WHO'S NOT OF CAMPING? -Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     For our next foray into outdoor living, we decided to stay inside. 

     Camping in a tent had humbled us.  “Maybe we’ll fare better if we camp in our van,” I said.

     “I agree,” said our daughter.  “Hopefully, it won’t collapse on us.”

     So we loaded up the van and headed for the mountains, once again, trying to get our names written in the Who’s Who of Camping.

     Since we were in our van and not headlining the entertainment for the evening, we were able to arrive in the late afternoon.  Our later arrival meant we got the last camp site.  We all agreed this was far better than having to sleep in someone’s driveway.

     “Look!” yelled the kids.  “We’re right on the lake!” 

     Closer inspection revealed a small pond of stagnant water that smelled like a large cesspool.    

     Not too far away, we noticed some empty buildings.  “Must have been the Waste Treatment Plant that’s quit giving treatments,” said Connie.

     “Prime mosquito breeding grounds,” I opined.

     “That’s good,” Connie said. “They’ll probably be too busy to get over here.”

     They obviously overheard her and rushed over immediately.  Then they signaled to their friends…”Hey, over here…campsite 17…four people…two children and two adults…adults can feed family of two thousand…children, maybe a thousand.”

     While our culinary institute was dining on marshmallows on a stick, the mosquitoes were feasting on us.  They apparently thought it was a buffet because they kept coming back for seconds and thirds.

     Having your blood supply reduced to critically low levels by mosquitoes who think they’re partaking of the Fountain of Youth is distressing enough, but watching them carry on in such a disorderly and unseemly manner was revolting.  

     We let them sample about twelve different repellents.  They loved all of them.  Just before they had sucked the remaining life out of us, we stumbled into the van and passed out. 

     The next morning, we decided it would be best if we chose an activity away from the water and mosquitoes.

     “Let’s go for a hike,” I said.

     “Don’t we need to carry bear bells?” asked my wife.

     “Yes!” I answered emphatically.

     Once all of us had our bells, we began hiking along a nearby trail.

     After walking a short distance, I heard our daughter.  “Why do we need these bells?” she asked.  “Is it to scare the bears or to let them know lunch is ready?”

     “It’s to let them know that we’re in the area,” I answered.

     “Why do they need to know?” questioned Mindy.  “Are they expecting us?  They should let us know when they’re in the area.”

     “Just stay on the trail, and we’ll be fine,” I said.

     “Do I just keep following these paw prints?” she asked.

     “We’ve probably followed them far enough,” I answered.  “Let’s head back to camp.”

     That afternoon our son occupied his time by testing the fast-moving water of a nearby stream.  Not liking the gravel on his bare feet, he decided his sister’s sandals would work just fine.

     I watched as he edged into the water.  After a bit, he thought he’d gone far enough, and started to back away. Unfortunately, he backed away with only one sandal.  Carrying a cup of hot coffee, I chased the other sandal downstream.  As it disappeared around the bend, on its way to the ocean, I was left holding an empty cup with a burnt hand.    

     I learned two good lessons from that experience; don’t run with hot coffee, and always write your address on your children’s shoes when they’re playing around streams.  Had I done that, we might have received a surprise Christmas present in the mail; a sandal that had washed ashore in Japan.   

     By early evening, we were all getting hungry.  I suggested building a nice campfire and frying some fish, but we had no fish, and my wife didn’t trust my campfires.  We looked for the marshmallows, but they had disappeared in the Great Mosquito Invasion.  “Okay, it looks as though we’ll have to forage for some edible plants and insects,” I said.   

     “We’ll need something to go with our insect dish,” said my wife, her voice dripping with such sarcasm, that it was running down the front of her sweatshirt.  “Maybe we can go into town and forage for some pizza?”

     “That’s not roughing it in the wild outdoors,” I answered.

     “Well, I’m not going to sit out here in the wild outdoors, eating my insects and chewing on a piece of bark,” she announced to everyone within hearing distance.      

    “Okay, okay,” I said, peeking out from behind a tree. 

     It wasn’t long before we were all foraging on pizza at a local eatery.  The edible insect topping was especially tasty.  After returning to our campsite, I thought I would light the lantern and relax with a good book.  

 

 

To be continued...check back soon