I smell like compost
There is something uniquely satisfying about watching one's clothes steam in front of a fire. It is especially satisfying after one has, say, stepped on what appeared to be a solid section of grass, only to have said grass tilt under you, at which point you realize it's just a mat floating on top of the water, but it's too late to do anything about it, and one finds oneself unceremoniously dumped into the creek, at which point one also discovers that a)the water is waist-deep, and b)there is no discernible bottom, so that one is left to flail helplessly before finally managing to heave oneself like a beached whale onto a quasi-solid chunk of grass, where one lays, gasping in indignation. Especially then.