The Rules of Camping

Or…Do as I say, not as I did.

Recently, the family and I had an opportunity to join our son and his Cub Scout pack for an overnight adventure in the hills above our home. I am convinced that most dads who write articles on these things could tell you about what a bonding experience it was, how they caught salmon with their bare hands, and how they showed the boys ways to construct a five room cabin, plumbing included, from twigs, and dead leaves.

This isn’t that article.

I am not a camper. I am a stay-at-home-and -away-from-places-I-have-no-business-being-er. I have only been camping one other time in my life. I was nine, my dad took me to Lake Henderson, I forgot the small skillet, he yelled at me and we never went a second time.

Camping rule number 1: Don’t forget the small skillet. If you do, you will never go camping again.

Back to the cub scouts. As it turns out, this outing is an annual event. When I declined to go last year, I was sort of hoping they would forget about it by the time this year rolled around. No such luck. The boy scouts and my wife remembered very clearly, and I was committed to go because I said I would.

Camping rule number 2: They won’t forget.

The camp-out was set for one night and one afternoon, so I convinced myself that it couldn’t possibly go so wrong. In fact, as the day approached, I found myself looking forward to the event. A few weeks before, I called my friend Mark, an avid camper and outdoorsman to ask about borrowing some equipment.

“Sure!” he said. “What do you need? I have shotguns, shovels, a generator, a ten man tent, portable shower, bear repellent, fission powered lanterns and biodegradable toilet paper in family-sized packs.”

“Uh…” I stammered. “We’re only going to Tonner Canyon for one night.”

There was a long silence on the line.

“Oh merciful God in heaven, not Tonner Canyon!”, the sarcasm was almost dripping. “Take a map in case you get lost, man. And if you really get into trouble, you can walk across the street to the Carl’s Junior and call search and rescue.”

Mark hung up. I was apparently on my own.

I headed out to shop for some basic equipment and after comparing features and prices, I decided on a Coleman 4-man tent on sale at The Sports Authority. Since the cub scouts were supplying almost everything in terms of food, I didn’t need a camp stove or a coffee percolator or a mess kit.

Camping Rule # 3: Get a camp stove, a coffee percolator and a mess kit. You're going to want coffee.

Friday finally arrived and my wife packed up everything we thought we needed to take with us while I was at the office making the money to pay for everything we thought we needed. I left work a little early and met the family at home where we were joined by two other families as we headed out for the long, hot drive to Tonner Canyon.

A grueling ten minutes later, we arrived at the gate to the Boy Scout Reserve camp. Images of Dante’s Inferno played in my mind as we drove through the gaping chain-link portal to the netherworld that lay just beyond. What punishments awaited me there? Was I to be mercilessly mocked for my inability to set up the tent? Would my boy be ashamed of his father who couldn’t start a fire? Would my wife hang back and snicker with the other wives as I struggled to understand the intricacies of the stadium chairs?

We navigated the Dodge Caravan deep into the wilderness beyond the entrance and stopped almost two miles from the bustling civilization we’d left behind. There was plenty of free parking, so we had no trouble there. Joshua excitedly climbed down from the car and made his way across the ranger’s road and to the camp site where the other cubs were setting up and settling in for the evening.

The wife and I grabbed a few items and followed closely behind. She took several bags and totes in her smallish arms and I grabbed the highly compacted Coleman tent bag. My hope was to get to a clearing and struggle through whatever hellish embarrassment awaited me as quickly as I could. I found a spot beneath one of three oak trees in the whole place and plopped the bag down with feigned abandon.

“If you act like you know what you’re doing, people will think you know what you’re doing.” I told myself.

Inside the bag was a box. Inside the box was my nemesis. I opened everything and removed all the bags and ties and tarps and stakes and poles I could find. Panic began to set in as I realized there were no instructions included with the tent. I looked around in desperation and, for a moment, was frozen into inaction.

““If you act like you know what you’re doing, people will think you know what you’re doing.” I told myself even louder than before.

After a moment, I got my wife’s attention.

“I need help.” I said in a whisper.

She went to the tent bag and pulled out the instruction sheet which had been sown into the side of the bag.

Camping Rule # 4 : Don’t panic. The instructions are sewn into the bag.

In her usual style, she glanced at the instructions and tossed them to the side in near disgust.

“You don’t need it!” she declared.

My heart rate increased as I thought of the laughter that would surely be coming from the Cub Scout dads, the Cub Scout moms and the Cub Scouts as I struggled with the poles and the tarps and the stakes – all without a single word of guidance.

