A massive thunderclap jolted me awake. The earsplitting explosion sounded like it was directly above my tent in the heart of West Virginia’s Monongahela National Forest. My adult son, John, his friend, Nic, and I had set up camp near the banks of a peaceful mountain river that lulled us to sleep with its melodious sound. Now, from inside my sleeping bag, I stared upward. The tent battered under a relentless torrent of rain.
I thought hopefully. Then over the rain, another sound. A frightening roar. I sprang out of my sleeping bag and unzipped the tent. Even in the darkness I could tell the river had overflowed its banks. The storm had unleashed a raging monster that would wash away everything in its path. John and Nic were peering out from their tents as well.
