Thank You, Martha Glasgock!

This will be my last camping post and then I promise I'll shut up!

(at least until next summer)

One thing I forgot to mention about the whole camping thing.... I actually went to college to learn how to do this.  Yes, it's true.  Long, long ago, in a dorm room far, far away, I was sitting contemplating the nature of my existence and wondering how the hell I was ever going to graduate when I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life.

I'd already been in college for two years and the powers that be were requiring that I get serious and declare a major.  Back then, every female I knew was majoring in either Education or Nursing (with a few Sociology majors thrown in) and I didn't want to do the stereotypical female thing.  So, I sat down with the old college catalog and started flipping through the pages....

Anthropology... Art History... Biology... Business... Education... Mathematics... Nursing... Recreation... Sociology...

WAIT!  GO BACK!  What was that one in the R's?  Although I'd heard of this before, I thought it was only for the athletic types and that klutzes need not apply.  But look... you can take classes in camping and camp management.  WooHoo!  Arts and Crafts can't be far behind!  I'm saved! 

It wasn't all fun and games, though.  "Teaching of Games & Recreational Sports" was okay, but it was only offered at freakin' 7:30 in the morning and it was on the other side of the river!  Not fun in the winter for someone who was known previously for never scheduling (or at least never going to) any classes before noon.  And there was a lot about business administration, facilities management (everything you ever wanted to know about diatomaceous earth filters) and medical stuff pertaining to therapeutic recreation that stretched my brain in a lot of different directions.

Enter Martha Glasgock, PhD... the faculty member who taught all the camp-related courses.  She was a gnarly woman in her 50's who looked like she had spent way too much time in the sun and took the whole camping thing very seriously.  She didn't mess around and she rarely smiled.  There was no sloughing off in her classes if you wanted a passing (let alone a decent) grade.  And the final exam in her "Camp Management" class was actually going camping for a weekend.

It was here that Martha taught us about orienteering and how to bank a fire overnight so the coals would still be going in the morning.  We had to make our own tents out of tarps and rope, as well as dig our own pit toilets.  Our group designed the best pit toilet ever!  Over the requisite hole that we dug the requisite depth, we lashed together sticks to make a rather comfortable seat, complete with backrest, a post for storing the toilet paper, and a Reader's Digest hanging from a string on another post.  (Suitable for reading or using as spare toilet paper if need be.)

Then there was learning to cook with an actual Dutch oven.  This is a cast iron pot with a rimmed lid so you can set it in coals and pile additional coals on top in order to get the heat distributed evenly on all sides.  Our task was to bake a cake using the Dutch oven.  Sadly, this was the one thing that my group nearly failed, thanks to me.  But I ask you... who can resist eating the cake batter before you bake the cake?  Because we had less batter than we should have, our cake got a little burnt around the edges.  OOPS!  But since I had so many idiosyncratic credits built up from the pit toilet thing, people forgave me.  And I did listen carefully when Martha taught us how to use the coals to toast the perfect marshmallow.

So I passed "Smores 101" with flying colors, graduated from college and became the camper I am today.   Thank you, Martha Glasgock, PhD.  I bow to your awesomeness every time I return from a camping venture unscathed.

You're So Brave

Everyone keeps telling me I'm "so brave" to go camping by myself.  Even some woman in the shower house at the campground approached me just to tell me how brave I was.  I don't get it.  Why is it that a single woman camping by herself stands out like a sore thumb? 

Geesh!  It's not like I'm going backpacking by myself in the Himalayas or anything like that.  It's car camping, for cryin' out loud!  (Which means I pack as much crap in the car as I can, including the air bed and comfy chairs and cooler full of delicious beverages.)  I happen to like camping and kayaking and I'm not going to wait until I have somebody to go with me... I could be waiting a long time and I don't want to miss out on living my life.

So, taking a cue from Quirky this week, I revised the lyrics to a classic by Carly Simon that keeps rattling around in my head.... 

You're So Brave 

 

You walked across the campground 

Like you were walking onto a yacht 

Your visor casually dipped below one eye 

Your kayak was apricot 

You had one oar in the water

As you watched yourself shove off

And dreamed that you’d be a camper

You’d be a camper, and

You're so brave
You probably think that camping is easy
You're so brave
I'll bet you think that camping is easy
Don't you? Don't you?

 

(Note tasteful apricot colored kayak) 

You started camping several years ago
When you were still quite naive
Well, you said that there might be some bears
But that you would never leave
Until you took out a tube of cool Ben Gay
And slathered it on me
I had dreams there were bears eating my leg,
Bears eating my leg, and

You're so brave
You probably think that camping is easy
You're so brave
I'll bet you think that camping is easy
Don't you? Don't you?

 

(Air bed and comfy chair hidden inside tent) 

Well, I hear you went up past Saratoga
To camp by a mountain vista
Then drove the beat up car to the Thousand Islands
To wave at Dufus in Canada
Well, you're where you should be all the time
And when you're not, you're home
Dreaming of more exotic trips with close friends
Exotic trips with close friends, and

You're so brave
You probably think that camping is easy
You're so brave
I'll bet you think that camping is easy
Don't you? Don't you?

The Fruit Stand: A Magpie Tale

It began as a simple camping trip with friends.  The day they left to return to town, I ventured into the local village to pick up a few supplies for my last night at the campground.  The fruit stand beckoned me with its hand written signs:  "Fresh Peaches" and "Sweet Corn."

After I pulled off the road, it seemed strange that there weren't many baskets of fruits and vegetables on the table.  Most of the tables were filled with root-bound flowers in old pots. A dilapidated building with a tin roof stood behind the sad array of produce.  Equally dilapidated and misshapen additions were attached to the sides, much like the pop-up campers back at the campground.  Chicken wire covered what was left of the windows.

