take a hike: Devil's Den (the conclusion)

And then the thunder began to rumble.  I'm staring at the sky through our mesh, rain-fly missing tent and realize we have managed to pitch our tent under a tree with no leaves.  Roo suggests we move further into the woods for more cover and further away from the river.  Just the week prior, several campers were killed in Arkansas when a river flooded and swept them away during the night.  As if just getting wet wasn't enough to worry about.
So we relocate further away from the water than Brent and Kristy.  If they yell, that will be a warning to jump and run.  I take the footprint tarp off the bottom of the tent and we try to make a makeshift cover.  It's too small to protect the entire tent, but at least it covers our heads to keep the rain from falling in our faces.  With everything else securely packed in our waterproof backpacks, we climb back inside our tent in time for the rain to begin falling softly.
At first it's a gentle rain.  The mist hitting the sides of the tent actually felt kind of nice in the hot, sticky air.  I was feeling quite comfortable and optimistic, especially when I could hear Brent complaining about how hot and miserable it was in their enclosed tent.  The nature of a rain fly is to obviously block rain.  Unfortunately for the Kotschedoffs, it also blocks any breeze.
Just as I'm thinking this isn't so bad and I might be able to doze off, it starts to rain a little harder.  The lightning strikes and it thunders a little louder.  And it rains a little harder.  Then the wind picks up.  And it rains a little harder.  The makeshift rain fly is now doing no good since the rain is coming in from all sides and soaking us.  We're feeling pretty miserable when WHOOSH!!!  The tree branch to which the overhead tarp was attached gives way and it's a waterfall right in our face. We jump out and try to re-position our rain cover the best we can, but it is raining so hard now that we know it doesn't really matter.  Surely it can't last long.
Wrong.
Hours later, it's still raining and the wind is still blowing.  Roo and I are snuggled together as close as possible, shivering under our soaking wet sarongs we brought for covers.  Were we really complaining about the heat earlier?  Sleep is impossible.  My eyes are only shut to keep out the rain.  I'm alternately praying and cursing the Kotschedoffs for not inviting us to join them in their dry, cozy tent.  Irrational thought, I know, since our two-man tents are barely large enough for two people, but not a lot of rational thoughts are going through my mind right now.  I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm exhausted, and I can't help but imagine the river rising and sweeping us away.  Roo bravely offers to go search for a cave or some more substantial shelter, but it's pitch dark and we don't know what's in these woods let alone what might be in any cave.  Aren't there bears around here?  I wonder how long it would take us to hike back to the car.  And the rain fly.  Why oh why did Roo not pack the rain fly?  I can't be mad at him, though.  I knew he took it out and I could have just as easily thrown it in my own pack.  But really, maybe he should run back to the car and get it.  It's just 16 miles round trip.  But we decide to wait it out.  Surely it can't last much longer.
Wrong.
All this rain makes me have to pee.  I sit up and discover that my air mattress is actually floating in the tent! When I return, Roo and I pick up our tent and dump out about 100 gallons of water.  Futile effort since it's still raining, but I'm already convinced I have hypothermia and I would rather not drown in my own tent.
I lay back and catch a glimpse of my dry socks in the net at the top of the tent.  At least something was protected by the tarp.  I am so wet and so cold and so tired, I think if I could just get my feet warm, I might be able to get five minutes of sleep.  I slowly begin to reach up toward my socks when a voice sternly says, "Don't do it."
"But my feet are so cold!"
"Do you have any other dry socks?" Roo asks.  "Do you really want to hike eight miles out in wet socks?"
He's right.  And that's when I begin to cry.
I must be able to drift off for a few minutes, because when I next open my eyes it's just beginning to turn light and the rain seems to be subsiding.  I quickly escape the tent and rush to see how high the stream has risen.  I'm astonished.  Not an inch!  How could the monsoon have had no impact?  I see fog rising from the water and it looks like steam, so I gingerly test the water temperature with my toes and it's warm!  Warmer than my body temp anyway, so I jump in.  Not like I can get any wetter than I already am.  I shout for Roo to come join me.  All my rejoicing seems to have roused the Kotschedoffs and they emerge from their tent soaked as well--from sweat.

Looks cozy, huh?

None of us slept very well and we're all eager to get back to the car.  Roo and I change into dry clothes (yippee!!) and wring the water out of tent the best we can and repack our packs.  Wet gear weighs at least twice as much, so our packs are that much heavier.  We camped at the midway point of the trail loop and Brent suggests hiking back the way we came in.  Since it was all uphill on the way here, it must be all downhill back to the car.
Never trust Brent.
I'm not sure how a trail can be uphill both ways, but it was.  And the morning heated up quickly.  As the sun came out, steam began rising off our wet packs.  Another downside of rain is that when it mixes with dirt on a trail, it makes mud, which is really not fun to hike in.  It was shaping up to be a really great day.
We hadn't gone very far at all before we noticed the trail was actually fairly dry.  Strange, but we weren't about to complain.  Aside from being more uphill than we remembered and the weight from our wet gear, the hike out wasn't terrible and before too long we had made it back to our raspberry bush.  Just beyond our rest stop the trail intersected the road back to the park.  After not much deliberation, the boys decided to leave their packs with Kristy and I and jog back to get the car and come pick us up.  We made good use of our time picking wild raspberries and had nearly a quart-size baggie each by the time the boys showed back up.  We loaded up the gear and headed back to the campground--the real one--in search of showers.
All clean and reclined in the backseat, I'm pretty sure I was snoozing before we made it out of the parking lot.  But my ice cream radar picked up the mention of Sonic near Fayetteville.  In honor of our survival and return to civilization, Sonic's milkshakes were half off.  We might have made two or three more shake stops on the route home.  I lost track.
Just for fun, Brent checked the radar from the previous night, to see how widespread that storm was.  Somehow, the only blip on the radar was right over us.  That explained the steady river and dry trail.  I don't know if God was just messing with us or trying to teach us, but we definitely came away from that memorable weekend with a few life lessons--never trust Brent and always ALWAYS pack the rain fly.