The puddle was innocent enough looking as I left my tent.  After all we had experienced a torrential downpour the previous evening, complete with marble sized hail stones, and so the site of a small puddle of water near the door of my tent held little significance for me.  Coffee, however, did, and I proceeded towards the dining area with the extra bounce in one’s step that accompanies a long awaited day off.  The ‘usuals’ were already there, and in various states of dishevelment but no coffee                     .

“With what shall I wash down the hard loaf?” I asked of no one in particular.  Beer was out of the question, for even though it was a day off, my enthusiastic consumption of the stuff the previous evening precluded it from this morning’s menu.  Coffee would be worth the wait I decided, and proceeded with the brewing.

The plan for the day was to bus to Sarlat and purchase a train ticket to Blaubeuren, Germany.  A simple enough plan…and then Straps (Stephan) uttered words that would not only make this simple plan moot but would create the stuff of legend that will be repeated, I am sure, long into each of our shrouded futures.

“In case anyone cares, the field is flooding and my tent is floating away.”

Not surprisingly, I did not give such dire words much pause as I had a puddle outside my tent and I was confident that Straps was making a Solutrean point out of a mere elongated biface, so to speak.  I continued my discussion with Kanani for a few more minutes regarding the best way to remove a tick from a part of your body that you cannot directly see and then proceeded downstairs to check on the coffee.

What lay before me, upon my descent into the field, was beyond description.  The first thing I noticed was that my trodden hay path had been replaced by a small stream, the source of which, seemed to be my tent.  In the two hours since I had left my tent the innocent looking puddle had grown to encompass the majority of the field over which our tents are dispersed.  Site selection had suddenly taken on much greater significance than we had previously suspected.  Inter-tent liaisons, which had up till today been the most important factor in site selection, had now been replaced by distance from the creek and overall tent site elevation.  The second thing I noticed was calves.  Pairs of them, wading around in large puddles and attached to legs that quivered, torsos that swayed, arms that flailed, heads that jerked, eyes that darted and grew wide with amazement, and mouths which uttered curses, profanities and general exclamations.

Suddenly our camp came alive as those who had not yet realized the severity of the situation left there breakfast and joined in hastily assembled tent moving parties.  The most interesting part of this stage of the emergency was attempting to sell one’s case for why one’s tent should be moved before anyone else’s.  What swayed such altruistic decisions was, I think based on diverse but quickly calculated indices.  For example, the conversation index (meaningful conversations/annoying banter x 100),  the cigarette index (number of bummed/number of given x 100), the money index (amount lent/amount borrowed x 100), and of course the internet index (number of times an individual is on the internet when you want to be/the number of times you are on the internet and this same person enters the lab and leaves with a ‘huff’ x 100). 

The next thing I learned was that size of one’s tent bears no relation to overall weight of one’s belongings.  It made me wonder how certain individuals, who shall remain nameless, actually get into their tents at night to sleep. 

“There are contortionists among us.”

After ten minutes of excellent teamwork all of the tents had been moved to dry ground.  It was now time to assess the damage.  For each of us this was a very personal and trying experience.  Like hearing a tremendous crash in the adjoining room and slowly opening the door with trepidation with what one might find, so the zippers were slowly separated. 

For myself, it was not a pretty site.  The pools of water that collected in the low points of the tent floor were quickly disappearing.  This would have been comforting but for the fact that it was my clothes and sleeping bag, that were acting as a collective sponge.  First the books, followed by the papers, money, sleeping bag, flashlight, toiletry bag and finally clothes.

It is interesting to establish a relationship with someone throughout the various activities of an archaeological dig and then enter their tent, their personal space or their lair in the case of the some.  You see, not all of us were in the camp that morning and it was decided that we had to at least look in all of the tents in hopes of saving something that might be important.  Stereotypes were destroyed and assumptions were shattered during this process; and in one case the phrase “I am going to go read in my tent” took on a whole new meaning.  New terms are applied to certain individuals, for example, “pigpen, anal retentive, or noxious,” but I must say that I generally feel richer for the experience.  Also, it is more fun to open someone else’s tent and view the destruction as opposed to one’s own.

Things have returned to near normality at the time of this writing but I have to pass on some bad news.  In the confusion of the emergency, it seems that we have lost one of our team to the flood.  Our faithful site coordinator Dennis Sandgathe is missing and has not been seen since the night before the flood.  While his tent was recovered and shows few signs of damage, we have reason to believe that he was swept away in the deluge.  I personally identified the pants, shirt, and mug that you see in the photo as belonging to my Canadian friend and colleague.  I can only assume that, like me, he was in search of his morning coffee when he was swept away.  Knowing his love of fireworks I will continue to light off a few firecrackers each night before dark in honor of my friend and also in hopes that if he is lost somewhere he will hear the bang and come back to us.

I hope this finds you all well and happy and we all look forward to seeing you soon.

Take care,

Matt Skinner
Carsac, France
July 9, 2001