As I selected a small basket of peaches, the old woman who came out of the even older building rattled off a litany of what other fruits and vegetables were available.  Look at the onions... no soft spots on those. The muslin dress, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, hung loosely on her. Tomatoes are nice and ripe... $2 a basket.  Both her hair and body were wiry and one of her front teeth was missing.  Nectarines are nice and sweet.  The remaining teeth reminded me of yellow and white sweetcorn.  We have fresh picked Silver Queen inside, $4 a dozen.  She kept talking as she transferred the peaches I selected to a brown paper bag.  Give the money to the boy. 

I turned and saw a slightly younger man I hadn't noticed before. Likely her son, if the matching dentition was anything to go by.  His hair was a dark blond and was cut unevenly.  The overalls he wore had large pockets to hold the bills and coins I handed to him.  He and his mother looked like they'd just stepped out of a Dorothea Lange photograph, while I felt like I'd just stepped into one. 

Fresh sweet corn inside.  Perhaps I could use a few ears of corn after all.  My son would enjoy that for dinner when I get home tomorrow night.  So, is your son camping with you?  He's working this week, but will be home tomorrow.  There's some summer squash over here... got both yellow and green.  No thank you, this will be plenty enough for tonight.  Kids these days don't get enough fresh air.  Yes, camping is great for kids.  The corn is inside the building.  Were you caught in that thunder storm last night?  Yeah, that was pretty wild!   How old is your son?  Twenty two.  Did you say he was camping with you?  She falls into step behind me as I move closer to the building.   

I wandered into the building after the young man.  There was even less inside than there was outside.  No corn in sight, but then it was hard to see anything in the gloom.  The boy will have to bring it out for you... it's in the back room.  Old fruit crates stack the walls as though they're the only thing holding them up.  So, you say you're camping by yourself?

As I sit on an old fruit crate, staring at the door in front of me, I wonder again how I came to be in such a predicament.  The lock stares back at me, the scratches that I've made on it mirroring the blood vessels in my eyes.  There's nothing to do but sit and wait.  The muslin dress, sprigged with tiny blue flowers, hangs loosely on me now.  It's getting hard to remember what I wore the day I stopped at the fruit stand so many months ago.  Loneliness does such strange things to people.

* * * * * * * *

Willow over at Life at Willow Manor  has been providing inspiration for bloggers with her photo prompts on a site called Magpie Tales.  Be sure to check out the other fabulous writers participating in Magpie Tales this week.  You'll be glad you did!

Phantom Canyon: Reprise

Summer time means vacation time, so I'll be leaving you with a few oldies but (hopefully) goodies this week while I venture out into the woods of Upstate New York.  If I'm not back by Saturday, send help

Phantom Canyon (or The Worst Camping Trip Ever)

Back when I was fresh out of college, I moved to Colorado for a year with my boyfriend. (Who later became my husband and later still my ex-husband.)  While we were living there, my sister and brother came to visit us.  Being young and adventurous, we decided to go camping together up in Phantom Canyon.

Now, Phantom Canyon is exactly as it sounds.  Picture, if you will, a rock strewn dirt road clinging to the side of a mountain with a sheer drop on one side of the road.  There's room for only one car on the road at a time, so in the unlikely event you meet a car coming the other direction, one of you has to back up until you can find a spot wide enough to pass by each other.  There are no actual campsites, but rather a few sparsely scattered areas where you could pitch a tent.  (If you actually had one.)

Intrepid campers we were not.  We had three sleeping bags for the four of us and no tent.  My brother insisted he was hearty enough to use just a bed roll made up of a couple of old indian blankets we had around the house.  So, we packed the car (an old white BMW 2002) with the sleeping bags, bed roll, water jug, two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and a pan to cook it in, a can of green beans, matches, a cooler of Dr Pepper and a bag of marshmallows.

We cheerfully set out on our journey on a warm, sunny day in early June.  The road up the canyon, as I indicated, is a tad bit treacherous without 4-wheel drive, but we were undaunted. We'd already made the drive up the canyon before several times, just not loaded down with four people and camping gear.  We hit bottom a few times, but this was to be expected.  After about 40 minutes, we saw a clearing that might accommodate our car and suffice for our campsite.

We parked the car off the side of the road and carted all the gear to the clearing.  Out came the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the water jug, the two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and the pan to cook it in, the green beans, the matches, the cooler of Dr Pepper and the bag of marshmallows.  We started to set up camp and were quite happy with the location we found until we heard the buzzing of insects.  You name an insect, it was there.  Swarms of mosquitoes, gnats and some bees made our beautiful campsite uninhabitable.

So, we once again packed up the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the water jug, the two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and the pan to cook it in, the green beans, the matches, the cooler of Dr Pepper and the bag of marshmallows.  Back into the car we squeezed, only to find that the car had overheated on the rough ride up the canyon and wouldn't start.  There was nothing to do but wait for the car to cool down.  By this time, the sun had warmed the air sufficiently to make the interior of the car rather warm.  In my great wisdom I decided it was the perfect time for a cool, refreshing Dr Pepper.  I proceeded to pop the top on the can, only to have it explode in a spray of amber colored, sticky droplets all over the inside of the car.  Everyone was drenched and screaming as the soda dripped back down off the ceiling.  Needless to say, I was not the most popular person at that moment.  We were now all hot, tired and sticky and the car still wouldn't start.

Forty-five minutes later, after we were all done glaring at each other, the car started and we were once again on our way.  We drove further up the canyon for about another 30 minutes until we came to another clearing.  To get to it you had to follow a steep path down from the road.   We started getting out all the equipment again.  Yes, the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and the pan to cook it in, the green beans, the matches, the cooler of Dr Pepper and the bag of marshmallows were carried down the steep hill.  The last thing to come down the hill was the jug of water, which my brother proceeded to drop about half way down.  The water came flying out of the jug and my sister started screaming at my brother because she needed the water for her contact lenses.  (Never mind the fact that our two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese were going to be a little crunchy to eat with no water to boil the macaroni.)

