An erratic
frontal wind hit us hard, stripping loose leaves from the forest canopy and
throwing them about like confetti. The weak light in the rainforest dimmed to
almost darkness – it was only 3.30pm. I walked in circles at a manic pace thinking
we might have time to pitch the tent before the storm hit. But, it was far too
late. The noise in the treetops left no doubt that we were
going to get caught out. Around us we could make out the black
sillohuettes of gnarled beech trees: a fine grey mist drifted through first and then thunderous white streaks of rain began hammering down. Within 3
minutes every single thing was totally saturated. We huddled together, rain
jackets on, packs at our feet, and a one metre square piece of tarp over our
heads, water pouring off it so fast we could have filled our drink bottles in a
second. The forest canopy swayed wildly above our heads and leaf litter washed away in
rafts on the slope around us, exposing the rainforest topsoil and tree roots at
our feet. It was a rude
interruption to what had otherwise proven to be an idyllic weekend adventure.