July

THE RV EVOLUTION/REVOLUTION

My evolution as a camper is almost complete. I think there may be just one more stage to go. I started like most kids, in the backyard, under the stars. Then as I grew, I learned how to build a lean-to with ponchos. During my upper teens I got to be an expert at passing out on a stump or in an old lawn chair and waking up with a coat of mosquitos. Somewhere in there after shaking off the flies and stumbling to a wet fire; I had a Eureka! moment about camping and joined the Army.

In the Army, I learned dozens of highly evolved ways to maintain various levels of extreme discomfort no matter where I was camping or what I was doing. I slept and ate under the stars in below zero to one hundred and twenty degrees. In various shaped and depth holes, all filled with muddy water or spiders. I also learned how to sleep hanging onto a floating rucksack full of air bubbles, one of my favorites. There we learned how to be happy camping mostly by just erasing words. We weren’t, “miserable” we were, “tactical”. In fireless tactical camping there were lots of bigger meaner bugs, wetter ground…covered in thorns educating me in relaxing misery. So, I moved back to civilian camping styles, eschewing most of what I learned; albeit with a trench dug around me, in the middle of a flooding swamp. While, swatting horse flies under a poncho; I turned up my nose at those relaxed and clean looking tent campers hiking by as sell-outs who were impure. You’re not in touch with nature unless that touch is itchy and wet and leaves your kidneys and back sore in the morning.

By now I had introduced my wife to the misery of camping the pure way and we started going to more social events and camping trips. As time passed, we made some small concessions with our camping ideology. “We are there to watch a concert, visit friends, go to a wedding, job interview, live until we find work; not get in touch with nature…” So, with justification, just when we were learning to be comfortable in our “poncho hooch” we moved on to tents.

With tents we had to start all over again learning about camping. We learned that tents don’t float, or really keep you dry at all. They do keep out bugs, other the ones they’re keeping in. They work great as a sauna in the summer and a freezer in the winter. Sometimes they collapse but luckily only in the rain at two in the morning so no one else gets hurt. As we sat taping up our snapped fiberglass/aluminum super poles and bailing water out of our sleeping bags; somewhere, we noticed people hiking by in the morning looking happy and refreshed. When we investigated where those people spent their time getting touched by nature, we learned that some of them were in poncho hooches…they inquired about our tent… We ignored those people completely and started looking up at folks we had been looking down at for decades. RV people.

RV people seemed all about comfort on their vacations in the woods and didn’t know a thing about the misery of nature. As we aged that concept didn’t seem so awful. As we watched them spring by us while we sat outside our collapsed tent which, pre-collapse, only seemed to work as a bat net, mosquito trap, sauna/freezer we began to look at those shiny, bright clean people with new appreciation. Suddenly, we started mentioning, “You know this trip is more about visiting friends, enjoying the concert, fishing, evading the IRS. Why don’t we look into an RV?”

I have to say that shopping for one is fun; if you like being told what you want to hear. Visions were conjured of us escaping nature’s touch while enjoying the view…and the football game…in air conditioning, with a cold beer, after a hot shower. Our fears of hypocrisy were blown away by twelve-volt air conditioning. Besides we can’t enjoy the forest with a sore back, aching ribs and numb legs covered with mosquito bites; we rationalized. We borrowed an RV for a while just to test it out and save money. I must admit that borrowed RV’s are the best. We got into trouble when we finally bought our own travel trailer. I was wooed by the mental picture of being completely self-contained in comfort on the wildest of wild elk hunts. My bride liked the idea of being cool in the middle of a ninety-five-degree hayfield for a concert and I liked that, too. We thought of snow bird trips to Florida in a few years and just flipping on the thermostat coming in from a chilly day of salmon fishing.

It is true. I wake up without a sore back, easily make a pot of coffee, listen to the radio and can walk out to enjoy Mother Nature from under an awning, in a comfortable chair. Yet somehow the pleasant misery extends until after the trip now. There’s toting the thing around the Commonwealth getting the A.C. to work. Bye the way, a tin can gets hotter than a tent in the middle of a hay field when the A.C. unit breaks. There’s fuses, lightbulbs, drawers and ball bearing that need maintenance. The propane pilot goes out and I’m awakened from my comfortable sleep at 2 am now, not by collapse but by a relentless CO2 alarm. All the joys, maintenance, upkeep and expense of home ownership follow you along on vacation.