About the same time, one of us noticed that the steep path we'd been traversing up and down was covered with poison ivy.  Many expletives were invoked before we started talking civilly to each other again.  At long last, we had our camp set up.  We made a fire ring from rocks we gathered, started a fire with deadwood we found, laid out our sleeping bags and bed roll near the fire, and started to cook our evening meal.   There was just enough water left in the jug to make the macaroni & cheese, although it did taste a tad bit gritty from the dirt that clung to the opening of the water jug.

As night began to fall and we were roasting marshmallows over the fire, we began to contemplate the many wild animals that lived in Phantom Canyon, including small mountain lions.  We figured the rattlesnakes had all gone to their dens for the evening.  Nonetheless, we did discuss the merits of circling a rope around your sleeping bag to keep the snakes out. Whether that was an old wives' tale or whether it had actual merit was a moot point, as we didn't have any swell cowboy lariats anyway.  All the same, the more we thought about the mountain creatures and the darker and colder it got, the more nervous we became.

That's when we came up with the great idea of the rocks in the pan.  It seemed obvious to us that if we heard something approaching we could simply shake the rocks in the pan to make noise and scare away whatever it was.  Everyone agreed it was a brilliant plan.  So, we all snuggled down comfortably into our sleeping bags with the rock filled pan next to us and prepared for slumber.  Unfortunately, our sleeping bags weren't as warm as we anticipated and we all started to shiver.  About the same time, we became painfully aware of all the small rocks we were sleeping on top of.  The more uncomfortable we got, the more sleep eluded us.  Even the beautiful night sky failed to relax us.  Finally, we all covered our heads and tried our darnedest to fall asleep.

After what seemed like hours, a rustle began nearby.  The sound of sticks snapping came next as the creature neared.  Being cold and shivering and sure that whatever was out there meant to bite any exposed hand that came out of a sleeping bag, we all pretended to be asleep in the hope that someone else would be brave enough to shake the pan.  Two minutes passed, five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. Still no hand was seen making the supreme sacrifice for the good of the group.  Twenty minutes later, someone ventured to whisper, "Are you awake?"  Immediately we knew that we were all cowards and had been avoiding being eaten alive by a mountain lion, all the while hoping that one of our camp mates would provide a tastier treat for the vicious creature.  (Yes, we really cared deeply about each other.)   Upon making a pact that we would all look out on the count of three, we were amazed to see that this time we all came through!  We had done it!  We had faced our fears and faced down the creature....  which, as it turned out, happened to be a steer.

Range cattle are very common in the mountains and it never occurred to us that the thing that was approaching could be a very large, but very docile creature rather than a blood thirsty devourer of humans.  The rest of the night was spent leaning up against an old stone wall and stoking the fire until the sun rose.  When the dawn finally arrived, no one spoke as we packed up the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the empty water jug, the pan minus the rocks, the empty cooler and the trash.  In fact, I don't think any of us spoke to each other again until about six hours after we finally arrived back home.

Rarely have I been so miserable while camping.  And I've never again gone camping with my sister and brother.  Go figure!

Life's Tough All Over

I had a tough week.  Here's how it went...

8:00 to noon - Wake up, pee, wash face, brush teeth, make coffee, sit in hammock & read.

 

Noon to 1:00 - Get dressed, forage for food.

1:00 to 2:00 -  Paddle around the islands (there were a thousand to choose from) in my trusty vessel, Yellow Tail.

2:00 to 4:00 - Drink beer, relax in hammock, read, take nap.

4:00 to 5:00 - Float on inflatable raft with cheesy paperback novel.  Bounce up and down as big boats go by.

5:00 to 6:00 - Lay in reclining lounge chair, drink Dr Pepper and read some more.

6:00 to 7:00 - Go for another paddle.  Observe wildlife.

7:00 to 9:15 - Make dinner over campfire.  Eat, relax, read some more.

9:15 to 9:30 - Watch sun set.

9:30 to 11:00 - Read in tent while enjoying a glass (or two) of wine.

11:00 - Enjoy amazing stars on walk to bath house to pee one last time.  Lights out.  Listen to water and night sounds.

Wake up next day and repeat.

Yeah, it's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it!

They Call Me Mellow Yellow-Yellow

Figures... according to the New York Times "Yellow-Yellow", a black bear living in the Adirondack High Peaks area, has defeated the BearVault!    It's a simple container, much like one of those freakin' medicine bottles that you can never get open when you have a migrane.  

Here's how it works:

Now, I may be a complete tool but even I know that you shouldn't be posting those kinds of instructions where bears can be reading them... like on the side of the BearVault itself. Especially with such nice, easy to decipher graphics.  Not to mention the fact that I've seen a bear reading a stray issue of the Times (that a foolish camper left laying around) picking up handy tips for foraging for food.

No wonder "Yellow-Yellow" was so successful.  

But as long as she's getting all those tasty snacks out of the BearVault, as least she won't be tempted to dine on campers.  Having a full tummy makes her a "Mellow Yellow-Yellow."

Playing With Fire

I went camping again this week, but this time just to add novelty... I actually camped with some other people I know. Imagine that! 

I had posted a "World's Worst Camping Trip" contest several months ago and my friend Wendy won for her story of little Jacob's suitcase floating out of their tent during a flood many years ago.  

Nanodance also won, but she "claimed" to be sick this week so she couldn't go.  Likely story.  I know she was really staying home watching stupid shit on YouTube and trying to sneak cats into my house.  See what you missed, Nanodance! You could have been relaxing with Wendy and me in the idyllic setting shown to the right.  But, NOOOO!  You had to be sick!

Anyway, Wendy not only participated, she brought her entire family with her!  Yes, Big Bill, Sweet Natalie & Jacob (who's not so little anymore) also risked life and limb to camp with me.  Wendy and I go way  back to when I was Natalie's kindergarten teacher. Since I already warped Sweet Natalie beyond repair, Wendy must have figured she had nothing to lose by allowing her family to spend additional time with me.  And her trust in me was proven to be sound.  During the course of their two-night stay, no one was injured or carried away by bears.  (I swear, Jacob's toe was mangled before we went camping!)

