Genesis of the Church of Hydrology (AKA Storm bound on Esther Island)
I woke slowly, with the dawning realisation that the water that should be on the outside of my tent was in fact on the inside of my tent. While I had slept, trillions of water molecules had passed unhindered through my groundsheet and were now making themselves comfy in my sleeping bag. I assessed my situation and deduced that my fetid body was encased in a festering pile of damp goose down held together by sheets of soggy nylon. It was not the best of feelings. It was at this instant that I was struck by a blinding realisation, an epiphany – suddenly it all became clear. The only way that I was ever to find peace in this world of wetness and ever prevalent damp was to embrace it! The rain that had been our constant companion over the last few days was not a foe but a friend. Moisture was good, and wetness divine. All praise to H2O! Halleluiah! The Church of Hydrology had been born.
I rushed out of my deliciously damp tent to convert the others. The first person I met was Frankie. She had just returned from a walk in the rain, and she had chanced upon a wet black bear on the muddy path. She showed me a photo of the wet bear, in the rain, and I then welcomed her to the faith and christened her ‘Frankie Mistress of Moisture’. All the others were down by the shore, where they were wickedly trying to keep the nourishing drizzle from touching their bodies by standing beneath a tarp. I quickly ordained them:
o Keith S – ‘Deacon Damp’
o Keith P – ‘Vicar of Drizzly’
o Martin ‘Priest Precipitation’
o Ruth ‘Pope Puddle’
o Mark ‘Archdeacon Drips’
o Ian ‘Father Fetid’
o Chris ‘Curate Cats & Dogs’
o Mike ‘Rector Rain’
o Nicky ‘Chaplain Clammy’
o Roger ‘Squire Soggy’.
It was shortly afterwards that a drenched bear walked through our wet camp and climbed a dripping wet tree. Some of our party approached the bear, in the rain, to take photos. However, a wet bear so close to our moisture laden camp was not a good idea, so we frightened it away by banging some billies together (while it rained). We deduced that the wet bear had been attracted by the smell of food being prepared and coffee being brewed, so we decided to cook on the beach, below the high-water mark, so that the food aroma and any morsels of dropped pasta would be washed away by the wet water as the tide advanced. It occurred to me that the wet bear in the camp was a divine intervention, as it forced everyone out of the Devil’s Shelter (tarp) out into the God-given showers and delightful drizzle.
That night the wind dropped, but it kept raining – glory, glory be!
Reverend Wet (AKA Andy Garland)