Let's talk about trees. We love trees. We go to the woods for...the trees. Trees anchor nearly every form of forest life. Trees are great.
And then like an errant in-law, trees can turn on us. Just. Like. That.
The snag closest to the tent fell with an unbelievable racket at 3:30 in the morning on our second night at this camp (a primitive camp we picked from the clutter). When we picked our site I noted with my out-loud voice, "With all these widowmakers I wouldn't stay here in a storm." But the weather was mountain-perfect: not hot, not cold, sunny, not a breath of wind.
Why this tree on this night among the tens of thousands circling the lake? Who can possibly say? Why not one of the dead snags leaning at daring angles instead of one perfectly upright and not getting any attention? An even better question. Will I ever be sanguine about camping near dead snags again? Not a chance.
For the record, the thing hit five feet from my feet. The campsite was at the aptly-named Widow Lake. It was THIS close to a two-fer.
No actual moral to the story. Just watch your topknot.