made it — without being struck. I dove headfirst into the driver’s seat, dripping, panting, and scolding myself out loud.
The first thing I did? Texted my coworker back about some office gossip I’d seen before the storm hit. Then I confessed the idiotic stunt I’d just pulled.
His response summed it up: “You’re a maniac.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I would have gone with idiot or amateur personally.
Note to self: I am not Helen Hunt, this isn’t Twister.
🥡The Takeaway
Don’t run toward your car, or any “finish line,” in a storm.
Don’t clutch conductive objects.
Don’t try to outrun thunderclouds.
Do stop where you are, do get low, and do wait it out.
Lightning doesn’t need to strike twice to teach you that.
—🌲 Final Word
Nature is amazing, storms are thrilling, but they aren’t forgiving. If you hear thunder, take it seriously. Play it smarter than I did — seek shelter, be patient, and ride it out.
Your car, and work gossip, can wait.
Get into nature. Stay safer than me. And happy hiking.
ABOVE: The Iron Gate of the Lavender Cemetery BELOW: The photos of an otherwise safe day.
