Rain, as previously discussed, arrived within an hour of my newly-minted plans on ranging
I’m hungry. Something near the deluge of myth and legend is occurring just beyond the portal of my little cave. I have crammed my belongings in the back of the cave and blocked it with my body, and now I block it with my body. I can’t keep anything dry. It’s enough that I keep it from all washing away.
All things considered, I should plan on this as a normal occurrence. If we expect otherwise, I fear we’re just missing a fundamental of our surroundings. It’s going to rain here, and it’s going to rain often and it’s going to rain in sheets. I have no way of telling how long it’s been raining, but It’s been a while. The sun has risen fully behind the storm.
The crack of thunder shakes the landscape. Then another, and another. The rain continues.
It does abate in time. I suppose it’s possible for the rain to be continuous in a place like this. I should be grateful for every dry moment.
This does change things.
First, there is the damage. What was at least an hour of driving rain has almost-certainly destroyed my stone arrangement on compass rock. This exposes the larger point: anything exposed to the sky will have to be weighted down, or will wash away. Chalk marks on stone, stones on stones, any arrangement of basically anything can be obliterated by the rains.
Second, my idea of rain barrels is a good one. This entire area is a glorified cistern for the sky. If I can get something above the level of the mud and keep it watertight, I will have a resource of water wherever I build it. In the interim, I can quench my thirst at regular intervals. Just stand in the deluge, open mouth, look up. That should do it.
Third, the mud outside the cave conveys a pattern. It was thin and slick when I first descended the decline. It isn’t anymore. The rains were hard and forced much of the top layer down the hill. What remains is dense. It’s not dry, but the loam has been washed downhill. This gels with my understanding that it hadn’t rained in days. Accumulated runoff and humidity makes the mud slick as the humidity and runoff loosens it. All I see now is thick, black mud. I wonder if it could be made into a clay.
Fourth, the rains fall hard, and all seems to flow down past the ferns and the fronds to the low-lying area, and whatever lay beyond. I’ve seen no animals yet in this region. They must hug close to the water. No plant eaters, even. This is curious.
Enough staring at the mud. Time to get moving.