Camping

After a weekend of nice weather and the rumor of impending Spring, thoughts turn to the outdoors. Many people look forward to warm temperatures and longer evenings 0to walk, run, play sports or do lawn work.

Others like to plan camping trips. I am not one of those people. I have camped a lot in the past. The most enjoyable camping trips where done through Boy Scouts. Canoe trips to Canada, or week long camp outs at the local Camp Naish were favorites. I look back at those camping experiences as favorite memories.

But there were other camping experiences. The worst of which were camping trips with the family. Of those I do not have pleasant memories. In fact, many of the family camping trips of my youth were a lot like standing on your head in a bucket of sewage breathing through a straw, only without the straw.

To understand why our family camping trips were so hellish, you need to picture the scenario. My parents owned a pop up camper with thick plastic walls. Each year we would pull that camper to a fishless lake about 100 miles from our house. We would always do this during the hottest part of the summer. Once arriving at the lake, we would pick out a spot in the treeless camping area to set up our campsite. The bathroom and shower facilities were a mile or more from the campsite. No problem, since personal hygiene is not important during a camping trip and the plastic camping oven was equipped with a chemical toilet - we were livin' large.

So my parents, myself and 2 younger brothers would live in this airless plastic box for a week. During the day we would fish until we were certain there were no fish in the lake, and then return to the camp site to stare at each other the rest of the day. Afternoon temperatures would normally reach into the 90's and there was little shade. I am sure the camper temperature would be well into the 100's during the day. One year I prepared for the absolute boredom by bringing a putter a a few golf balls on the trip. I would lay out golf holes at the camp site, and play them using only the putter.

After an especially well struck drive, I remember following the path of the ball as it converged with a passing station wagon. If hitting a vehicle was the objective, I had just hit a career shot. The ball dropped down onto the roof of a moving station wagon from around 150 yard. Standing out in the middle of a camping area, I searched for a place to hide. The driver slammed on his brakes, got out of the wagon and looked at what was probably an impressive dent in the roof. Turning his attention to a sheepish 10 year old kid holding a putter, he simply yelled "Don't you know what practice balls are for?" I was thankful he did not kick my butt or try and find out what specific campsite I belonged to. Regardless, it ended my fun and taught me that my golf game was forever doomed to hitting things I should not hit.

Nighttime at the campsite provided little relief. Warm humid nights were spent in a confined space, sleeping next to 4 other people and a chemical toilet (which during the day was more like a crock pot). It was neither pleasant or comfortable. I slept next to my brother who loved to eat bologna. Keeping bologna fresh during a summer camp out was a challenge. One night after eating several slices of warm rancid bologna, his digestive system reached its limit. I awoke to his retching on the bed next to me. The stench and the feeling of warm slimy goo seeping into the low spots of the mattress was enough to make me sick. This was a typical evening during a family camping trip.

Since moving away from home, I have only been camping once. My wife and Dave, the best man at our wedding, convinced me that we should go camping one weekend. We both had 4-wheel drive vehicles, so we used them to find a very remote hill far away from civilization. I don't remember much about the camping trip, but do remember the aftermath. We must have camped smack in the middle of a nest of irritated, poisonous chiggers and spiders. Terri and I both suffered from hundreds of itchy, nearly infectious bites for more than a week.

Later, when recounting our story to Dave, he provided no sympathy. Dave also had been bitten numerous times. One bite to his male member had swollen same to multiples of its original size. While this can be a good thing in certain situations, walking around all day looking excited was not a good thing. Dave made the mistake of freely communicating his experience, which led to good natured ribbing of how from that time on, he would hit the wall when aiming for the toilet.

I think you would agree that my hatred of camping is well-founded and natural. These experiences led to my sheltering of my children from the uncomfortable facts about camping. They do not have family camping memories because we never went camping. They are better people because of it. Both have camped after reaching adulthood, but how is that my fault? Maybe I should have warned them.