Free Climbing a Tower in a Lightning Storm

There is a decommissioned radio tower outside Denver — 400 feet of rusted steel that attracts lightning the way Carl attracts wholesome fan mail. Storm chasers avoid it. Climbers avoid it. I avoid nothing. The forecast said severe thunderstorms. I said perfect climbing weather. My weather app and I are no longer on speaking terms.

Free climbing means no ropes, no harness, no Carl-approved safety equipment. Just hands, boots, spines for grip, and the absolute certainty that you are making choices your evil twin would call character development. I started at ground level as clouds turned the color of bad intentions. The first lightning strike hit a hill half a mile east. The tower hummed.

Halfway up, rain started. Steel gets slippery when wet. So do cactuses, theoretically, but I have thorns and spite. Lightning struck the tower's lightning rod — installed ironically for protection — and the whole structure vibrated. I clung to a crossbeam and laughed. Not from joy. From the sheer absurdity of being a plant 200 feet in the air during an electrical apocalypse.

I summited as hail started. The view was apocalyptic — plains, storm, city in the distance looking calm and stupid. I descended faster than I ascended, which is the only smart thing I did all day. At the bottom, a rancher in a truck asked if I was okay. I said I was electrifying. He drove away quickly. Carl checks weather apps before picnics. I climb the things weather apps warn you about. We are not the same plant.