He hugged the single rock outcropping with his back while confirming what he already knew to be true. He was stuck on top of the mountain, torrential rain coming down, and continuous flashes of lightning all around. Billy was alone with no clear escape route. 

***

It was a hot and humid Saturday at the base of Mount Harvard, and the trailhead was already crowded before sunrise. Some hikers planned to climb the easier Mount Columbia, some chose the more difficult Mount Harvard, and some, like Billy, were trying to bag them both in one day. 

Billy was hiking alone, but he stuck with a group of college kids who were making good time up to Columbia. Though older, Billy enjoyed listening to the youngsters regale each other with war stories of last night’s party. Surprisingly, none of them complained about today’s hangover. Their energy was positive, and they seemed to enjoy having Billy tag along. 

The group stayed together and were the first to summit in under four hours. The winds had started to gust, and sitting or squatting was much easier than standing on the peak of Columbia. Billy was tired because of the increased pace, but now the option of going for Harvard was definitely in play. 

The college crowd was finished hiking after Columbia.  The winds were worse than forecasted, and puffy clouds were starting to build off in the western horizon. Billy thanked the group, promising to call it quits if the winds or clouds got worse, and he blazed down the mountain toward the trail junction for Harvard. 

Billy passed less than a dozen hikers returning from the Harvard summit after beginning his second ascent. Each time he passed a new person, they gave a stern warning of the clouds darkening in the western skies. Most were wrapped in windproof jackets, some in windproof pants too. 

It was less than three miles from the junction to the summit, so Billy did some high-altitude public math and figured he’d be back at the junction in three hours, just passed noon. That would put him well off the exposed trails before the typical afternoon storms. 

***

Billy was hiding under the rocky outcropping that faced south, or so he thought. The boulder field he’d scrambled up moments ago was barely visible. The switchbacks, less than a mile away, were completely out of sight. He was sitting in a cloud. Everything was drenched. Or maybe he was facing the wrong direction? In his scramble to seek any form of shelter from the driving rain and threat of lightning, did he get turned around? 

Billy knew he’d left his compass in the truck, along with assorted other survival items, in an effort to stay light and agile today. Terror began to set in as the flash-to-bang of the lightning was instantaneous. He should’ve just followed the college kids. He should’ve heeded the warnings of those coming off of Harvard. He said a short prayer. Flash bang! 

When Billy opened his eyes, he could see a red light flashing below. Was someone signaling him? It looks like someone in a heavy poncho with a red-filtered flashlight. Billy decided it was time to move. The signaler was calling him. He stayed crouched, a thunderstorm tip he’d read a year ago when starting his summiting adventures. He moved in the direction of the light and passed a cairn on the descent. Flash bang! 

Another large boulder provided some relief from the wind, and Billy expected to find his signaler there. He was still alone. Looking downhill, he saw the same figure flashing red in his direction. The person was leading him, and Billy wasn’t complaining. More descent, more cairns, more red flashes. Flash bang! 

Nearly deaf from the thunder, Billy was rather rapidly approaching tree line. He was going to make it. He could see the poncho’d figure near the trees. Billy made his final move toward the more established trail. The poncho’d figure was no longer moving, and Billy couldn’t wait to thank his savior. He ducked his head from the whipping rain and made the final push toward the trail in the trees. He was there. Alone. The poncho’d figure was nothing more than a tall, burned out stump. 

Maintaining the trail was easier now, trees blocking much of the wind, and the rain seemed to be easing up. The threat of lightning still loomed, but Billy thought he might just make it down unharmed. No signs of any other person all the way to the bottom. His truck sat alone in the lot. Etched in the muddy rear window, someone had left him a simple message:  Psalm 116:6.