We had a good old time together, though.  We shared stories around the campfire and I turned them on to the "roll-o-roaster" and other camping delights. They shared some of their favorite camping traditions with me as well.  

Turns out they do stupid stuff, too!  For example, they introduced me to the thrill of melting aluminum cans in the campfire.  Fascinating!  (And here I was wasting all that time and energy returning the cans to the store.) Before you knew it, we were scouring the campground looking for all sort of crap we could melt... just add fire and voila!

Pyromaniacs!  I LOVE these people! 

The next morning, Big Bill stopped by my campsite to give me his latest example of pyro-art. Seems he has his own tradition of staying up late and enjoying a little nip of tequila around the old campfire.  And he drank the entire bottle, just so he could contribute the glass container it came in to the cause.  What dedication!  Anything for pyro-art.  I was so proud I almost cried.

Here's what a pint of Jose Cuervo looks like after being sacrificed to the flames:

It used to look different until Jacob started messing around with it and broke a couple pieces off.  But, no worries, that just gave me more reasons to experiment the next few nights with re-fusing the broken parts onto the original glob-o-melted-glass.  All in the name of science, of course.

Now it almost looks kinda naughty... like what Vulcan's poop must look like... or like something that should go into Miss Yvonne's "For Your Nymphomation Adult Toy Chest."*

Given more time and a truck load of firewood, who knows what it could look like.

And here I've been wasting my time with a cheap "box-o-wine" when I go camping.  Next time I'm taking this bad boy with me...

I bet that a bottle of Jose Cuervo and my new found dedication to pyro-art could even entice Nanodance to go camping with me. (And if she isn't sick before she goes, odds are she sure could be afterward!)

Cheers!

 

*Miss Yvonne's blog is not suitable for all ages, but if you're looking for something a little different.... 

Be a Good Camper, Henry!

Have you ever noticed how the majority of campers are either young families or retired people? The young families tend to be tent campers and the retirees trailer campers. Probably because for the young family it’s an economical vacation, while the retirees can afford the camping trailer with all the amenities, essentially taking all the comforts of home with them as they tour the world. The people in between can’t yet afford the trailer, but have gotten too used to comfort to enjoy the tent. (As a slightly-past-middle-aged tent camper, I am an aberration. Even more so, since I enjoy camping by myself as much as I enjoy camping with others.)

Anyway, if you really want to test the solidity of your family unit, try camping together... in a tent... during the rainy season. If you can survive that, you can survive almost anything.

Take, for example, the young family next to me on my most recent camping trip. It was obvious that it was young Henry’s first camping trip. His older sister and cousin were well versed in camping etiquette. Not so, Henry. Henry was all of about three years old. That alone should have been a clue that it could be a challenging outing.

Now, I happen to love 3-year-olds… especially when I don’t have to take them home with me. The entire world revolves around the 3-year-old... they're totally egocentric. And the 3-year-old is so gosh darned curious about the entire world. They have these cute little voices and they ask questions… constantly! Which is what Henry was doing, much to the chagrin of his family. And 3-year-olds definitely do not understand about sitting still and communing with nature. So, over the course of three very rainy days, I kept hearing the following:

“Don’t run, Henry!”

“Don’t play in the fire, Henry!”

“Don’t go in the water, Henry!”

"Stop annoying the ducks, Henry!"

"Sit in your chair, Henry!"

“Don’t fling flaming marshmallows in your sister’s hair, Henry!”

"Don't leave food out for the bears, Henry!"

“Stay in the tent, Henry!”

"Be quiet, Henry!"

“No, Henry, you may not bring your sleeping bag out by the fire!”

“Go to sleep, Henry!”

Mind you, there was absolutely nothing wrong with Henry. He wasn’t being at all naughty. He was simply acting his age.

“If you come out of that tent, Henry, I’m going to hurt you!”

AAACK! That last one had me fearing for Henry's life. In fact, the next morning they told Henry he was going home because he didn't know how to camp.  What?  Is camping supposed to be inbred or something?  Poor Henry... a failure at age 3.   The entire family left for about eight hours and when they returned, I didn't see or hear anything 0f Henry. I thought maybe they'd sold him to the gypsy's or something. 

It wasn't until the third morning that I heard Henry's name invoked again..

"Henry, if you eat all the graham crackers for breakfast, there won't be any left for s'mores tonight!"

Whew! Henry was back! He was still alive and well and might even live to see four.

And then there was that final, exasperated plea…

“Try to be a good camper, Henry!”

(Insert stifled guffaw from me here.)  For a 3-year-old, being a good camper is not at all the same thing as being a happy camper.  

Henry was undaunted, though. Not once did he cry or whine. Only his parents did that.

Henry is a Happy Camper.

I adore Henry.

(Please note, I would have provided an actual picture of Henry, but his parents probably would have had me arrested. Same with trying to find an actual on-line photo of a little kid camping. Guess they think you might be a pedophile or something if you download that type of thing. Hence, the cheesy clip art depiction of little Henry.)

What? Me Worry?

So, I'm back from the wilds of the Adirondacks.  It wasn't nearly as harrowing as one might imagine.  After all, IT IS CAR CAMPING, PEOPLE!  It's not like I was backpacking out in the wild or anything. 

Plus, I do take all necessary precautions.  

For example, I spent a full hour standing in front of this sign, (posted strategically outside the shower house,) faithfully memorizing each item on the list:

(You will note that they forgot one important admonition... to leave your BenGay at home.)

I took my responsibility as a camper very seriously and followed all the guidelines.  Obviously, I spent the next three days parking my car (containing all clothing, food items and garbage) a mile away from my campsite.  It was a mad dash from the car to the tent, what with being all naked and everything.  No worries!  Although, it might have been easier just to sleep in the car. 

Even worse than being mauled by a bear, however, would have been to be "directed to leave the campground" for bear baiting.  How could one ever live down that humiliation? The rest of the campers would probably line up and make you run the gauntlet as they threw all sorts of vile epithets at you.  Just imagine the shame of it all.

