Camp Insanity 2008, Chapter One

Between my sister (Marilyn who returns comments S.) and I, you may have noticed that we speak a lot about a yearly camping odyssey called Camp Insanity.  Begun more than 20 years ago, the original adventure was a tale of 3 moms, 9 children under the age of 10, and bears in the campsite every night of our 10-day stay.  There was much more to the story than that--in our journal it was subtitled "10 days in Hell," but suffice it to say that after that first outing, we learned that we could cope with just about anything that life could throw at us.

The second year we decided to reduce the group to just two moms and 6 kids, but the adventures went on.  We grew to expect odd things to happen--and they always did.  Even as the children grew and went their separate ways, Marilyn and I continued to tempt fate each year by setting out for our annual bonding experience.

A lot of planning goes into camping for two weeks.  Yes, we have cars and can get to grocery stores if needed, but our pioneering spirits strive to anticipate all the needed equipment and supplies so trips out to "civilization" won't be necessary.  We make lots of lists and have bins pre-packed with dishes and pans and such, we yearly patch the rain tarps with duck tape, and we test the campstove and lanterns to be sure they all work.

This year was to be a very special year--a Camp Insanity reunion of our 6 now-grown kids along with some of their chosen companions.  I was not able to get out of work until the day before our big trip, so Marilyn and I cut a few corners to save time.  We planned and shopped for only the first week's supplies, and we simply pulled all of the camping equipment off the shelves in my garage and stuffed the cars so we could get on the road in a hurry.

This year was the ONLY year that I did not test the campstove before leaving home.

Yes, Insanity reared its ugly head within the first few hours of this year's adventure.  Since I am the camp cook, it is my job to set up the kitchen screen tent, including the propane stove, which must be attached  to a BBQ-size propane tank.  So I did all the attaching that I have done year after year, turned on the gas--and nearly blew myself up! Flames whooshed not just from the burners, but from every orifice and vent hole of the stove.  Not good.

I took apart and reconnected that stove at least 3 times, repeatedly checking the connections to make sure the gas wasn't leaking, but each time I tried to light the stove, I had the same results. I finally conceded defeat because I may be a little crazy, but I'm not stupid.  I do not play with propane!

Oh--did I mention that while I was trying not to get blown up, we were getting drowned by torrential rains?  The picture below shows not only the old stove, but also the runoff I had to straddle  while attempting to get the stove working.  All I could think of was that Robert Redford movie, "A River Runs Through It."

Sooo.... I had to make an immediate  foray back out into the commercial world to find a new campstove.  Yes, we could cook many things over the wood fire, but preparing food for 10 people would take a very long time if the fireplace was our only cooking surface.  The good news was that there was a  Wally World only half an hour away, and the really good news was that they had a reputable replacement stove that was exactly what we needed.    

We had a great weekend with all our beautiful and handsome children, lots of laughter, good food---and no explosions.  We loved having them with us, but when the last of their tents were packed up and we could hear the river and the wind and the birds once again, we said Ahhhhhhh....  I remarked at the campfire that night about how wonderful it was to look forward to a truly hedonistic, self-centered day on the morrow.

Alas, it was not to be. The first thing I heard when I stuck my head out of the tent in the morning was Marilyn's voice:  "Remember how peaceful and easy today was going to be?  Well, we need to go back out to the store.  The new stove burned up." Insanity #2 had struck.

It seems that Mare had set the kettle on to boil as always, and then made a quick trip to our supplies in the car to get the coffee and such.  When she returned to the kitchen tent, something immediately caught her eye--the ground was on fire!  She was no dummy--she dropped everything and ran to shut off the gas, but the fire did not stop.  The plastic handles on the stove had caught fire for some reason, had melted, and then fell onto the pine needles underneath, essentially starting a forest fire!  Our coffee water went to a good cause; it saved our campsite and our beloved forest!

The whys of the fire are not important; whether from stove defect or user error the bottom line was that we again had no cookstove.  We cleaned ourselves up a bit, bundled the stove back into all of its original pristine packaging which we had luckily not yet thrown away, and climbed into the car to head for the store.

"But wait!" one of us exclaimed. "We need to take pictures of the dead stove for our journal!"  She was right, whoever had that bright idea; we try to document everything for our memoirs.  So we pulled the stove back out of the trunk, took it out of all its pretty packaging, set it up on the picnic table, and told it to smile for its pictures.  There!  Done!

With the echo of the trunk slamming shut ringing in our ears, we went to climb back into the car to hit the road.  My driver's door wouldn't open.  Marilyn's passenger door wouldn't open.  The doors had magically locked us out.  My keys were clearly sitting on the front seat, and I swear they were giggling!  My spare keys were safely tucked away in Marilyn's purse (we always exchange spares when we travel in case of emergencies); unfortunately, Marilyn's purse was itself snuggled under the passenger seat. When the trunk closed, the last avenue of entrance into the car was closed to us as well since we couldn't get to the fold-down back seats.

It's a good thing that the park rangers are our friends.  After Marilyn went for help, Ranger Paul came with a jimmy-bar thing that slips down into the door frame and hooks the door latch open.  The good news is that my Honda has a security plate that prevents such tools from granting access to thieves.  The bad news is that my Honda has a security plate that prevents such tools from granting access to honest efforts made by park rangers to get the car open.

Paul was kind enough to give me a ride the half mile to the main entrance booth so I could call AAA. Since it was going to be a half hour or so, he also gave me a ride back to our campsite.  Then, 30 minutes later he picked me up so I could be at the gate to escort the AAA guy into the campground (that's the rule.)

The man of the hour did finally arrive and after some concerted effort, the door was eventually convinced to open.  Our saviour's comment was that my little old Honda is an extremely hard car to break into.   My answer was that a large rock through the window would have been a lot easier.  Can you guess my mood by that time?  (Hey-- I was hungry, all our food was securely locked up tight in both our vehicles,  and I didn't get my coffee that morning either!)

Ah, Camp Insanity is always an adventure.  Stay tuned for more tales from the forest.....