It’s hard to believe but I went camping. Again.
This photo was taken in the summer up at Alice Lake in Squamish, about 2009, before OLM entered the picture. Before I craved sleep more than I craved chocolate and beer. And although I am apparently having fun in the photo it was brief interlude.
This camping trip does bring back good memories however. The fifteen minutes or so when we were dancing around the campfire singing ‘I want to be a cowboy’ was pretty awesome.
I was the only one who knew all the lyrics which made me feel special. And, it reckons me back to my 19th birthday when I requested that song at a club. Good times. That was about it.
The worst memory I have of this weekend was when my dog attacked my friend for no reason other than it was obvious he didn’t like dogs. But that’s no way to treat a friend. So Jack, the dog, slept in the car that night and the next. Not fun at all.
I hate camping.
I’ve done enough camping in my life to say that with authority.
I’ve camped many times over the years. The most memorable experience was when I hiked the Northern Japanese Alps, with everything I needed, including water in my fifty pound pack for four, tortuously long days.
I cried a lot on that journey.
And, I drank whiskey when available from a very friendly Japanese man. I should have brought some with me. I (tried to) sleep at nearly 10,000 feet above sea level with Mt. Fuji in plain view. We had a two person tent that was big enough for one of us. I drank from a creek at the end and probably contracted some strange digestive bug.
Did I mention I cried a lot?
What did I learn?
I learned that it’s best to translate the map you’re using before you venture out. Then you’ll know that there might be a chalet at the top of your first ten-hour hike, which has a full restaurant, beer on tap and of course, lots of water. Or once you were able to decipher the distances on said map you would know that it’s probably best to cut the journey really short. By not going at all.
When we reached ‘the finish line’ I have to admit that I was proud that I made it through. I cried then too. And the feel of the cold creek water on my battered feet was heavenly. That was another cry baby moment.
But, I don’t need to do something so stupid again to test my mettle. I’m ok with the fact that I am a pussy when it comes to camping.
I like my bed too much to care.
Do you like camping? What makes you cry?