The Joys of Camping

Yep, with the weather getting warmer and Spring on the way, my thoughts have, once again, turned to those forlorn memories of camping in the Olympic mountains. And then I shutter, and realize how great life is now.

I suppose I once enjoyed camping because it was all I knew. Sure, I trekked into Seattle once in awhile to rendezvous with a girlfriend or visit Seattle Center, but most of my earlier family memories revolve around camping at some lake, sleeping in a tent, or under the stars. Oh, those bygone days of waking up in a freezing wet sleeping bag and running barefoot through muddy rocky dirt to find an appropriate bush to seek relief from my over-stressed bladder. Good times.

The mornings were often filled with discoveries of new life forms cohabitating with me in my sleeping bag, melted sneakers found too close to the fire pit, and the mushy feeling between my toes derived from stepping on marshmallows dropped the night before.

Yes, I remember days spent wearing nothing but shorts, walking gingerly over rocky soil (because my sneakers were burned in the campfire) my body exuding some odoriferous mix of sunscreen and bug spray by day's end.

And those nights around the campfire, faces barely lit, and dancing among the shadows in a horrific display of familial torment. Men laughing, and farting, and pointing there asses toward the fire; women displaying increasing levels of disgust on their faces as the men carried on, laughing, farting, and drinking beer after beer from cheap aluminum cans.

Yeah, and all that was the good part. The bad part was waiting to use the one stinky undersized bathroom in the tiny cheap trailer, or just walking off into the woods with a shovel and a roll of toilet paper hoping to find a quiet place to do my business as everyone in the camp watched me go.

Yep, good times. That's why I no longer like to go camping. As I get older, I prefer a solid structure over a tent or trailer. Preferably someplace with an unlimited supply of hot water for my morning shower and a screened porch behind which, I can watch the campfire bug-free, without fear of someones ass spontaneously igniting as they bend backwards into the fire and let it rip.

The fishing was nice though.


  1. Some well painted pictures in this post. Mountain memories are best remembered from inside as we age. Still with a beer though.

  2. The JOYS of camping? Is there such a thing?


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