But as I said, no worries.  I had everything in order.

The truth is, I have a new secret weapon against bears.  I've heard tell that bears don't mess around with moose.  Would you?  Those suckers are huge!  So, while I was in the little gift shop near the campground, I discovered a new super duper weapon to protect me from bears.  Damn the cost, I had to have it!  And now it's mine, all mine!  From now on, I can sleep soundly in my tent knowing that a bear will never, ever accost me in the dark of night.   

See for yourself if this doesn't strike fear into the hearts of bears everywhere:

P.S.  Since the sign says it's a list of "Bears & Camper Guidelines", what I really want to know is... what are the bears' responsibilities for campground use? Will they be directed to leave the campground if they are caught camper baiting?  I'm just askin'.

I'm off!

Well, after a quiet Fourth of July evening at home with Hickory the Wonder Dog, I'm off for three nights of camping and kayaking in the Adirondacks tomorrow.  I hear tell they have bears in them thar woods, so I figure it's the perfect time to resurrect "The Great Smoky Mountains... or... The Second Worst Camping Trip Ever".

Since they do post warnings there about black bears, I hereby promise NOT to keep food in my tent or use Ben Gay during this trip.  

If I get eaten by a bear, it's been great blogging with you!  (And if I win Miss Yvonne's contest you can bury the gum with what's left of me.)

This is Chauncey... I met him on my last camping trip.

He's definitely not as scary as a bear

but he does have kinda scary eyes.

P.S.  Here are some other harrowing tales of camping you might enjoy while I'm away....  Phantom Canyon, Sweet Dreams, The Killer Raccoon of Kejimkujik.

To Camp or Not to Camp? That is the Question

The first week of January I went on line and reserved a couple of campsites for the summer. Now my first camping trip is a day away and the forecast is calling for thunderstorms the next 5 days.

Hmmmm....

With my pristine record of uneventful camping trips*,

perhaps I should reconsider.

The original plan called for launching my kayak from my campsite and paddling around the islands. Would that still be relaxing during a raging thunderstorm? Would I be blown off course before I would be hit by lightning? Rain and static always make my hair frizzy, so that could be hazardous.

Then there's the gentle flicker of the campfire at night that's so mesmerizing. A thunderstorm might make it a bit trickier to get the fire started and wouldn't necessarily be conducive to keeping the flames flickering. Smores might be out of the question.

Of course, there's always the peaceful serenity of gazing at the stars as I look out of the open flap of my tent. Perhaps if the flood from the rain doesn't float my airbed right out of the tent, there might be hope for that. At least then there'd be nothing between me and the stars... except for a few thunderheads

So, to camp or not to camp? What shall it be?

* For your further enlightenment, I suggest you consider the following blog entries: "Phantom Canyon", "The Great Smoky Mountains" and "Sweet Dreams", as well as the "Killer Raccoon of Kejimkujik."

The Killer Raccoon of Kejimkujik*

One fall we packed up our camping gear and canoe and set off to explore Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island. The drive through New England was gorgeous and the trees were at their peak array of fall colors. Once we reached Nova Scotia via car ferry, the weather continued to be clear and sparkling. We passed through many quaint villages before reaching our first destination, Kejimkujik National Park.

Kejimkujik surrounds a boulder-filled lake in the middle of Nova Scotia. As we drove off the main road and down the long drive into the park we noticed we weren't meeting any other cars. Once we got to the campground itself, we discovered why. We were only the second campers of the day asking for overnight accommodations. Apparently, this late in the season, most travelers in search of fall colors stayed in hotels rather than campgrounds. This didn't bother us in the least and we were delighted to be able to look around the entire campground to choose whichever camping spot we wanted. It's a rare thing to have a campground all to yourselves, away from the noise and bustle of other campers.

We found the perfect place... right on the water where we could launch our canoe from our campsite. We quickly set up camp so we could set out for a leisurely paddle around the lake. The water was clear as glass. We tied the canoe to an overhanging branch and crawled up onto one of the boulders for a picnic lunch. Then it was back into the canoe to explore some more. As the afternoon wore on the sun warmed the air, so we spread out on another boulder to sun ourselves and rest for a bit. It was a perfect afternoon!

Back at the campsite, we pulled the canoe onto shore and brought the paddles and life vests back to the tent. As there were no admonishments posted in the ranger station about eating after dark to avoid wild animals, we took the time to enjoy a pot of tea and shower before commencing our dinner preparations. After several years of camping, we had graduated from Kraft macaroni & cheese to freeze-dried delicacies. (Just add boiling water and steep... yum!) The sun was going down over the lake as we fired up the Coleman stove again.

We chatted away merrily as we waited for the water to boil. We were thoroughly enjoying the evening sounds. It wasn't long before the night deepened and the clear sky boasted millions of stars. What a peaceful place! Soon it was time to add the freeze-dried noodles, chicken and seasonings to the boiled water. We zipped open the bag and poured in the contents, popping the cover back on the pan to keep in the warmth as the concoction steeped. In ten minutes we'd be enjoying a marvelously simple, yet delicious meal. Leaning back against the picnic table to await that moment, I heard a rustle behind me. Turning my head slightly, I became aware of a huge form rising above the table! Holy Crap!

There was the largest raccoon I had ever seen and it was advancing quickly toward me! Forget about whether it was rabid or not... this thing was big enough to take me in his agile paws, rinse me off in the lake and eat me! However, it wasn't after me... it was after my one-dish freeze-dried meal that was steeping away in the pan. The instant the dried food hit the boiling water it had released an aroma that was irresistible to a raccoon that had been living on campers' leftovers all summer long. With the rest of the campers now gone, food had become scarce and this particular raccoon was bound and determined it wasn't going to miss another meal! Since the canoe paddles were close at hand, my husband grabbed them and started banging them together in the direction of the raccoon. The masked marauder backed off momentarily, but was quickly back on top of the picnic table, advancing toward the pot of food. The only thing left for us to do was to find a sturdy shelter in which to barricade ourselves. We grabbed the pot of food and with spoons in hand beat a hasty retreat toward the showers... with the raccoon from hell with his shiny red eyes in hot pursuit. (Damn, but those rascals can move quickly!) We barely made it to the cinder block facility in time, bursting through the door just ahead of the raccoon.

