Thursday, April 30, 2026
When my sister Susan and Billy were dating, Billy and I decided to go on an overnight exploration trip to Miller Springs. We spent the day hiking through the area and crawling in and out of caves. The weather was chilly but typical for that time of year. Our shelter for the night was an old canvas tent—large, heavy, and built to hold several people even though it was just the two of us. Billy, strong as he was, carried it without complaint.
Our plan was to set up camp as far back into Miller Springs as the trails would take us. Earlier that afternoon, during our exploring, we had come across a beautiful waterfall spilling from the top of a tall gorge. Along the side of the gorge was a deep, hollowed-out overhang in the rock— spacious and dry, with a floor that lay mostly level. We admired it for some time, and then continued our hike to the back of the park, where we eventually pitched the tent.
By nightfall, the temperature began dropping quickly, and a steady rain set in. Neither of us had prepared for weather like that. We wore light clothing, and I had only an old pair of thin tennis shoes. Around two in the morning, we lay inside the tent, shivering uncontrollably. Our sleeping bags were little more than thin knapsacks—nowhere near warm enough for the near freezing temperatures. With the rain falling steadily, building a fire was impossible. We were miserably cold and genuinely concerned about making it through the night.
We thought about the rock overhang by the waterfall that we had seen earlier. We thought maybe we could find enough dry wood in the overhang to make a fire and stay warm enough to make it through the night. We had two choices: hike the long way back along the top of the canyon, or attempt a much shorter but riskier descent down the rocks beside the waterfall. Freezing and desperate, we chose the quick route.
So there we were—at two in the morning, in freezing rain—scaling down slick rocks beside a steady flowing waterfall. Rain soaked us from above while water from the falls splashed us from the side. By the grace of God, we made it to the bottom without slipping, then found our way into the dry shelter beneath the overhang.
Inside, we managed to find enough dry limbs and timber to build a small fire. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep us warm and get us through the night. I set my tennis shoes near the flames to dry, forgetting they were made of cheap vinyl. By morning, they had partially melted—still wearable, but barely recognizable.
We didn’t sleep at all, but the fire kept us warm enough to endure until daylight. When the rain finally stopped and the temperature began to rise, we made our way back to the campsite to retrieve the tent. The old canvas had absorbed every drop of rain. If it weighed fifty pounds dry, it must have weighed twice that soaked. I remember watching Billy hoist it onto his shoulders as if it were nothing, and thinking just how strong he really was.
By the time we reached the car, I couldn’t feel my fingers. It was the coldest I have ever been. But we survived, and we earned a story worth telling. With Billy, it was always an adventure.
