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Sighting a line from the bridge to a small field directly to the side, I pitched the tent that evening on the stateless `` line '', digging a small trench around it as best I could with a toy spade donated by a neighborhood child.

The wind from the Rhine was damp and chill, necessitating a fire for warmth.

After scouring around a bit in the open area, I came across what proved to be tar-soaked logs which crackled and burned brightly, giving off vast rolls of smoke into the ashen sky.