I crossed the road from camp into the timber, grateful for the cover that the trees afforded from the driving rain. It had been falling since 4 a.m. and the tree tops were saturated, leaving precious few places where one could find dry shelter. Waiting for first light, I was grateful for the pound of the rain and the howl of the wind. The rain would mask the sounds I made walking. The wind would be blowing in a constant direction. For my own comfort, I wished they would stop, knowing they wouldn’t.
A dull glow filled the somber sky and filtered down through the trees. I began to move.