So, the other morning as I was, tactically, fighting a pilot light, looking at an awning that’ll need replaced and shooing out the bat and mosquitos, I saw some refreshed looking campers stroll by. I asked where they had stayed and they pointed to a nice shady hammock under a poncho hooch. Eureka! I need a bigger R.V. maybe a self-propelled…

See you along the stream.

#Gohuntforme

So far, I am, officially but not technically, 0 for 0 on my planned thirteen fishing and hunting trips for the year, WHICH, I had carefully planned. I got injured and couldn’t do much so missed out on early hog hunting. Another hog hunt, a group hunt, got bumped back to an autumn date that I won’t be able to make. I suspect the hogs have been organizing against me. We did make an unplanned fishing trip, to not fish, in Florida which was fun, other than being attacked by the “atomic sunfish” the dreaded Mayan Chin-Chinchlli, while innocently minding my own business; I might add. That could be considered the planned snook fishing trip, in which I did not fish but saw a snook caught.

The walleye run trip I had planned was greatly enjoyed and hugely successful for everyone that went. Of course, I didn’t go. So, all next year, if I go then, all I’ll hear about is, “Should have been here last year.” “It ain’t as good as last year…you’re a jinx.” The salmon trip went the same way…away...after the modern miracle of medicine healed my injuries and put me back to work…thanks modern medicine…you suck.

We did get in Euchre Camp which has been well documented. The emergency services crews have finished their cleanups and the hospital beds have been made available again. While the fish and turkeys still don’t even know we showed up. I did state in my manifesto of planned trips, however, that Euchre camp isn’t a true trip, even though it was a trip.

Next on the bubble is the World-Famous Chicken Broil camp, which is tentatively scratched off my planner and not looking good. At this charitable event, my son, Nick and I assist Muddy and his buddies in a charitable broil. After which we eat a lot of delicious chicken, plan our fall hunt and catch bluegill and catfish. It is a highlight of the year but there’s a conflict looming on the horizon already threatening that trip, enough that I gave a heads up to my host that he may not need new straw in the barn.

We considered a Wildwood trip and that was off the list with conflicts long ago, sadly. I screwed that one up pretty good. It came to a point where we had to choose between summer hog hunting and Wildwood. (Technically, this occurred on a trip to Wildwood, over Easter but it doesn’t count). We decided to hog hunt in Kentucky and invited our Wildwood friends to come. All seemed good. Then our Kentucky host invited us to fish in Montana on a different date. THAT date conflicted with our football schedule. Our Kentucky host then mentioned that they would not be in Kentucky during the hog hunt. I felt it might be a social faux pas to say, “Ok, well even though we can’t do Montana with you we will be at your place for hog hunting instead.” So, just like that with one fell swoop, three trips went out the window.

So, now, of the original thirteen, I’m down to the three crown jewels. Michigan deer, Pennsylvania deer and Kentucky late season muzzle loader, of course…for deer. I already bought a Kentucky hunting tag just to have leverage to ensure the trip goes through. If you already have tags, it is much harder for anyone to justify you missing the hunt. I should have bought a Florida fishing license on-line pre-trip and if Kentucky required, hog tags, then perhaps I would have been able to make those hunts. See license laws do have value.

I fully recognize that some gratefulness is required even to be able to consider thirteen hunting and fishing trips a year, so complaining about missing those trips is a shallow thing to sulk about. However, for some of them I’ve been saying, “Oh, well, next year it’ll happen.”, for several “next years.” I don’t know how many next years we get. Sooner or later it’ll be the last year. I’ll worry about that, next year.

In the meantime, is there any way to set up a “GOHUNTFORME” account?

See you along the stream.

