The Storm

The sky was clear but the wind was cold and getting stronger. Off to the west, above the mountain peaks, we could see the storm front moving in. The weather service was posting severe winter storm warnings, with winds up to 50 mph in the mountains. We were at 4,500 feet and 15 miles from the nearest graded road, and we figured we had two choices – pack and run, or hunker down and ride it out. We chose to ride it out.

There were six of us, and we were camping in two Pamo Valley tents, in an old gold-mining ghost town, perched on an old tailing pile (the unused and worthless rock and other material dug up during the mining process) on the side of a mountain. Just getting to this spot in our vehicles was a torturous ride, and we knew that once the ground got wet, we wouldn’t be going anywhere.

So we secured all the loose equipment in camp, tied guylines from our tents to anything that looked secure, and cooked one last peaceful meal. By six o’clock that evening, the temperature had dropped into the high 20s and we were beginning to regret we didn’t leave when we had the chance. The rain changed to freezing rain, and later to something resembling snow. Whatever it was, it was being blown horizontally by 40-50 mph wind gusts.

We gave up on a fire and moved into the tent. With heater blazing, we had a good game of poker to occupy the evening. After each hand, the loser had to run outside to check the wind meter and the temperature. About nine o’clock that evening, we all retired for the night. Or so we thought.

The wind continued to build and the snow was hitting the tent in sheets. With each gust we were expecting the tent to come crashing down on us; we’d begun formulating a plan to find our way out and to the other tent if that happened. I was lying on an inflatable air mattress and the wind gusts were lifting me off the ground. I thought that if the tent poles didn’t fail, certainly one of the tent seams would give out. Either way, we were toast.

I don’t recall exactly when I fell asleep, but when I woke the next morning I was amazed to see the tent still standing and everything dry—despite the fact the upwind side was a solid wall of ice. The storm raged through the day. The wind kept pounding us, and we did the only thing we could – sit and wait, eating cold meals inside the tents and wondering how long the tent heater’s propane supply would last. That night the storm became worse still, but we managed to build a small fire in the lee of the tents to cook and make a pot of coffee.

About six o’clock the next morning, the storm started to lighten a bit, and around nine o’clock we saw breaks in the clouds with blue sky behind. Except for the wind, the worst was over. All that day, big formations of what pilots call ‘roll clouds’ came barreling over the mountains, pushing heavy wind gusts. A particularly heavy one picked up small pebbles and blew them through the side of one of the tents, as if they were fired from a gun. Ironically, the wind helped dry the ground more quickly so we could do what we should have done two days prior – leave.

But we still had five days left on our trip, and we weren’t bailing out. We had weathered the worst that Mother Nature could dish out that week, and were rewarded with spectacular weather the rest of our time in camp. The best part was that our tents—tents that we had designed and built—withstood much worse weather than we expected them to withstand. We knew they were good-our goal was to make them the best on the market. At that point, we knew exactly how good they were.

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