By Jennifer Woodlief
At the afternoon of July 26, 2003, six traveling mountain climbers ascended the height of the Grand Teton in Jackson gap, Wyoming. Rain and colliding air currents blew in, and shortly a tremendous electric cost started to construct. because the team started to retreat from its position, a titanic lightning bolt struck and pounded during the physique of each climber. one of many six died immediately, one lay significantly injured subsequent to her physique, and 4 dangled perilously into the chasm lower than. In riveting, page-turning prose, veteran journalist Jennifer Woodlief tells the tale of the climb, the coming of the hurricane, and the extraordinary rescue via the Jenny Lake Rangers, essentially the most skilled mountain climbing search-and-rescue groups within the kingdom.
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Extra info for A Bolt from the Blue: The Epic True Story of Danger, Daring, and Heroism at 13,000 Feet
Ah, don’t piss your breeches, Armen. ” Pate heard a chuckle. A soft, sly voice called out from behind him. ” Lazy Leo was slouching by the foot of the old plank bridge, draped in satin striped in green and gold, with a black silk half cape pinned to his shoulder by a rose of jade. The wine he’d dribbled down his front had been a robust red, judging from the color of the spots. A lock of his ash-blond hair fell down across one eye. Mollander bristled at the sight of him. “Bugger that. Go away.
And if age and grief had turned Balon bitter with the years, they had also made him more determined than any man alive. He was born a lord’s son and died a king, murdered by a jealous god, Aeron thought, and now the storm is coming, a storm such as these isles have never known. It was long after dark by the time the priest espied the spiky iron battlements of the Hammerhorn clawing at the crescent moon. Gorold’s keep was hulking and blocky, its great stones quarried from the cliff that loomed behind it.
Armen the Acolyte looked alarmed. “Lower your voice, fool. You should not even jape about such things. You never know who could be listening. ” “Ah, don’t piss your breeches, Armen. ” Pate heard a chuckle. A soft, sly voice called out from behind him. ” Lazy Leo was slouching by the foot of the old plank bridge, draped in satin striped in green and gold, with a black silk half cape pinned to his shoulder by a rose of jade. The wine he’d dribbled down his front had been a robust red, judging from the color of the spots.