By Benjamin Humphries
I am the rainmaker
Why does rain seem to come at the worst times? Does my anticipation of an outdoor excursion somehow trigger foul weather? I fear that I have actually caused a hurricane this time, folks. Allow me to explain.
In mid August, my friends Geoff, Nikki and I decided to go camping in the Red River Gorge. The weather was looking decent that morning as we packed our gear into the car: tents, sleeping bags, food and potato guns. You know, the essentials.
Anyway, the weather looked fine until we got about half a mile from our apartment, at which point the sky darkened and it rained. “Scattered showers,” they said. These showers were not scattered; they were strategically placed in order to turn our camping trip into an endurance test.
It rained on us pretty much until we hit Lexington, then the skies cleared, the sun shone and all was pretty once more. I, being the optimist of the group, said, “This is great, I’ll bet it will stay like this until we park the car.” Guess what. We parked, and the monsoon began.
A mile and a half through the woods, uphill, in the rain, carrying forty pounds of gear each was definitely an experience we will never forget. The rain persisted for our entire hike and while we scaled the cliff with our soggy, waterlogged gear (and potato guns).
When we reached the top, what happened? The rain stopped! The skies cleared, and all was beautiful. We enjoyed a spectacular sunset and made a nice fire from wet wood which we lit with a propane torch, of course. We shot spuds into the mist below us all night while playing guitar and composing lyrics to our potato gun song.
Now let me emphasize that the skies cleared once the real work of walking, climbing and carrying heavy gear (and potato guns) was over. Let me also say that the following morning, we emerged from our tents to find one of the most amazing sunrises I have ever seen. The sky was beautiful, the world was dry, and our day was starting out great. After taking plenty of pictures (which caused my mom to hit me and say, “You idiot! One little slip and you would have fallen off a cliff and died!”) we decided to pack our gear and get back to Louisville.
I was rolling up the second tent when I heard thunder. We packed everything else as quickly as we could, and finally we were ready to leave. Simultaneously, I grabbed my gear, (If you giggled at the way I worded that, don’t worry, so did I) and it began to rain. No, it didn’t just begin to rain; every single drop was racing every other drop to the ground. These were kamikaze raindrops! They were huge, and each one had a dozen more on its tail trying to catch up. I hadn’t been in a downpour like this since my shower the previous morning. Have I made it clear yet that this was no ordinary rain? This was vengeful rain punishing me for every glass of water I have ever drank. (Drunk? Drinked? Never could get the hang of that word.)
Half an hour later, we reached the car just in time for the rain to stop, which was good because my clothes couldn’t have held any more water if they had been woven from sea sponge.
Since this trip I have attempted twice to return to that beautiful mountain. Remember about three weeks ago when UK played IU and it rained like hell? Well, I was going to take my girlfriend on a picnic on the mountain that weekend.
And now, Hurricane Lili. I’m sorry, Louisiana. I have been planning a big trip to the Gorge for two weeks now. Five of us were planning on spending all day Sunday climbing the mountain, and then going to Natural Bridge. I fear that the magnitude of my plans this time necessitated a larger storm. I promise to alert the National Weather Service the next time I plan a trip to the mountain.
