Storm on the river

We’re back from our rafting trip after surviving two storms on the river. The first one struck after we had finished setting up camp on the first night. Torrential rain came cascading down from a sky which had been dry seconds earlier, and we all ran for shelter under the tarp. Then the wind hit, throwing sand in our faces, snapping lines, picking up tents staked out with fifteen pound rocks on all corners. We moved as a frantic unit, grabbing tarp edges and pulling down with all of our strength. We screamed to be heard over the wind. We watched lightning flash overhead and thunder boom over the wind while the sky turned an angry grey. We dove on top of tents, life jackets, kitchen utensils and shoes. We held on and prayed together.

After it was over, we surveyed our camp. The kitchen had collapsed and been hastily packed away. Our tarp shelter lay in a dilapidated puddle with half a dozen journals and chairs strewn under it. At least two tents had been relocated by the wind. A life jacket had blown down the river.

Together, we moved the kitchen and cooked dinner in a cave. We ate pasta plain with steamed broccoli, and it tasted so good you could almost ignore the bits of sand sandwiched between the noodles. We set tents back up and got into warm, dry sleeping bags. For at least half of us, it was the best night of sleep we’d had all semester.