3 AM February 27, 2010. Bed shaking. It increases in intensity and goes on and on. The Canadian starts yelling in Spanish and the other unknown bunkmate responds. In my state of confusion I pick out something like "should we run".
As the top of the bunk sways almost a foot either direction, and the legs feel like they're sliding and hopping, a low rumble, familiar sound. Rock slide. I know in my heart the shaking isn't because of the rock slide. It's an earthquake.
The other two jump out of their bags and run to the door. I realize I'm about to be buried in the bunk under a million tons of rubble, and figure that would really suck about now.
I jump up to run to the door.
Looking out just up from camp is the huge cliff falling down on us. Clouds of dust swirl in the moon and starlight down into camp. Dozens stand in various phases of undress shouting something that sounds a lot like Spanish for "which way do we run".
The dust swirls into camp, covering some outhouses, then stops. We're safe.
So I climb back into bed, where I'm treated to a series of aftershocks, but manage to sleep till morning, when I take this picture of the aftermath.
It was a lot more exciting looking in the dark. Not to mention how it felt. ;)