Friday, July 18, 2008
This Thunder didn't Clap
I've never been camping on a river and heard such a sound. This thunder didn't clap, it slapped, it snapped, it cracked and fractured the calm air that hung above camp. The leaves of trees around us began to smirk and pull up their skirts, flash their skinny veins. The fire got louder as it choked on the overdose of oxygen. Tent, tarp, even our kevlight canoe began to move in the winds that picked up driftsticks and blankets of sand. We hunkered under our half assedly erected tarp, its center pole a rotted driftwood post creaking under the weight of the wind. Then began the rain that hung down, whipping at the tents like heavy wire. The integrity of camp showed its flimsy weeping muscles. Pools arrived at every corner of tarp and tent, we had to prod waterfalls from our shelter and nerves from our chests. All there was left to do was chess, chili cheese dogs and..........."oh, shit, I forgot....., I brought a flask of scotch!"