Even I felt like a polar bear on Saturday night, except polar bears have thick layers of fat to keep them warm. That's right, November camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains. What the crap was I thinking. My premise for this adventure was to revisit old memories, or make new ones...But let me start at the beginning. I caught the camping bug a couple of days ago. I went to Wal-Mart and bought knives, a toque, and some fishing gear. None of which I would need. Anyway, I wanted to go fishing and camping really bad. Don't ask me why, I just had the desire.
I knew that I needed someone to go with because I wasn't about to venture into redneck-infested woods by myself. If you've ever seen "The Deliverance" you'll understand my thinking. So, I asked a good friend of mine, whom I will not name because he is probably plotting my murder right now, to go brave the woods.
I even picked a place that was recommended for good trout fishing. My plan was to drive up there, set up camp and catch dinner (I brought cans of beans just in case). So, off we drove, with new camping gear in tow, and ready to have an adventure.
I found the road that we needed and I took a perilous right hand turn that would test my iron will. It was a dirt road and there were small, dilapidated houses on either side of us. The best part was that the road continuously got narrower and narrower. Then it happened... our first encounter with the rednecks. They were in front of their house skinning a dead deer, with the whole family outside. I think little Suzy was carrying a bigger knife than I had, and she was the one hacking away at poor Bambi.
They waved. I waved back and kept driving. I didn't want to say anything at this point because I knew that there was no way we could set up camp in this neck of the woods. Suzy would have tracked us down and ended our adventure. So, I kept driving until I came to a spot in the road where the river flowed right over top.
"I think it's too deep," I said.
Agreeing, my friend said those words that are still ringing in my head. "Yep. We'll have to head back."
I agreed silently and turned the truck around to face that hillbilly family again. When we passed them this time they all looked at us. It was kind of like a scene from a scary movie. That slow motion, music playing moment, where the dryness of your pants is tested. Yep, that happens in real life too. Without thinking I dropped my truck into second and lit that place up. I dared to look in the rear-view and saw something that haunts me to this day (even though it happened yesterday). Little Johnny, as I will call him, pointed at me and mouthed the words "I will get you." I almost passed out.
On to plan B. My friend, with shaky words, communicated that he knew of a campsite that we could utilize. It was in a National Forest and there weren't people around. I should have taken the hillbilly death threat as a sign to go home to the warmth of Forestbrook apartments and to the comfort of a real bed. However, my masculine pride has the strength, and cold determination of little Suzy's 3" blade that she used to skin Bambi.
So, we drove through some beautiful scenery that served to calm out nerves. I was once again excited by the time we reached our campsite. This I could handle. Our home for the night lay nestled in the woods beside a small mountain stream.
By this time, however, darkness was looming. SO, we decided to set up camp. I put the tent up, and my friend went in search of some firewood. I should have mentioned previously that due to rainy conditions the past days, there was no dry firewood. That wouldn't stop us, as we reverted to primal instincts, or displays of manly strength. In other words, we started a competition of who could fell the largest tree in attempts to produce firewood for our survival.
I lost. But, it's okay because I was just glad we had a little bit of dry wood for the fire. So, I built and lit the fire. It started well, and had the signs of making a roaring beast.
Ten minutes later it was reduced to a flickering, minute, flame. So, we threw some bark on the fire to make us fell better. Ten minutes later it was again flickering and threatening to go out. We finally managed to strengthen it again by fanning it with all our strength. My arms are even sore as I write.
Ten minutes later it was smouldering ashes. I admitted defeat and said that I was climbing into my sleeping bag. This, unfortunately, was the start of a very unpleasant night. My friend got in his sleeping bag and we chatted for a little while, reminiscing on successful camping trips with our Dad's and finally drifted off to sleep.
Only to awaken in the middle of the night, scared to death because we couldn't feel our faces, hands, or feet. To top it off, I had to make use of nature's outhouse. However, as I tested the air by exhaling, I decided to utilize whatever warmth I still had in my sleeping bag and keep it in the sleeping bag.
My sleeping bag was rated to 40 degrees and his was about the same. We needed an extra twenty degrees on that rating to make us a little bit comfortable. I prayed that we would see the light of day in the morning. I think he prayed that I would die so he could take my keys and drive home.
Amazingly, after tossing and turning all night, we woke up alive the next morning. We got up, stepped outside and ran to my truck. I started it, blasted the heat and started thinking about what happened. Before I got to far into my thoughts I interrupted myself and made an analytical judgement. We need to pack up and find breakfast somewhere. Sometimes I surprise myself with the efficiency of my thoughts.
So, that's what we did. Hastily, we threw everything in the tent, took the poles out and carried it all to the truck. There was no need to put the fire out because early in the night it died anyway. Soon, we found Hardees and ate like mountain men experiencing a new delicatessen.
So, when all is a said and done, I have a new appreciation for warmth, friends, and fire. Be warned; never accept a proposal from a Canadian to go camping in November.
