For the past two summers I've solo-paddled down the Upper Missouri River, doing Lewis and Clark-related fieldwork and collecting data for a paddler's guidebook. To date I have paddled 1600 miles. I started my expedition near Great Falls, Montana in the spring of 2002; last summer I reached Sioux City, IA. This summer I will complete the remaining 600 miles to St. Louis. Over the course of my effort I've had to deal with the elements in the extreme. Rapid changes in the weather accompanied by sudden wind shifts and increases in wind velocity require that you get quickly off the lake and set up your tent for shelter. Often there is not time to locate a sheltered campsite; so your tent needs to be "bombproof."

Calling the Upper Missouri a "river" is a misnomer. It is more accurate to describe it as a series of Army Corps of Engineers reservoirs connected by all-to-brief sections of river. Three of reservoirs - Fort Peck, Sakakawea, and Oahe - are each more than a hundred miles long and present more than a thousand miles of shoreline. Lake Oahe, for example, is 231 miles long and has 2,400 miles of shoreline. This lake has been called "the biggest and most treacherous body of water on the Missouri." The wind frequently howls at 50 to 60 miles an hour on this lake that straddles the North and South Dakota border. Locals say you should add together NOAA wind forecasts ("20 to 30 mph") to get a better estimate of what's coming your way.

During my first season of paddling, my tent - an Orion AST3- was blasted by storms with winds of more than 70 mph. I quickly learned to put out long storm lines no matter how fine the weather appeared. The second summer, my tent sheltered me from what I hope will prove to have been my expedition's "mother of all storms." I weathered a storm accompanied by lightning, hail, rain, and sustained wind gusts of more than 100mph.

By mid-day on July 7, 2003, I completed a survey along the upstream side of Little Bend, a long U-bend in the river some twenty miles north of the dam forming Lake Oahe. I took GPS coordinates for a mile long portage route that would save some twenty miles of paddling around the U-bend. The water around this bend has a reputation for being particularly rough; the Cheyenne River joins the Missouri just downstream from the base of the U-turn. A combination of shifting winds, and colliding currents creates large waves and makes reading the water from the seat of a kayak very difficult. So the option to portage across the narrow base of the bend is likely to be attractive when conditions are less than optimal.

With my survey of a portage route across the Little Bend completed, I began the 18 mile long paddle around the bend. Once I rounded the bottom of the U-bend, I got a clear view of the sky to the southwest. In the distance I could see storm clouds over the Cheyenne River confluence. The wind began to pick up, conditions started getting dicey, so I began looking for a place to pull my kayak ashore and set up camp. I could find no sheltered spot, so I had no choice than to accept a level spot along the shore. Because I could see a line of thunderclouds advancing my way, I quickly set up my tent and piled heavy rocks over my tent stakes.

Within minutes of securing my tent and crawling into my sleeping bag I was caught in a supremely violent thunderstorm. Windblown rain slammed my tent like someone turned a fire hose on it. Hail hammered the rain fly. Lightning struck nearby, shaking the ground under me. About the time I was thinking that conditions couldn't possibly get worse, sustained wind gusts literally flattened my tent to the ground, and held it there for more than 15 minutes. I was completely pan caked; the wind pressed the tent fabric down on me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. My tent held, because it has a low profile, is flexible, well constructed, and because I really nailed it down.

After the storm passed I started checking for damage and dampness. No damage; just a light mist had been driven up the inside of the rain fly into the tent. I was feeling pretty good about my survival, when I noticed something moving between the tent and the rain fly. My inspection efforts had upset a large rattlesnake that had taken shelter with me during the storm. He coiled and began rattling. I froze. To my considerable relief, he eventually calmed down, and slipped away into the brush.

When I talked about this incident with a kayak outfitter in Vermillion, South Dakota, he related that this type of storm is not uncommon, that these are called "straight winds," and that 3 or 4 pole tents are the only ones that can handle the 80 to 100 mile an hour winds that are generated. What remains most clear in my mind about the episode is the moment at the height of the storm when multiple nearby lightning strikes were shaking the ground under me. I remember thinking, "well this is either it or it isn't." It wasn't, I survived, in part because my Orion AST held fast. This tent will flex but not break.

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