“It’s going to rain,” he said, holding up his outstretched palms as if to test the density of the air. “It’s just a matter of when.”

And it was true. The air was so thick with anticipation that it was a physical exertion just to breathe. If it didn’t rain, and soon, I felt as though I would be flattened with the weight of the air.

He looked nervous – a thin frown appeared between his eyebrows. Everyone knew he was afraid of thundershowers, and being out in the middle of nowhere with only a tent and a car between us and the elements was slightly unnerving, even to me.

I laced up my boots and zipped my rain gear up close to my chin.

“I know,” I said flatly, evenly, “but we have to keep looking.”

And so we did. And when the rains finally came, it wasn’t a mere thundershower. It was a deluge.