As I am continuously striving to better myself, and to avoid complacency and simple acceptance of the status quo at all costs, I take great pride in being able to report that I have set a new personal best in one of the basic camping statistics – Longevity Outdoors, Start of Excursion to Return (LOSER).
I drove up to Garden Valley on Friday at around 2:00 pm … just me and the Hell Hound in the Great Outdoors (the budgie was left at home). It promised to be a much needed relaxing evening of reading around the campfire, and the Weather Bunny had promised that the skies would clear up at some point during the night, so I even harbored just the slightest hope of some star-gazing.
I was feeling especially optimistic as I drove through a blinding sleet-storm about halfway there, thinking that that was the worst of it, and it would be nothing but blue skies and daffodils at the campground, the Payette would have magically turned to champagne, and in all likelihood, a pillow fight would break out amongst the scantily clad sorority girls who would most certainly be in the adjacent site.
That turned out to not quite be the case.
It kept drizzling, of course, but it wasn’t too unpleasant ... at first. I got the tent all set up, with no help from Indy, who was on a 30 foot rope and kept getting wound up in the car tires and bushes and trees and what-not. Every two minutes or so, I would have to disentangle her from whatever the hell she’d gotten herself wrapped up in, but eventually, the stove was set up, the fire was lit, my camp chair was situated just so, a frosty beer awaited me in the can holder, and nirvana would be mine, if only for one night.
“Reah, right …” Indy muttered, and proceeded to drag the rope across the picnic table, knocking over and breaking the lantern. So at that point, I was not only wet, but without a light source in an ever darkening forest … with a beast who was staring at me quite menacingly, and who, it then occurred to me, had been paying an inordinate amount of attention to how to work the clutch on the way up. “My god,” I thought to myself. “She means to … she means to …” I couldn’t finish the sentence, even to myself, so horrific were my imaginings. Her demonic grin, from across the fire pit, will haunt me to the grave and beyond.
Above: The Dead Acorn unwinding next to the warm glow of a pleasant fire (as seen by Indy).
Well, it took less than 10 seconds to have that tent torn down and everything loaded up in the carrier. I was able to get the dog into the car by diving in the back, scrambling up to the front as she nipped at my heels, then closing the door behind me as I ran around and slammed the rear door as well. She finally seemed to accept that it would not be the night of her Feast Of Feasts, and we were able to drive back to town without further incident. She didn’t even complain when I stopped for a couple of minutes at the Low Down Dirty Shame Saloon.
So as I mentioned, I set a new LOSER record … out by 2, back by 10. And when it comes to self-improvement ... that, my friends, is what being a rugged, fearless, wilderness-ey kind of guy is all about.
I drove up to Garden Valley on Friday at around 2:00 pm … just me and the Hell Hound in the Great Outdoors (the budgie was left at home). It promised to be a much needed relaxing evening of reading around the campfire, and the Weather Bunny had promised that the skies would clear up at some point during the night, so I even harbored just the slightest hope of some star-gazing.
I was feeling especially optimistic as I drove through a blinding sleet-storm about halfway there, thinking that that was the worst of it, and it would be nothing but blue skies and daffodils at the campground, the Payette would have magically turned to champagne, and in all likelihood, a pillow fight would break out amongst the scantily clad sorority girls who would most certainly be in the adjacent site.
That turned out to not quite be the case.
It kept drizzling, of course, but it wasn’t too unpleasant ... at first. I got the tent all set up, with no help from Indy, who was on a 30 foot rope and kept getting wound up in the car tires and bushes and trees and what-not. Every two minutes or so, I would have to disentangle her from whatever the hell she’d gotten herself wrapped up in, but eventually, the stove was set up, the fire was lit, my camp chair was situated just so, a frosty beer awaited me in the can holder, and nirvana would be mine, if only for one night.
“Reah, right …” Indy muttered, and proceeded to drag the rope across the picnic table, knocking over and breaking the lantern. So at that point, I was not only wet, but without a light source in an ever darkening forest … with a beast who was staring at me quite menacingly, and who, it then occurred to me, had been paying an inordinate amount of attention to how to work the clutch on the way up. “My god,” I thought to myself. “She means to … she means to …” I couldn’t finish the sentence, even to myself, so horrific were my imaginings. Her demonic grin, from across the fire pit, will haunt me to the grave and beyond.
Above: The Dead Acorn unwinding next to the warm glow of a pleasant fire (as seen by Indy).Well, it took less than 10 seconds to have that tent torn down and everything loaded up in the carrier. I was able to get the dog into the car by diving in the back, scrambling up to the front as she nipped at my heels, then closing the door behind me as I ran around and slammed the rear door as well. She finally seemed to accept that it would not be the night of her Feast Of Feasts, and we were able to drive back to town without further incident. She didn’t even complain when I stopped for a couple of minutes at the Low Down Dirty Shame Saloon.
So as I mentioned, I set a new LOSER record … out by 2, back by 10. And when it comes to self-improvement ... that, my friends, is what being a rugged, fearless, wilderness-ey kind of guy is all about.
6 comments:
Reminds me of one of last years festival camping experiences which got off to a similarly bumpy start...
http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2009/09/matt-bolton-on-radio.html
Not planning on camping anywhere ever again, ever
The Gambler said it best.
Niamh - that sounds pretty similar. I'll try it again, but either the dog stays home, or more people/dogs go.
Jonny ... definitely time to run.
1. Ok! I admit it. I broke the goddamned lantern!! But you are so ungrateful, Acorn. As you know perfectly well, you are unable to make a fire. So I decided to break the lantern in an attempt to help you. And this is the thanks I get. More slander. I should have strangled you with that pathetic rope (I could snap it as easily as a chicken's neck) you use to tie me up.
2. I did think about biting out your throat while watching you that night. That is absolutely true. But not because I wanted to feast on your flesh. The look you saw on my face was not hunger, Acorn. It was contempt. I wanted to bite out your throat because after my attempts to help you survive in the semi-wilderness(i.e., breaking of the lantern to help you make a fire) had failed, I couldn't stand to look at you (shivering in weakness and fear in the darkness) any longer.
3. Since you fancy yourself so clever, I wonder if you can come up with an anagram for the word 'weakling'?
Ludicrously Odious Stinking Evil Rat-Bastard (LOSER).
See? I can make up phrases for acronyms too. Raw, Raw, Raw!
You know for being a meteorologist, The Weather Bunny doesnt know shit about meteors.
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