Another test, another failure. Another abject failure. The tents are, simply put, awful and unable to cope with anything other than calm, balmy weather. They leak and are also unstable at all levels above zero on Capt. Beaufort's scale. Thus, when it started chucking it down again at Fish River Canyon at about 1600, with accompanying Force 4 or 5, we knew it was going to get a touch messy.
After about an hour of deluge (and yes, it is still the desert, so it rains once in a blue moon) the site was a quagmire. The ground was either already an inch deep in mud or a fast-flowing torrent of red-brown ooze. There was no other alternative. Mon repos lost its battle with the force 4/5, and tipped onto its flank into a pool. Inside were mattress, pillows, sleeping bag, nightwear, water bottle, wash bag, tomorrow's clothes, towel and, worst of all, my contact lens kit and medication.
Others were, of course, in a similar situation. After two further hours of Noyes Fludde, during a lull, we chanced a look at the damage. Having lain on its side in the pool for three hours, mon repos had let gallons in through the window (zipped closed of course, but some bloody use that was). On righting it, a passable paddling pool formed, and not one item had escaped a soaking. Fortunately, no electronics had been in there. Others were not so lucky.
Now imagine this: it's still raining, and 9 travellers are all climbing into the truck with shoe soles an inch thicker than they used to be, trailing water, cloying mud and slime throughout, and then attempting to find hanging room or laying-flat room for all their stuff (listed above). Oh, how we laughed.
Four people completely abandoned the notion of tents, when dry spares were offered by the crew, and slept in the truck. This was achieved by each person lying laterally across four seats, two each side the centre aisle. Those who perceived they were least likely to need a nocturnal pee stretched out furthest from the door of course!
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