Now, raccoons are inventive creatures and can get into most any place they want. The door was not latched, but simply had a large spring to hold it shut. That mean we had to lean against it to keep the raccoon out. He continued to thump against the door to get at our food. It was amazing how powerful those raccoon paws were. From looking at the size of him, he appeared to have had plenty to eat already, but no... he labored on to get to us and our dinner. We fought back with all our might. From our screams, you would have thought we were in the middle of a mad-slasher movie!

Finally we realized what we had to do... get rid of the object of the raccoon's attention. We both started shoveling the food into our mouths as fast as we could, all the while bracing ourselves as best we could between the door and the first toilet stall to prevent the raccoon from pushing us forward enough to squeeze through the door. We would later regret the speed with which we devoured the dinner, as we both ended up burning the roofs of our mouths. It was a small price to pay, though, in order to get the raccoon to leave us alone. While my husband kept a firm hold on the door, I rinsed out the pan in the sink to eliminate any remaining tempting odors. Eventually the thumping on the door stopped. But was the raccoon really gone? Or had he gone back to his friends to recruit reinforcements?

A half hour later, when we figured the coast was finally clear, we crept back to our campsite and zipped ourselves tightly into our tent, not to venture out again until morning. We only spent the one night at Kejimkujik, but it was certainly a memorable one. Perhaps a crowded campground does have its merits after all!

*This might qualify as the fourth worst camping trip ever, except for the fact that I actually slept peacefully through the night. Despite the raccoon's visit, it was a lovely stay and I would definitely go back again.

Super Duper Contest for Followers!

This is it, followers!  Your lucky day!  

I'm announcing the first annual... 

"WORST CAMPING TRIP EVER!" contest.   

Woo Hoo!!!!

Now that I've regaled you with tales of super-horrible camping trips, you get to chime in with your favorite.  

Which one do YOU feel is the actual worst one?  Which one do you think strikes the most fear into the hearts of manly men?  Which do you think gives me, the cat lady, the best reason for never leaving the house?  Or do you have your own tale of an even more harrowing camping experience?  

Please state your reasons why you think your choice is the best, (or the worst as the case may be.)  Entries can be made by commenting on your favorite post.

I will personally judge the entries and the person whose reason has the most merit will win.....

TA DAH!   

Wait for it...

AN EXCITING ALL-EXPENSE-PAID CAMPING TRIP WITH YOURS TRULY! * 

Yes, you too can go on your own personal camping adventure with the cat lady.  (We'll even take the cat silhouettes with us to scare off snakes.)  Let's make new memories together!  But only if you dare!  Camping with me is not for the faint of heart. 

*(Should you choose not to accept the award, you may always select the alternative prize... 10 construction paper cat silhouettes for your windows.)

I anxiously await your entry!

Sincerely,

Larew

P.S.  You too, can become a follower.  Just direct your eyes to the left side of this page and notice the Followers section.  Yes, that's it... the one with the picture of the pretty lady in the hat, the cartoon, the kitty, the young girl who posts her own rantings, the monkey and the outlines of people from the "10 Most Wanted" list.  (You may have noticed their pictures before at the post office.)  Simply click on "Follow this blog" to join!  After all, you wouldn't want to miss out on any exciting contests or anything!

Sweet Dreams! (or The Third Worst Camping Trip Ever)

Every summer when I was a kid, my parents packed up the family station wagon and kids and went camping.  We had a huge, two-room canvas tent that was packed into a wooden trailer that my dad had crafted to tow behind the car.  Along with the tent were stowed sleeping bags, air mattresses, a wooden utensil cupboard that my dad had also made, (he was very handy,) camp chairs and all the other appurtenances of camping.  The back of the station wagon housed the dry foods and a large metal cooler, which contained a block of ice, milk, juice, eggs, etc.  That was back before seat belts were invented, so my dad had also fashioned a platform for the back seat so we kids could sit on the floor and use the platform to color on and play games.  (Anything to prevent the squabbles and arguments that are de rigueur with small children in a car on a long trip.)  My mom would plan things out ahead of time, reading up on the history of the place we were going.  We would all learn about the geography, flora & fauna, landmarks and historic personages that were connected with our destination.  Travel was her great love and she wanted us to get the most out of each trip.  (Years later, mom coordinated many trips overseas for groups of people for cultural exchange programs.)

The summer when I was six we set off for Kentucky and the "Abe Lincoln Tour."  We first headed south to St. Louis, where we stopped off at the St. Louis Zoo.  There we were fascinated by the exhibition of snakes, with an eye to the poisonous varieties.  Looking at the map of the range of said poisonous snakes, we of course noticed that copperheads were to be found in Kentucky.  

That was it!  We kids wanted to turn around and go home!  We weren't about to be bitten by poisonous snakes that would crawl into our sleeping bags with us to warm up at night!  NO WAY!  Either we stayed in a motel each night during the trip or we were walking home to Iowa.  (Actually, we'd never stayed in a motel before and thought it sounded pretty exciting, so we were particularly vocal in promoting that solution.)  It took about three hours of driving onward toward Kentucky for my parents to convince us that snakes didn't hang out in campgrounds waiting for small children to come by so they could sink their fangs into them.  Reluctantly, we agreed to go ahead with their travel plans, although we wanted it on record that we only did so under protest.  (Our epitaph could read,  "Here lie the Larew children, brought down by the venom of copperheads, to the everlasting regret of their semi-loving parents who refused to trust their superior judgment.")

We got to the campground, got the tent set up and were just sitting down to dinner, when there was a rather large commotion at the campsite next to ours.  That family began screaming and yelling and jumping up from their picnic table and the dad started flailing at something with a hatchet.

