Storm on the river (journal)

This entry is part of my journal from Semester in the West. For all SITW journal entries, click here. For all SITW posts, including blog posts I wrote while on the program, click here. To learn more about the program, click here.

camp: Along the Green River, Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado/Utah

Holy shit that storm was epic. There’s something so perfect about the timing—after we set up camp, it hits and everyone functions together, almost like an ant colony or an army unit. Hold it down together, through the wind and the rain like your life depends on it. Because it does, in a way. You’re dripping wet, covered in sand, glasses a splattered mosaic of turbid river water and ice cold raindrops. Your legs are so covered in goose bumps they feel sharp to the touch and your knees are rattling together so loudly you can hear them over the wind. But you hold that line, wrangle the tarp back to earth, sprint after the raft and dive on top of it. This is your life, and you have to take charge, grab it by the horns and fight. The river and the storm don’t owe you life. You could trip, fall in, be swept downstream, feet held in place by a submerged log, face screaming silently in the murky green, and the river would go on flowing. You could be blown away, left alone with no shelter, no food, no dry clothes and sit on a rock, slowly succumbing to the creeping cold of water and the storm would rage on around you. Here, you are alone. Here, you don’t matter. But you know you do, so you fight your insignificance together, hold down tables, tie rafts in place and pray for the end. And the wind stops and the rain calms itself to a trickle and you thank gods you’ve never believed in that you’re still here, still alive.