There’s something exhilarating about a tropical storm.
Blown across from China, this particular storm slammed into camp with no warning. One second it was dry. The next second it was pouring. Then the trees started creaking in the wind. And It wasn’t long before they started cracking.
The buildings at the edge of the camp at Malau fall well inside the crush zone of some enormous tree trunks. When a storm hits, even the paths connecting the various kitchens, homes, bathrooms and outhouses become dangerous to navigate because of the risk of falling branches.
So everyone congregated in and around one of the buildings in the middle of the camp, taking circuitous and muddy routes to get there and getting drenched in the process. The lightening would sporadically illuminate the surrounding forests like some sort of faulty strobe as the thunder rolled overhead. It was magnificent.
A loud crack of wood–this one the nearest so far–followed by a metal clang. We would find out the next morning that a tree had dropped its crown onto the kitchen area, crushing the roof and bending the corner one of the houses. We would also take twice as long the next day to drive to our fieldwork sites, having to stop the car every 500 m or so to deal with blocking treefalls.
But hey–that’s tropical storms for you.
TopL The Borneo’s Sexiest Umbrella Competition. TopR Waiting out the storm. BottomL A slightly crushed roof. BottomR An incredibly crushed roof.
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