Yes, it was not one, but TWO copperheads... right there under their picnic table!  The dad killed them with a hatchet and my parents later took us over to look at their mangled bodies to assure us they were really dead and to try and calm us down.  We kids definitely felt vindicated, but that didn't make us feel any better about sleeping in the tent that night.  We knew there were more copperheads lurking around out there, just waiting to sneak up on us and bite us out of sheer spite to avenge their fallen comrades.  And I know my parents had a sleepless night as well!  

Ha!  Serves them right!

Just goes to show... you should always listen to  your kids!

The Great Smoky Mountains (or The Second Worst Camping Trip Ever)

After reading about the worst camping trip ever, you may have thought I'd never again venture out into the wild.  However, I'm not exactly a quick study.  I eventually bought a tent and Coleman stove, thinking that with the proper equipment I could become a fearless mountain woman.  

With that goal in mind, my boyfriend (of the ill fated Colorado trip) and I set out for a getaway to the Great Smoky Mountains.  The trip down to the Smokies was highlighted by a car malfunction in Pittsburgh, but we'll save that story for another time.  

When finally we arrived at the Great Smoky Mountains visitor center, we were met with a graphic display of the terrors which native black bears could wreak upon unwary campers.  It listed warnings about what could happen if you encountered a bear, including a display of items mauled by bears, such as a metal container that had been ripped apart and showed the slashes left by claws. The list of precautions you could take to avoid being ripped to shreds by bears included such things as preparing and consuming all meals before dark and storing all food inside your car. The sign admonished you to NEVER store food in your tent unless you wanted the vicious bears in the neighborhood to slash open the side of your tent, maul you and steal your food. Needless to say, it didn't take much convincing for us to swear on our ancestors' graves that we would never even THINK about disobeying the rules of bear safety.

(Giving credit where credit is due:  Bear photo by Brian Wolitski)

We traveled on to the camping area where we were assigned a wonderful campsite.  To reach it you had to traverse a small stream and thus were beautifully isolated from the other campers in their large Winnebagos.  An idyllic scene, to be sure.  We happily set up camp, erecting the tent, blowing up air mattresses and proudly setting up the Coleman stove on the picnic table provided for our enjoyment.  We also laid out a neat pile of logs we had purchased and twigs we had gathered in the fire pit for later use.   Standing back and surveying our professionally appointed campsite, we were filled with pride!

Once we had set up camp, it was time for a rousing hike through the woods.  Our day packs were laden with the essentials;  sunscreen, water bottles and "gorp" for the trail.  We set off on a trail that led up to a fire tower.  It was a beautiful walk weaving through virgin forest and past a waterfall, with spring wildflowers in abundance.  Once we reached the fire tower, we climbed it to get a perfect view of the Smokies in all their splendor.  The clouds had settled over the peaks and dipped into the valleys, giving name to the mountains.  On the trek back down the mountain, we grew weary, so stopped at the waterfall to take off our hiking boots and dip our toes into the refreshing pool below.  

Later, back at camp, we prepared another delicious meal of, (you guessed it,) Kraft macaroni & cheese and canned green beans.  Our dinner was over before dusk settled into the valley.  The plates, silverware and pan were washed thoroughly and stowed back in the car, across the stream so that no aroma of cheese would remain to tempt any starving black bears.  As the sun dropped, so did the temperature, so after our campfire burned down to ciders and no longer provided warmth to our bodies, we retired.  Nothing feels so good as a sleeping bag floating on an air-mattress on a cold spring evening.  We talked for awhile about how wonderful the day was, how beautiful our camp site was and what a great job we had done of bear-proofing our camp site.

As the evening wore on, sleep once again eluded me.  After the initial warmth of the sleeping bag wore off, a chill set in and as I tensed up, my calves began to ache from all the hiking we had done.  I knew that I could either lay there thinking about it or get up and do something about it.  So I rummaged through my pack to find the first aid kit and pulled out a tube of Ben Gay.  Slathering it all over my legs left me even more chilled as the medication started working. After awhile, though, I began to warm up again and my muscles began to relax.

That is, until I realized my legs smelled like giant peppermint candies.  Yikes!  Did bears like peppermint?  Was that just the thing bears crave for late night snacks?  How was I to get the smell off of me?  The greasy formula of Ben Gay was not wiped off easily.  Plus, as luck would have it, my air mattress had lost all its air and there was nothing protecting me from the cold, rocky ground.  No matter how much I huffed and puffed, the air mattress could no longer be re-inflated.  Now I was wide awake, cold and miserable, waiting for the bears to come slash their enormous, razor-sharp claws through the tent, drag me from my sleeping bag and feast on my peppermint flavored legs.  What to do?  Should I go sleep in the car for the rest of the night?  Or better yet, in the cinder block bathroom up at the ranger station?  Either would be equally uncomfortable and it might mean coming face to face with a bear and being mauled on the way.  Better to stay put.  Could I possibly be any more uncomfortable and scared?  Not to mention the fact that I had failed to set out the pan with rocks in it to shake and scare off wild animals that came close. (Remembering how futile that plan was the last time I tried it.)*  Another sleepless, fear-filled night of camping was upon me and yet somehow I made it until morning with my legs still intact.

Yes, once more a camping trip, (originally so full of hope and promise,) had gone horribly wrong.  Obviously the bears never got me, but the memory of the terror that struck my heart is still with me to this day.  Amazingly, I still love camping out... I just avoid places with bears, mountain lions or snakes.

*See "The Worst Camping Trip Ever."

Phantom Canyon (or The Worst Camping Trip Ever)

Back when I was fresh out of college, I moved to Colorado for a year with my boyfriend. (Who later became my husband and later still my ex-husband.)  While we were living there, my sister and brother came to visit us.  Being young and adventurous, we decided to go camping together up in Phantom Canyon.  Now, Phantom Canyon is exactly as it sounds.  Picture, if you will, a rock strewn dirt road clinging to the side of a mountain with a sheer drop on one side of the road.  There's room for only one car on the road at a time, so in the unlikely event you meet a car coming the other direction, one of you has to back up until you can find a spot wide enough to pass by each other.  There are no actual campsites, but rather a few sparsely scattered areas where you could pitch a tent.  (If you actually had one.)

