[This is the final post from the Spring bushmoot]

I emerged from the cordage tutorial in the barn to a deluge of rain. Not only that, the wind had increased considerably. I went to retrieve the SAK that I had lent out. The southern end of the site seemed deserted and it appeared that many folk had retreated into their tents, tipis, and tarps. There were quite a few people that had brought along enclosed canvass and I began to envy them. I learned that there might be a gathering under the parachute for a few beers later.

After a warming chilli meal, I decided to baton down the hatches.

The tarp went from my favourite open front configuration to a narrow inverted V-shape. I was surprised that only the head end of the hammock was getting wet with the rain so I turned the sleeping bag and Thermarest round and secured the poncho over the foot end. Paul and I decided not to go to the parachute (not realising people were already retreating to the barn). We took refuge under our respective tarps and proceeded to semi-shout in conversation to each other across the fire, which Paul had cleverly built into a raging furnace.

About 9pm and we heard a distant “Crack”. If that wasn’t a tree down, I wouldn’t know what it was. The next minute a worried looking neighbour looked under the tarp. “I think I’d better move”, he said. He had set up on the outskirts of the wood, and the distant crack was probably closer to him than he would have liked.

We helped him take down his Hennesey, which was a bit of a mission in itself. Unfortunately, he hadn’t tied the knots with a quick release; however, we managed to move him closer to the centre of our part of the wood (we were on the north side while most of the others were on the south side of the site). I looked up at the swaying trees. If you’re a regular visitor, you’ll know I’m very wary of high winds and woods, but on this occasion I was satisfied that the trees in the immediate vicinity to us (made up of youngish conifers) posed little threat. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but it wouldn’t be dangerous unlike the older deciduous dead branches of my local wood. The escapade of moving the Hennesy and kit (to a grateful occupant) had soaked me through and there was no other option apart from clamber into the sleeping bag, light the candle lantern and try and get warm.

By chance I was reading “Call of the Wild” describing Guy Grieve’s solo adventures in the Yukon including building a log cabin in temperatures down to -40F. This did nothing to warm me up, but did make me realise that our situation wasn’t anything like the endurance, determination and tenacity shown by these amazing adventurers. I slowly warmed up and despite the odd buffeting by an extra strong gust or two and the usual ‘call of nature’ wake-ups, I slept pretty well. The worse was to come.

In the morning, I calculated that the temperature with wind chill was minus 2C. The rain was persistent. I was nice and ‘bed-warm’ but knew that as soon as I climbed out of the sleeping bag, the misery would start. I had the foresight to pack most of the kit the night before, and it was now just a matter of making a brew, packing the final bits, clearing the site and setting off. Still, I didn’t relish putting a foot outside the tarp.

As it was, we decided just to bug out. No coffee, no breakfast. Enough was enough. I was grateful of having learnt to do quick release knots on the tarp and hammock, but nevertheless, my fingers were numb when it came to folding up the tarp. It whipped around my face and I ungratefully snapped a refusal at an offer of help. It certainly wasn’t ‘pretty packing’ and it brought a new meaning to the word ‘stuff sack’. I shook my head on seeing the top of the Nanok poking out of the compression sack. Possibly a larger sack was required. Whereas I had carried the kit from the car in one journey in-bound, it took three trips ‘outbound’.

Finally, we were packed and only when entering the barn to say good-byes did I realise there was a veritable hammock farm in the barn. Nice communication network fellas! Never mind. The weather had tested the kit to the max. Long live Tatonka tarps, DD hammocks, and Nanok bags.

It wasn’t brave to have survived the night, but it sure was an experience and added to the whole experience of the moot. This moot would surely be a memorable one.

See you soon.

Pablo.