Just as we finished setting up the tents and kitchen for our week away camping the storm rolled in and all we could do was huddle around in the only dry spot to be found and wish for it to be over. It eventually eased enough to organise something to eat and with cold wet feet we sat down to share a meal.
Cyclone Ita had sought fit to favour us with a soft caress of her long bony fingers.
The morning was overcast and showery but determined not to let it affect our day we all headed down to the river for a spin on our camping buddie’s Jet Ski. Despite the weather, being on the water and sharing a few laughs lifted our spirits and we all started to relax.
We weren’t to know however that Ita was still lurking in the wings like a jealous woman waiting to make her presence felt. On arriving back at camp the rain settled in around us, Ita’s revenge was only in it’s infancy. Bed was the only place that was dry and warm so we turned in for an early night. Ita’s soft caress of the previous was night was so much more desirable than the beating she dished up this time.
After laying and listening to the deluge of rain for what seemed like hours a drip on my face alerted me to the fact that the tent was leaking and on further inspection we discovered the bed surrounded by a moat of water. We spent the next two hours cleaning up and protecting the top of the bed with various containers to catch the drips. Further sleep was impossible and the idea of returning home was contemplated.
Despite the wet night the day dawned clear and bright but Ita hadn’t finished her violent spree yet. Her angry hot breath abused us through that day and into the night nearly taking the tent with each great gust.
We somehow survived and the next day it was as if Ita never existed. Her wrath had failed to conquer. All thoughts of returning home were forgotten and our holiday commenced from this point forward with alacrity, as if to make up for the lost time.
We are currently researching the cost of caravans.