Intrepid campers we were not.  We had three sleeping bags for the four of us and no tent.  My brother insisted he was hearty enough to use just a bed roll made up of a couple of old indian blankets we had around the house.  So, we packed the car (an old white BMW 2002) with the sleeping bags, bed roll, water jug, two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and a pan to cook it in, a can of green beans, matches, a cooler of Dr. Pepper and a bag of marshmallows. 

We cheerfully set out on our journey on a warm, sunny day in early June.  The road up the canyon, as I indicated, is a tad bit treacherous without 4-wheel drive, but we were undaunted. We'd already made the drive up the canyon before several times, just not loaded down with four people and camping gear.  We hit bottom a few times, but this was to be expected.  After about 40 minutes, we saw a clearing that might accommodate our car and suffice for our campsite.  

We parked the car off the side of the road and carted all the gear to the clearing.  Out came the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the water jug, the two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and the pan to cook it in, the green beans, the matches, the cooler of Dr. Pepper and the bag of marshmallows.  We started to set up camp and were quite happy with the location we found until we heard the buzzing of insects.  You name an insect, it was there.  Swarms of mosquitos, gnats and some bees made our beautiful campsite uninhabitable.  

So, we once again packed up the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the water jug, the two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and the pan to cook it in, the green beans, the matches, the cooler of Dr. Pepper and the bag of marshmallows.  Back into the car we squeezed, only to find that the car had overheated on the rough ride up the canyon and wouldn't start.  There was nothing to do but wait for the car to cool down.  By this time, the sun had warmed the air sufficiently to make the interior of the car rather warm.  In my great wisdom I decided it was the perfect time for a cool, refreshing Dr. Pepper.  I proceeded to pop the top on the can, only to have it explode in a spray of amber colored, sticky droplets all over the inside of the car.  Everyone was drenched and screaming as the soda dripped back down off the ceiling.  Needless to say, I was not the most popular person at that moment.  We were now all hot, tired and sticky and the car still wouldn't start.

Forty-five minutes later, after we were all done glaring at each other, the car started and we were once again on our way.  We drove further up the canyon for about another 30 minutes until we came to another clearing.  To get to it you had to follow a steep path down from the road.   We started getting out all the equipment again.  Yes, the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese and the pan to cook it in, the green beans, the matches, the cooler of Dr. Pepper and the bag of marshmallows were carried down the steep hill.  The last thing to come down the hill was the jug of water, which my brother proceeded to drop about half way down.  The water came flying out of the jug and my sister started screaming at my brother because she needed the water for her contact lenses.  (Never mind the fact that without it, our two boxes of Kraft macaroni & cheese were going to be a little crunchy to eat with no water to boil the macaroni.)  

About the same time, one of us noticed that the steep path we'd been traversing up and down was covered with poison ivy.  Many expletives were invoked before we started talking civilly to each other again.  At long last, we had our camp set up.  We made a fire ring from rocks we gathered, started a fire with deadwood we found, laid out our sleeping bags and bed roll near the fire, and started to cook our evening meal.   There was just enough water left in the jug to make the macaroni & cheese, although it did taste a tad bit gritty from the dirt that clung to the opening of the water jug.  

As night began to fall and we were roasting marshmallows over the fire, we began to contemplate the many wild animals that lived in Phantom Canyon, including small mountain lions.  We figured the rattlesnakes had all gone to their dens for the evening.  Nonetheless, we did discuss the merits of circling a rope around your sleeping bag to keep the snakes out. Whether that was an old wives' tale or whether it had actual merit was a moot point, as we didn't have any swell cowboy lariats anyway.  All the same, the more we thought about the mountain creatures and the darker and colder it got, the more nervous we became.   

That's when we came up with the great idea of the rocks in the pan.  It seemed obvious to us that if we heard something approaching we could simply shake the rocks in the pan to make noise and scare away whatever it was.  Everyone agreed it was a brilliant plan.  So, we all snuggled down comfortably into our sleeping bags with the rock filled pan next to us and prepared for slumber.  Unfortunately, our sleeping bags weren't as warm as we anticipated and we all started to shiver.  About the same time, we became painfully aware of all the small rocks we were sleeping on top of.  The more uncomfortable we got, the more sleep eluded us.  Even the beautiful night sky failed to relax us.  Finally, we all covered our heads and tried our darnedest to fall asleep.  

After what seemed like hours, a rustle began nearby.  The sound of sticks snapping came next as the creature neared.  Being cold and shivering and sure that whatever was out there meant to bite any exposed hand that came out of a sleeping bag, we all pretended to be asleep in the hope that someone else would be brave enough to shake the pan.  Two minutes passed, five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen.  Still no hand was seen making the supreme sacrifice for the good of the group.  Twenty minutes later, someone ventured to whisper, "Are you awake?"  Immediately we knew that we were all cowards and had been avoiding being eaten alive by a mountain lion, all the while hoping that one of our camp mates would provide a tastier treat for the vicious creature.  (Yes, we really cared deeply about each other.)   Upon making a pact that we would all look out on the count of three, we were amazed to see that this time we all came through!  We had done it!  We had faced our fears and faced down the creature....  which, as it turned out, happened to be a steer.  

Range cattle are very common in the mountains and it never occurred to us that the thing that was approaching could be a very large, but very docile creature rather than a blood thirsty devourer of humans.  The rest of the night was spent leaning up against an old stone wall and stoking the fire until the sun rose.  When the dawn finally arrived, no one spoke as we packed up the sleeping bags, the bed roll, the empty water jug, the pan minus the rocks, the empty cooler and the trash.  In fact, I don't think any of us spoke to each other again until about six hours after we finally arrived back home.  

Rarely have I been so terrified and miserable while camping.  And I've NEVER again gone camping with my sister and brother.  Go figure!