Thirty seven seconds later, my wife was organizing our gear inside the tent. Although I was red-faced, I was breathing a sigh of relief and found myself yet again being pleased with my selection of a wife.

Camping Rule # 5: Marry well.

As she continued to make our tent a comfortable and organized place to spend the night, I set about the tricky business of unpacking and setting up the stadium chairs. By the time all the other campers arrived, set up their tents and were exploring the purgatory all around us, I had three of them set out and found myself relaxing with our new camp neighbors.

The evening passed very pleasantly and we all enjoyed a brilliant chili dinner prepared in the Bauserman’s outdoor kitchen. Later, as the sun sank below the horizon and animals plotted their strategies to drag me deeper into the wilderness, it was time to try out our newly purchased Eddie Bauer, hand cranked, LED lantern and compass. I cranked the charging handle for the required 1 full minute and pressed the “on” switch. Blinding white light emanated from the center of lantern and illuminated everything within a radius of one inch. It was painfully clear that the lantern would be of limited use. Imagine shining a flashlight directly in your eyes and attempting to walk around your house in the dark after your kids re-arrange the furniture.

Camping Rule # 6: Get a proper lantern. Forget about the compass in the handle. It’s worthless when you can’t see.

As the dinner hour came to an end, the Scout Master brought out his portable campfire and connected the propane tank. I smiled and felt my fear of being ridiculed over my lack of fire starting skills fade significantly. A twist and a click later, the whole company was gathered around a roaring fire the size of a small dinner plate and I wondered where I could buy such an amazing device.

Stories were related, bad jokes were shared, skits were performed, old songs were trotted out for new ears , a gigantic, menacing raccoon was chased from the kitchen, and peals of laughter rang through the encampment. It was an incredibly pleasant way to spend a Friday night.

As the story-telling came to a close, families, without the aid of the Eddie Bauer LED Lantern and Compass, made their way to their tents and settled in for the night. Earlier, my wife laid out our sleeping bags and pillows in a very homey fashion and we were ready for a comfy summer evening’s nap. Minutes after laying my head on the pillow - which was at least ten degrees lower than my feet - I was drifting off to sleep with pleasant memories of an evening well spent dancing in my memory.

Moments later, I felt a gentle squeeze on my mouth and nose. I opened my eyes to find my wife had grasped my face.

“You’re snoring.” she whispered softly.

I apologized and we settled back to sleep. Seconds later, a more forceful grasp covered my face.

“You’re snoring.” she whispered a little less softly.

I apologized again and we soon drifted back to sleep. Seconds later, she reached out and grabbed my face with both hands and clenched tightly.

“You’re SNORING.” She grunted.

I left the tent and shuffled off in the darkness to find the van.

Camping Rule # 7: Bring sleeping pills - for your wife.

The next morning, the sun was shining beautifully in the heavens, the sky was a deep indigo blue and the birds were singing their cheerful morning song as they frolicked and played in the wilderness. I was oblivious to all of this as I lay with my head and neck crammed into a corner of the van, my sleeping bag hopelessly wrapped around my legs and hips and very little blood flowing to my feet.

I was awakened by my wife knocking on the rear door of our van. I awoke with a start and found myself trapped. I struggled against the sleeping bag and tried to move my legs. I finally gave up and flopped over onto my stomach and squirmed my way forward to unlock the doors. My wife threw open the hatch and untied me from the clutches of my new enemy.

“Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. I actually think the van is made from the same material as a Tempurpedic mattress.” I responded.

She smiled and announced that breakfast was almost ready. I pushed myself up with my arms and used both hands to pull my legs into position. I massaged them for a few moments and when I regained the use of them, I headed out of the van and back across the road to the camp site.

Breakfast was delicious and the coffee prepared by those who followed Rule # 3 was truly a preview of heaven. The rest of the day was spent exploring and learning with the Cub Scouts, breaking camp, repacking the van and clearing the camp site of any trace of our presence. Finally, we all enjoyed a delicious lunch of sandwiches and chips. At the close of all the activities, we headed home from our adventure.

In spite of my own fear and reluctance, I have to admit it was an amazing day and half spent with my wife and my son.

Which, at last, brings me to Camping Rule # 8, the most import rule of all:Forget about your own inexperience. Forget about the fancy equipment. Don’t worry about any of that. Just grab your wife and your kids, gather up some good friends and get going. You don’t need to go far, you just need to go. The memories you make will be worth whatever you may endure.