It’s 4 a.m. in Vesper Basin, deep in Washington’s Cascades, and I’m building a dam out of twigs.
The rain started two days ago; not with a roar but rather a slow drumming, wrapping the world in fog until even the near edge of the cirque vanished. Our tarp-tent made a good effort for the first 45 hours, but now the soil is saturated, and tiny rivers are snaking under our sleeping pads. Hence the twig dam.
My three tentmates and I scramble into rain pants and jackets, squinting into the misty dark as we search for sticks big enough to divert the new stream trying to establish itself right through the center of our tent. As we start stacking our scavenged construction materials along the tarp edge, the absolute absurdity of the scene hits me, and I find myself giggling. I’ve been in some ridiculous situations in the backcountry, but this one definitely takes the top prize. One minor feat of engineering later, we drift back to sleep to the sounds of the relocated creeklet rushing down on either side of us.