When Survival Isn’t Enough... Chapter 8

John awoke to the sound of howling wind and rain lashing down through the open roof of his unfinished cabin. A sudden squall had descended from the mountains and within moments he was thoroughly drenched. In the darkness he climbed over the wall of the cabin and going as quickly as he dared, using the infrequent flashes of lightning with which to see, he made his way to his debris shelter. He slid in feet first and huddled as far back as he could, shivering in the sudden coolness of the air. His jacket, although waterproof, had been unzipped and in his haste to find shelter he hadn’t closed it and so his core was getting chilled. The rain kept blowing in the front of his shelter so he carefully wiggled out of his jacket and wedged it in the opening as best as he could to form a sort of door.

He had been so busy building his cabin that he had neglected this tiny shelter and now he was paying for it as it was leaking quite badly in several areas. He knew from his training and experience that a debris hut needed almost daily upkeep as it tended to deteriorate because the leaves and needles he had used for the roofing shrank and withered from being detached from the trees he had harvested them from. Now, he just tried to lay as small as possible and away from the worst of the leaks.

The storm raged for hours and sleep would not come and he lay shivering and miserable. And, as he laid there, his thoughts turned invariably toward home and his family. For the first time since the plane crash, a deep depression settled over him and the blackness of the night and storm was equally matched by the darkness he felt inside. He tried to pray but the words wouldn’t come and soon tears were rolling down his face and mingling with the drips of water that now seemed to come from everywhere under the storm’s assault on his pitiful shelter. He soon found, to his dismay, that one of his legs began to cramp horribly from the previous day’s labors and from being in a fetal position for so long. He tried to slowly stretch it out to relieve the pain but because he was so far back in the hut, he kicked out some of the supports that held the debris up and made a hole in his shelter. Now, the rain was really pouring in and as it ran across the floor of his hut it found a hollow in the ground under him where it began to pool like a little lake.

When morning came, the rain continued as the wind lashed the nearby trees and turned the lake into a frothy foam. He was glad that the nights were so short this time of year as he wasn’t sure he could have made it for much longer in the hut. He crawled out of the hut and wrapped his jacket around him and zipped it up, also putting on the hood. He was thoroughly soaked from top to bottom and his boots squished water with every step. His fire was out and beyond recovery. His supply of firewood lay dripping in the pouring rain as well. He kicked himself mentally for being so preoccupied with his cabin build that he had failed in one of the primary areas in survival preparation. His instructors had been adamant that one must always keep a supply of dry tinder and kindling stored safely for such a time as this. Now, he was paying for it.

As the rain continued to pour down, he headed into the forest to try and find a drier spot to wait out the storm. He remembered a large tree that had fallen down and had an enormous girth for the area of at least 30 inches. He believed it was a Balsam Poplar which could often be found in areas such as he was in next to lakes and in river valleys. He crawled in under the large tree trunk and for the first time in several hours was sheltered from the main part of the rain. It also helped that the giant root ball which was upturned like a wall was facing the direction of the wind and rain.

It wasn’t until 1pm that the rain ceased and the sun came out. And with the coming of the sunshine his dark mood started to evaporate like the dampness around him. Digging at the base of the fallen tree, he found a few twigs that were dry and these he carried back to the fire site with him trying not to drip on them. He found a couple pieces of bark in his pile of firewood that were dry on the underside when he turned them over and so he laid his dry twigs on them. Then, using his saw from his multi-tool, he cut a couple of small standing dead alders that he remembered were not too far away. He bucked these into several lengths about a foot long and used the hatchet to split them apart. On the very interior he found what he was looking for, dry wood. After making a few slivers and curls on the dry splits with his pocket knife, he used the back of the saw blade to scrape a small pile of very fine fluff onto another scrap of the dried bark. Pulling out his ferro rod from his pocket and detaching it from his keychain, he carefully scraped a shower of sparks onto the pile. At first it didn’t seem like it would catch but finally a tiny flame leaped up. Holding his breath, John added the small curls and slivers to the flame holding them just above but not on the pile of scraping so as to not extinguish the baby flame. With a prayer that it would take, he finally saw his efforts rewarded as the flame hungrily licked at the new fuel. Gently then, he laid them on top of the pile of scrapings and began to carefully add the dry twigs one by one, making sure that he didn’t scatter the already burning embers. When this grew in strength he then added the smallest of the splits and within a few minutes the fire was burning strongly enough that he was able to lay some of the smallest wet firewood on top about the diameter of his index finger and then he stacked a square of wood around the fire in log cabin fashion to dry them out.

He tended to his fire for an hour until it was firmly established and then took the rest of the unused tinder and small wood splits and hid them away under the large tree that had been his shelter during the storm. He would add some dry, fluffy grasses and other materials as soon as the sun had dried them out sufficiently. John vowed to never again be caught without dried tinder on hand.

And now, he turned his attention to the cabin. He absolutely had to get a roof on as soon as possible. But how? This was a puzzle that had eluded him since he began building. So, while he mulled the problem over, he went and checked his fishing lines. Nothing. He re-baited the hooks and cast them out again. He filled his pot from the lake and put it on to boil. He believed that the best option might be in the huge stand of Paper Birch that he had passed on the day he saw the Grizzly. So, pulling his water off the fire and letting it cool down, he banked the fire with several large and wet logs so that it might smolder and burn slowly in his absence. He drank his fill and then taking his hatchet, went in search of the trees that would complete his roof.

John had just lived through a difficult time in his survival saga. There would be more to come but right now he was just grateful to be alive, grateful that the storm had passed and grateful that his faith in God had sustained him through it all. Even though he had been in deep despair and found it difficult to pray, he had never lost faith that he would endure.

We may never have to live through such a storm without adequate shelter, but we all face storms in life that threaten to undo us. Our world is being shaken by the enemies of our souls and it seems that all is hopeless and that we will surely be destroyed. However, there is a God in Heaven who knows our every need and is with us in every trial. In Isaiah 4:6 we read, “And there shall be a tabernacle for a shadow in the daytime from the heat, and for a place of refuge, and for a covert from storm and from rain.” We indeed have a place to which we can run and hide from all evil, it is in the shelter of our Saviour and our God. Wherever you find yourself today, whatever the storm, He offers you a place of shelter and safety by His side. Seek Him out today!

Thanks for reading!

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James B