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At first the clouds were puffy white. They rapidly began to become darker and
darker and started to look like rain. The sleeping bags are out - a death sentence if wet. We were all the way at the west end. I started to run. The going was rough along the shore path which was the quickest way to get back. Up and over little hillocks, rocks, crevices, I was running at half speed which was as fast as I could go in this terrain. By the time I got near the camp I was exhausted and could barely keep it up, panting mightily, and the clouds were now really ominous. Just as I reached the bags some drops were coming down. I bundled them up and ran back to the tent and threw them in with me tumbling after. Sophia got back in a mild drizzle and then it began to pour buckets. It lightninged and the thunder was deafening as it ricocheted off the cliff walls. If you love storms the wind, the pouring rain so that you think it will flatten your tent, the lightening real close and ear splitting thunder crashes - this was the place and I did.
Something else happened. Where the tent floor had been warm, the rain washed under the tent and suddenly it was bone chilling cold. Having heard about trenching all my life, that was when I first experienced the value of a storm channel, which I had never been convinced of before. We had no shovel so after the storm we were out there with sticks trying to scratch a trench around the tent.
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