A Mid-Summer's Night Supper

So here we are again in the middle of the hottest three weeks of the year in Pennsylvania. So far just in the outdoor world, since July 4^th two boat accidents and a snake bite locally, with one week to go. I’m waiting to hear about a killer ground hog attack but I think the whistle pigs are staying in the shade, so their cooler heads prevail and remain intact.

Some of us embrace the heat by barbequing and broiling outdoors. Chase down a broiled chicken with coleslaw and a radish and you’ll get an edge up on the heat. Clam and or crab bakes are great this time of year too; if you’re lucky enough to get a hold of those things or do a little coastal fishing to cool off.

In the days before air conditioning and freezers, you had to go out to the ice mine to keep your food cool. Smokers and grilling was a good way to preserve meat in the heat as well as stay out of the hotter kitchen. Trying to get out in some breeze and get a little shade while cooking may have been at the root of the beginning of summer camping. Why in the heck someone came up with winter camping…I have no idea.

Being young and ignorant I was once infected with the need for summer camping. There was a time, when my camping buddies were cut loose to forage while camping during a cooler July in Georgia, with all the Fahrenheits getting together to push the red stuff over a hundred. With all the heat, nothing was moving and everything was laying low. The heat kept everyone’s appetite down but eventually you do want to eat something. So, my buddy, Muddy and I walked around for miles looking for something to bring back to camp to eat. It was hot enough that the breeze from our walk was cooler than sitting in the stale, humid Southern air. However, after cutting through cubes of humidity for what was probably an inappropriate amount of time we had to head back. Being defeated and eaten by mosquitos during the long trek back to camp we stumbled upon an armadillo! The only other critter dumb enough to walk around in the day looking for food.

Now’s a good time to let me tell you about smoking barbecue stuff Georgia style. Everything tastes the same on a smoker or cooked in the ground. Throw some lemons and wild garlic cloves on it and close it up, its barbeque. So, the armadillo was just what we were looking for; anything.

Of course the armadillo had no plans about surrendering, they’re stubborn that way, especially when it comes to the idea of being eaten. Not that we informed it of our plans as it ran away, it kind of estimated our intent when we started throwing our K-bars at it. Muddy finally hit the Texas speed bump and put it out of its misery before we died of exhaustion. What was more inhumane living and chasing or dying for barbecue? It’s a tossup but I will say, I’ve seen armadillos try harder to get away before… We threw it in a bag and proudly carried our prize back to the camp.

There we found our buddies tending a fire to try to stay cool and figure out what to do with the meager food stuff they managed to find in the forest. Maybe if a couple of us ganged up on a mosquito with bats, we could heave it onto the grill; it was pondered. So, we were particularly proud when we realized that we were the only ones who managed to find any meat that wouldn’t be derived from a part call the “thorax”. Everyone, sat up and gathered in closely, eager to see what we got as we dumped our prize out of the sack.

Not long after the “thud” of our prized barbecue guest, there was a loud shriek and a scramble. I grabbed my now broken K-bar and looked at the armadillo that hadn’t moved. It just lay there not shrieking, just looking awfully ready to be stuffed with lemons and garlic. That’s when I noticed it was, in fact, our crew which had scampered out of the area and away from the fire. Muddy and I looked behind us but there was no bear, lion, or bigfoot there to cause such a scare. So we went after the guys. I must say I’m used to a lot of, “get away, don’t touch me” but usually on a date with my wife not while out with the guys. So, after a bit of gathering them up and getting them back to the fire where we had to splint an ankle and pull thorns out of another guys face, they explained what made them run.

They, being more local guys and familiar with armadillos, explained to us far from home deer hunters that armadillos were known carriers of leprosy. I nodded and rubbed my chin, secretly checking for any unusual spots or marks on my hands and wondering where my hands had been since our “harvest”. Muddy, was also quiet and almost introspective for a second. Then he reached down and stuck the carcass with his knife, lifting it aloft and observing it more closely. After his inspection he announced, “This ‘dillo looks fine to me. I suppose if we cook it a little bit longer it’ll be good…just like bacon.” I’ll say this; you have to respect a guy who doesn’t lose his appetite just because it’s a little hot outside.

See you along the stream.