At the back of the cove, a small beach was littered with driftwood and hemmed in on either side by rocky cliffs. The dense woods behind the beach were barricaded by thick undergrowth. I chose a spot on the beach that appeared to be above high tide, and that was in the lee of a small cliff that would provide us with some protection from the blasts of wind. I tied our boats and gear between two logs that provided some protection from the wind, while Theresa set up the tent. When everything was as secure as we could make it, I joined her in the tent and crawled into my sleeping bag to listen to the latest weather report. It was about 10:30 in the morning. The moderate winds that had been forecast had developed into a series of disturbances that would be moving through the area during the afternoon. Throughout the day, we tried to get what rest we could, but the snapping of the tent in the relentless wind kept us from any prolonged sleep. I told Theresa that this was just a summer gale that would blow itself out before the evening, and that by tomorrow morning we would have calm, glassy conditions to finish our paddle in. That afternoon, as the wind gusts abated, I felt sure my forecast was holding true. By 4:00 p.m., however, the wind had shifted to the southwest, and was as strong as ever. With each gust, our tent would snap with a rifle-like report, and I began to worry whether it would hold up to much more abuse. I had never known the tent to leak, but with rain now driving at it horizontally, water was dripping from the zippers. We had a difficult time keeping the interior dry. Our sleeping bags got progressively wetter as the day wore on. Theresa stayed in her sleeping bag throughout the day. I went out periodically to check on our gear. By 8:00 p.m., I began to have doubts as to whether our tent was actually above high tide, especially with the tide being wind driven. With the wind shifting to the southwest, we had lost our protection from the cliff, and the tent was taking a beating.