Drenched and desperate, I scrambled as the storm exploded. Rain lashed horizontally, turning the trail to slurry. Spotting a massive windfall, its roots clawing skyward like gnarled hands, I dove beneath the exposed root ball. It formed a natural, elevated cavity – my only hope. Frantically, I lined the muddy hollow with ferns and leafy boughs, creating insulation from the cold earth. The dense root mass above deflected the worst downpour, though rivulets still snaked in. Huddled in my earthen cave, the world roared outside, but within this improvised bushcraft shelter, I was dry enough, safe enough, to wait out the tempest’s fury. Survival, one muddy breath at a time.
