That’s a Wrap

Lightning and Abandoned House, Eastern Colorado
Sony a7R V
Sony 24-105 G
1 second
F/13
ISO 100

Photographing blue-sky California as much as I do, it seems that I spend much of my life strategizing, hoping, praying, and sometimes even begging (whatever it takes) for a quality sky to complement the Golden State’s spectacular scenery. So the irony wasn’t lost on me when my June storm chasing group spent nearly two weeks under absolutely jaw dropping skies, strategizing, hoping, praying and begging for quality foreground to complement whatever sky we were chasing.

Fortunately, our Midwest skies were so consistently spectacular that we didn’t need much foreground. Hay bales? Sure. Oil drilling rig? Absolutely. Barn? Jackpot! Empty field? Good enough.

As the trip wound down, we’d reached the point where we’d photographed so many spectacular sights, we started to feel like hoping for more would be greedy. But that didn’t keep us from still trying.

On our final full day of chasing, we found ourselves in eastern Colorado, pursuing several active thunderstorms. While the forecast didn’t look good for supercell development (and the associated tornados), these cells certainly buzzed with electricity. For our first stop that afternoon, we found vantage point overlooking verdant, rolling hills dotted with distant farms. Not exactly Yosemite, but fine for lightning and dramatic clouds. Most of the lightning was several miles away—far enough that we didn’t hear thunder—but my Lightning Trigger did a very good job catching each bolt. Even though I was pretty sure I wasn’t getting anything I’d use, that didn’t stop me from feeling thrilled each time.

When the primary activity at this location receded and shifted away from the best foreground views, we loaded into the vans and race to get back out front of the storm. Within a few minutes we were back in position, but at first saw no foreground worth stopping for. Then someone noticed a farmhouse in the distance, and as we approached we saw that wasn’t merely a farmhouse, it was long-abandoned and wonderfully weathered.

We screeched to a stop and piled out and were met instantly by what felt like hurricane force winds. When a bolt flashed in the general direction of the house, it was instantly clear that we were much closer to the action than we had been at the previous location. Since the house as at least 1/4 off the road, with no discernible path out to it, I figured we’d just shoot it from the road and move on. But boy, it would sure be nice to get closer and use a wider lens to include more of that spectacular sky…

About the time I had that thought, Jeremy (my workshop co-leader) bolted across the field in the direction the house, and instantly at least half the group, myself included, followed. I kept waiting for Chris, our trip leader and lead storm chaser, to call us back, but honestly, I’m not sure we’d have heard him anyway in all that wind. So we just kept going.

Without a road, we had to maneuver around holes, culverts, and a variety of aggressive plants. My biggest concern was the thorns, of which there was an abundance. Let me just say that Texans like to brag about how everything is bigger in Texas, and while I’m not sure that’s a universal truth, it sure applies to their thorns. Earlier in the trip, after navigating a similar field, something started stabbing the bottom of my foot with each step, and figured a sharp object had worked its way into my shoe. But when I realized it only hurt when I had my shoes on, I removed my shoe, turned it over, and discovered a thorn had completely pierced the sole. But anyway…

Lightning and Abandoned House, Eastern Colorado (my final frame of the trip)

We made it to about 100 yards from the house, setting up in a line so no one was in anyone else’s way. We all had the same goal: a lightning bolt in the general direction of the house. The lightning was firing across a fairly wide area, and some of it was pretty shrouded by rain. Every once in a while we got a bright bolt somewhere in the scene, or a faint one aligned with the house, but nothing that was both bright and perfectly aligned. The other problem was that crazy wind—not only did it require us all to hold on tight to our tripods, it was also a clue that we were perilously close to the storm’s RFD (rear flank downdraft), and all the hail and lightning that came with it. And the wind was intensifying—not a good sign.

About the time we started getting splatted with large but (so far) relatively infrequent raindrops, someone noticed that Chris was frantically waving us back to the vans. I knew the smart thing to do was to retreat without hesitation, but I delayed just a little bit—just long enough for, bang! My attention had been on the evacuating photographers, so I only caught the bolt out of the corner of my eye, but Chuck, the other person foolish enough to still be out there confirmed that it was indeed bright bolt, and right behind the house. When a second bolt hit seconds later, we just grabbed our tripods and raced back to the vans. That bolt turned out to be the final frame of one of the most unforgettable trips of my life.

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Click any image to scroll through the gallery LARGE

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Sunset Supercell Lightning, Amistad, New Mexico

Supercell and Lightning, Northeast Colorado

Too Close, Somewhere in West Texas

Large Tornado, Morton, Texas

Lightning and Road, Amistad, New Mexico

First Tornado, Lingo, New Mexico

Lightning and Thunderhead, Eastern New Mexico

Lightning at Sunset, Eastern New Mexico

Alien Spaceship, Amistad, New Mexico