Camping trip #3- here comes Bertha

By camping trip number three, we were all fourteen and fifteen years old, and after promises that we would be careful, we finally got the green light for a campfire. We also had a new-fangled cell phone (circa 1996). It was a second-generation Motorola with a flip-down receiver and pull-up antenna, and the thing was a beast. It weighed pounds, the battery lasted like two calls, and it barely worked, but it gave our parents the reassurance they needed for their boys to play with fire.

Adding fire to our adventures would be a game-changer, especially after the strange experiences of camping trip number two. The problem is, the weekend we scheduled our trip, the tail-end of tropical storm Bertha would pass through Massachusetts. Until the day of the trip, it looked like we’d be ok, but there was still a good chance of rain that night. The 5-person tent we had used the year before was a squeeze then, and we were all growing boys. It wouldn’t fit all of us this year. So, my father dug out our antiquated yellow Coleman canvas tent from the seventies. At 8×11, the thing was huge and could sleep six comfortably, but being made of canvas, it weighed a ton and had some other deficiencies we will discuss later. The potential for rain put a little damper on our plans for a campfire, but luckily, this would be a two-day excursion, so if it did rain, we had another night to enjoy its warm glow.

First, we prepared for the potential for hot meals. For night one, hamburgers were on the menu. We packed hot dogs for lunch and steaks for dinner for day two. Raw meat, even frozen, necessitated the addition of a cooler to our already growing list of equipment. Even with our trusty, if not cursed, shopping cart making a reappearance to bring up the 50+ pound tent, it would be an arduous hike. Luckily, we found the fire-access road on the Monson Developmental Center’s campus. It wasn’t necessarily a shorter route, but the incline was much more gradual than huffing it up the 45-degree ascent of the powerlines. So, we loaded my parents’ station wagon and drove to the access road, trying to ignore the darkening skies.

When we were ready for our hike, it had begun drizzling, and the wind was picking up. We probably should have canceled the trip, but we were kids who had been enthusiastically waiting for this moment for months. A little rain and wind weren’t going to stop us. We assembled our gear and set off up the mountain.

We reached the top without getting too wet, though it was much windier on the summit. The gale blasted up the mountain at probably 70 mph at the ledge that overlooked the valley. Luckily, it created a ramp for the wind and just a few feet from the ridge, it died to about 25 or 30.

We immediately went to work on the tent. It was quite the puzzle with the instructions being lost before I was born, but I had seen my parents set it up many times while growing up, and we eventually figured it out. It took all six of us in the wind. By the time it was up, it had started to rain, so we hurriedly got everything inside and zipped it up tight. The buzz of the zipper was like a switch that opened the heavens. This was probably 3 PM. It was going to be a long night.

I’ll never know how we didn’t get blown off the mountain. Maybe it was the tent’s long metal stakes, its boxy design, or our six fat asses? Who knows, but the whole day and night, the canvas beat against the aluminum poles, first in one direction, then the next. It was initially terrifying, but eventually, we got used to the rhythm. Anyway, it was the least of our problems. The days of old canvas tents are over for a reason. They have a significant flaw during the rain. You can’t touch them. As soon as you do, it immediately wicks in water through a process called capillary action. We aren’t talking about a little moister here. It is like turning on a faucet, especially in the rain of a tropical storm. Six teens stuck in a tent for hours makes it impossible that this isn’t going to happen. By morning, we were soaked, especially if you were unlucky like me to be on the end up against the side. One bump into the fabric, and the unending trickle begins.

The rain stopped in the early morning, and the wind died soon after. It was a miserable night, but we survived. We stepped out of the tent, now covered in leaves and fallen branches, and went to work trying to get dried out. We emptied the tent, hung up our sleeping bags and soaked clothes, and did our best to get warm. We were determined not to let it ruin our fun. A fire was still impossible with everything soddened (we tried), but the temperature was rising, being July, and things would dry eventually. The tent stunk after having six wet teens in it all night, so we opened all the flaps to let it air out and dry and decided to sleep under the stars that night. We set a ring of stones and began to collect firewood. By lunch, we were able to get a flame to take.

As mentioned above, we had planned hamburgers for night one, but the rain killed that plan. We had enough snacks to get us by, but we were starving by lunch. When we opened the cooler, the raw meat had turned brown. None of us had seen this before. We stood around the open Igloo, discussing our options. Ultimately, we came to the consensus that it had gone bad. I know now that it had just oxidized and was probably fine, but hugging a tree while in the ravages of salmonella poisoning wasn’t in our best interest. We ultimately decided to toss it in the fire. What a sad moment that was for six hungry teenage boys- the aroma of sizzling meat just about killed us. Yes, the hot dogs had been frozen (the steaks, too) and were good enough to fill the hole, but I’m sure those burgers would have been much better. At least we had the steaks to look forward to. We cut some sticks, toasted our dogs, and then continued cutting wood.

You might be asking, why did we need so much wood? None of us had ever camped out under the stars around a campfire for an entire night, so we had no idea how much wood we would need. We knew we didn’t want to drudge through the woods at midnight to get more, so we cut down trees to give us enough. By dinner time, we had a week’s worth and built up an equivalent appetite. It was time for what we had drooled over all day.

We opened the Igloo like a treasure chest- there sat six steaks and a bottle of garlic teriyaki as the only accouterment- no fixings or side dishes, just wonderful red meat to feed the cavemen that we were. The fire had burned since noon, and the coals were perfect for searing flesh. We were about to face the night without a tent, so we needed energy. We didn’t think about how to cook the steaks and only had a little metal grate that could fit one at a time, but it would have to suffice. The smell was terrific- mouthwatering doesn’t do it justice. We drew straws for the first steak. My friend Erik won. We had no utensils, so he grabbed the dripping meat and sunk his teeth in, “F*** yeah!” were his first words. From that day forward, we would refer to that meal as the f*** yeah steak. It was the best steak I ever had, before or since.

The sun dipped low, and we pulled our dried sleeping bags down from the line. We gathered our brotherhood of the ring around the campfire and prepared for the night. In our minds, camping out under the stars seemed like a real test of bravery, but sleeping in a tent is much worse. You can’t see or hear properly, and every scuff sets your imagination wild. Yes, you feel a bit exposed, but you have the fire to keep away most of the beasts. Mosquitos are a problem, but they aren’t too bad in early July. The smoke of the fire helps, too. We would bring citronella candles on future trips, and there’s a whole story around that for next time.

Soon, we were getting up and walking around- taking trips to the ledge to see how the valley faired at night. We watched a train go by, its horn echoing around the hills and its light cutting a long beam through the dark woods below. The stars were out, and the moon bright. Even though we had various weapons close at hand just in case, we didn’t have any visitors and slept quite soundly. Yes, we slept this time, though the day of chopping wood probably helped with that.

Morning in the woods is early. Birds welcome the sun at about 3 or 4 AM. and they do so with gusto. We had breakfast (I don’t remember what), packed up, and did some usual exploring before heading down the mountain. Camping trip number three had a rocky start, but it was ultimately a success. We had survived and learned we didn’t need to bring a tent in the future (weather permitting). We sparked a fire without any significant incident other than a burn or two and wouldn’t dare camp without one. Warm food was welcomed, though we would never recapture the magic of the f*** yeah steak.

We began to scheme our next adventure as soon as this one ended. We would be entering our junior year and starting to get bold- or stupid, depending on how you look at it. We had opened Pandora’s box with the campfire. It was time to get serious with these tests of manhood, but more about that next time.

Cheers!