As darkness permeated the night sky over Big Bass Lake, Whitey Meier stirred what was left of the ashes in our campfire. Mike Jones sat on the moss facing the lake and laughed as Mike Myers fell in while trying not to do that very thing. He was balancing on the end of our rowboat. So Myers ran toward what was left of the fire to warm himself.
The boys heard tiny droplets of rain strike the tree canopy above them. They sighed as they knew more rain was forthcoming and thus the boys scrambled to the clothes line to get their dry clothes inside the tent. It had not rained for nearly five hours that day on a trip that had been plagued with rain almost every day.
Even so the boys had weathered the rain with a grain of delight as everything else was going as planned. Unlike some sports where rain washes a game out, only lightening prevented the boys from pursuing their daily events and there had been little of that on this trip.
Unless it was a downpour, the majority of rain was held back due to our canopy of trees around us. The kids were laughing in regard to another bout of rain before them. One boy said that if it had to rain better that it rained at night.
The last boy into the tents that night was Timmy Flannery who was the last to visit the commode. He briefly stopped by to say good night and then it was only me by the ebbing fire. A few moments of silence before the morning din would return. What serenity!