Burn in fire or die by electrocution? Stranded on the catwalk of a corn chopper engulfed in flames and wrapped in the deafening hum of 140,000 volts, J.P. Koop leaped into a crackling halo of current. Crashing into a smoking row of freshly cut stalks on super-heated ground, Koop’s body went to jelly on impact, electricity surging through his limbs. On hands and knees, the Michigan farmer made the crawl of his life—a bid to escape a deathtrap.
His incredible survival has no room for chance, Koop insists. Five hours prior, his crew sought protection: “We prayed for safety. We asked God to watch over us with full expectation that He’d meet our genuine need. That’s exactly what happened and I’m here to bear witness because there is no other explanation.”
Walk The Wire
On a Thursday morning, Sept. 12, 2024, Lucky 7 Dairy, helmed by Koop, approached harvest kickoff: corn was ready. Featuring 3,000 acres of light, fertile soil and 2,000 Holsteins set in the hilly topography of upper Michigan’s Missaukee County, Lucky 7 prepared for an ideal day of fieldwork: bright and breezy, low humidity, and a high expected in the upper 70s.
Just before tucking into a homemade breakfast, roughly 14 members of the harvest team—truck and tractor operators—gathered beside the Lucky 7 shop for a safety meeting and final emphasis on awareness. At the conclusion, Koop asked neighboring farmer Mike Bosscher to lead a safety prayer.
“We bowed our heads and Mike prayed in a sincere manner for God’s hand to be over all of us,” Koop recalls. “We asked in full expectation and we meant every word.”
A relative newcomer (six years) to the dairy industry after a lifetime spent around machinery as a long-hauling veteran and a 130-truck business carrying produce between California and Michigan, Koop had never experienced a major accident. He was about to walk a wire.
Ride Lightning
In work boots and Wranglers, Koop, 58, climbed the ladder of a forage harvester crowned by a distinctive, arched chute, and drove toward 80 acres of green corn to start the field opening process and cut enough space to ensure loading trucks had room to receive silage.
On its northern side, the field was rimmed by a main road and parallel power line suspended roughly 14’ high. “Every field is different,” Koop says, “but most everyone deals with frequent power poles and power lines, whether on the side or even in the middle of a field. You’ve got to stay alert to exactly where they’re at, but on this day, I reacted too late.”
Rolling at 5 miles per hour, Koop completed an outer pass of the field, and began a second revolution, with the power line directly to his left, and operator Denny Kamphouse driving a tractor and wagon to his right.
Koop’s two-way crackled: “Hey, you’re getting close to that line,” Kamphouse warned.
At roughly 16’ in the air alongside the low-lying power line, Koop’s chute bobbed like a crow’s nest. He tried to adjust. Too late.
Time to ride lightning.
Volts or Flames?
Supernova. At the touch of chute to power line, 140,000 volts welded metal on metal and ignited a hail of sparks, blowing the chute’s hydraulic cylinder and igniting the chopper tires.
“There was no rotating or getting away. I spun around and saw the chute sparking, and the heat just made it stick to the wire even more.”
Koop shut off the chopper and took stock, his ears drowning under an overwhelming hum of surging electricity.
Seconds. Flashes. Family. Decisions. Calculations. Questions. Risk a step onto the steel catwalk? Dare to remain in the cab? Descend the ladder? Wait for the power line to short out?
As the back tires blew and the chopper rocked, Koop opened the cab door to his left and scrambled onto the platform, enveloped by smoke and the heat of expanding flames. “I didn’t know where to go or what to do, but I knew once those back rims were touching the ground, I’d be electrocuted. Think. Think. Think. Seconds were going by as I stood there and tried to gather my options. It was a major power line so it had no breaker and wasn’t going out. Also, I couldn’t go down the steps because sparks were flying out of them.”
Looking down, Koop stared at cut corn rows belching smoke from pulsing current. Looking behind, Koop eyeballed a silage harvester in meltdown. Volts to the front; flames to the back.
Koop made his choice. He didn’t want to burn.
Dead Man Walking
In a frozen moment beyond the incessant buzzing and mounting heat, Koop found clarity. “Images were flashing across my mind and heart, but all of a sudden, in the middle of all that chaos, I hung on one clear thought. If I died, and no matter how I died, I knew where I was going because Jesus saved me from my sins and had given me the grace to stand before God.”
“That split second recognition came in a freeze frame that settled everything and took away my fear. I’ll jump. I’ll push out as far as my body will let me and maybe get far enough away from the current’s ripple effect to survive.”
Koop climbed on the handrail, balanced on the metal bar almost 10’ high, bent his legs, and pushed off with the kick of every muscle fiber in his 58-year-old body.
“I hit the ground, fell forward, and felt my body getting electrified. I couldn’t stand up or control my legs, but I could move on 100% adrenaline and I started crawling, trying to get out of the ripple effect before it killed me. It was such a weird sensation to feel the current blowing through me. I could feel it especially in my hands and knees, but it wasn’t painful.”
Roughly 20’ later, Koop crawled out of the ripples to safety. He stood up, ran around the chopper to get away from the power lines, and collapsed in an adjacent ditch, from where he was carried by Lucky 7 crew members to a neighbor’s yard.
No wounds or burns from electricity or flames. Miraculous, Koop insists. “I should have died. Cracking. Popping. Booming. Buzzing. The chopper was gone, burnt up. All the liquids superheated. All the aluminum melted and pooled on the ground. The cab exploded and blew glass everywhere. Tires gone. Steel was the only thing left behind.”
With a heart rate pumping off the charts and a heel sore from the jump impact, Koop was taken to a hospital. “The power company guys wanted to meet me before we left. They said they’d never seen anyone walk away from this kind of accident.”
Four hours after arriving, Koop was released from the hospital. He used the next day to rest and ease muscles sore from intense flexing during voltage conductivity. Two days after tapping 140,000 volts, he was back in a chopper (Thursday to Saturday).
Lucky 7 notwithstanding, Koop does not believe in luck. “There was nothing random about my survival. If chance was involved, I’d be a dead man right now.”
The Witness
Koop’s near-death accident has elevated safety concerns to the top rung of daily farm activity. “See something, speak up, and question it, regardless of your role. We all feel the fragility of life on a farm, and my mistake has increased our awareness to the highest level where it has to stay. I can say it simply, ‘I now know where all power lines are at all times.’”
Why was Koop spared?
“I only know I’m supposed to bear witness. For the rest of my life, I’ll use this to talk about God’s Providence,” he adds. “I’m blessed with my wife, Suzanne, who took such good care of me. I have seven wonderful kids. I have a story to tell about how God protected me.”
For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:
Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told
Cottonmouth Farmer: The Insane Tale of a Buck-Wild Scheme to Corner the Snake Venom Market
Bagging the Tomato King: The Insane Hunt for Agriculture’s Wildest Con Man
Ghost in the House: A Forgotten American Farming Tragedy
Priceless Pistol Found After Decades Lost in Farmhouse Attic
Bizarre Mystery of Mummified Coon Dog Solved After 40 Years
American Gothic: Farm Couple Nailed In Massive $9M Crop Insurance Fraud
Evil Grain: The Wild Tale of History’s Biggest Crop Insurance Scam
Fleecing the Farm: How a Fake Crop Fueled a Bizarre $25 Million Ag Scam
The Arrowhead Whisperer: Stunning Indian Artifact Collection Found on Farmland
Skeleton In the Walls: Mysterious Arkansas Farmhouse Hides Civil War History
