On October 19, 1941, in the north end of the Steins Mountains at a point approximately 25 miles southwest of the post office of Follyfarm in Malheur County, Oregon, the writer was hunting mule deer in company with two companions. The time of day was about 10:30 a.m. and we were crossing a high, broad ridge at an elevation of approximately 6,500 feet above sea level. For several hours there had been indications of an impending storm, and now it was gathering rather rapidly. There had been no evidence of electrical disturbances and the lateness of the season seemed to minimize the probability of development of an electrical storm.

We were nearing the summit of the ridge when suddenly and apparent cloud-to-cloud discharge took place immediately overhead. The interval between flash and the audible report indicated that the path of the stroke was not more than 300 yards distant and we immediately recognized the danger of our position. At that particular point the terrain was rather falt, but we changed our course and headed for the nearest break to lessen our exposure. Other than the brilliant flash and the intense report, no physical sensations accompanied the first stroke of lightning.

We had progressed perhaps 150 yards when the second stroke occurred. We were in single file and approximately 25 feet apart. As a result of the previous warning, all of us were carrying our rifles horizontally and in the lowest convenient position. At the moment of this second stroke, I was conscious of the simultaneous occurrence of several things. First, there was a brilliant background flash acompanied by a burst of corona streamers from the muzzle and front sight of my rifle. I happened to be looking in that general direction and distinctly observed this phenomenon. I felt a very intense, impulsive shock in my right arm, the one that was carrying the rifle, and felt a similar shock throughout my entire body. It seemed particularly severe in the region of my neck and might be likened to a rather severe blow from a rubber hammer, centered approximately at the base of the skull. My hat was knocked from my head, and I very distincly heard the familar sound of the impulsive corona streamers that not only formed on the muzzle of my rifle, but also seemed to form all about my head. I was knocked or fell to my knees, but was completely conscious at all times and recovered my feet almost immediately.

I was entirely aware of what had happened and made a conscious effort to remember in detail everything that occurred. The companion ahead of me froze in his tracks for a moment and then slowly turned about with a glassy stare in his eyes. I heard a low groan from behind, and as soon as I could command the proper muscles turned toward my companion in the rear. He was sprawled full length, face down on the ground, and his rifle was lying six or eight feet from his extended arm. He seemed virtually unconscious at first, and we approached him as rapidly as we could gather muscular control. I called to him and immediately thought of applying artificial respiration. As we approached him, however, he slowly rolled over, opened his eyes, and stated that his left leg felt as if it had been broken. We helped him to his feet and he stated that his right arm, which had been carrying his rifle and his left leg seemed to have borne the brunt of the shock.

Recognizing the further danger of our exposed position, we gathered our wits together as best we could and proceeded on toward lower ground in the most stooped attitude we could assume. Because of the flat, barren character of the terrain surrounding us, we felt safer in making a desperate attempt to get out of there than in attempting to reduce our exposure by lying flat on the ground.

Subsequent lightning strokes in this storm, which developed into one of severe intensity and considerable extent, particularly at the lower altitudes, seemed more than 500 to 1,000 yards distant.

The evidence seems to indicate that, at the time we received our severe shock, a lightning stroke probably terminated on the ridge in our near vicinity and heavy streamer currents passed upward from the ground through our bodies. There is a second possibility that a cloud-to-cloud discharge occurred and that the sudden increase in potential of the cloud immediately above us caused heavy displacement currents to flow through our bodies. The corona streamers developed as a result of the suddenly increased voltage gradient in the space between the cloud and ground. A third possibility is that the release of a "bound charge," resulting from the discharge of a cloud immediately overhead, gave rise to the impuslsive corona streamers and the accompanying shock.

In any event, the magnitude of the shock, particularly in the case of the second companion, approached very closely the intensity required to produce paralysis. I feel particularly fortunate in having escaped a direct stroke, or a critically severe induced stroke. However, from a professional angle, now that the experience is over, I should regret having missed it. The one outstanding impression that I have retained since the moment of the experience is the perfect similarity between the sound of the corona streamers that burst all about my head and those that are produced by a suppressed discharge in a large sphere gap. The shock seemed very similar to that obtained from a capacitor discharge. Careful inquiry revealed that my companions could recall details exactly similar to those outlined.