How to pack for a camping trip.

The Wayback Machine.

Camping has been part of my life since I was 14 years old or so. Jerry and I got our start right around then. Our First camping trip was in a little patch of woods on his neighbor’s property. It was fairly close to some power lines and I think the exposure to the Electro Magnetic energy coming off those suckers altered our brain in some way, because I’ve been crazy about camping ever since. That and the woods were infested with flying baked beans. But that’s a story for another time.



Soon we began to invite my cousin Paul. Paul also had a great place for camping. His family had right around 160 acres we would camp on. They had a nice lake complete with island. Many summer nights were spent under the stars between Jerry and Paul’s places. Before it was all over we would sometimes have 7 or 8 guys out there having a good time. Then we graduated to Mountain camping.



Our first trip to the mountains happened in the summer of 1988. Jerry had joined the Navy after school and this was our good bye trip. Due to an unfortunate domestic dispute Paul was unable to attend. We went up and had a great time in what is now our “back up site”. That summer Jerry went and learned everything there is to know about submarines and I met Pete.



Pete had bumped paths with us throughout high school but we didn’t become friends until after school. We met Kevin soon as well, and before you knew it we were all camping down at Paul’s place.



Soon Paul joined the Navy, and Pete the Marines. Kevin went to school. I went to work. Kevin, Carl and I made a few trips to the mountains and made some memories that will last a life time or at least until I have one to many beers. One of these trips we learned that you should never let Carl provide the meat. He brought up some 3 year old deer meat that messed up everyone in camp. We only had 1 tent and it was pretty bad in there by the end of the trip.



In the late summer of 1994 Jerry got out of the Navy. We began to camp again. We would go down to his dad’s place a cut down 3 or 4 trees. Drag them up to the fire pit we’d built. It was lined with concrete slabs that had once been a sidewalk. There we would strip the limbs from the trees, cut the trunks into 4 or 5 foot lengths and stack tem neatly to the side. A few weeks later we would all get together on a Friday night and spend the evening drinking beer and burning trees. It was good times.



The following year Pete got out of the Marines. We all made a bee line for the hills. It was Carl, Doug, Jerry, Kevin, Pete, and I on that trip. On this trip Pete invented the Death March. For the uninformed a Death March involves lots of beer and lots of walking. Usually up hill in the woods.



On the trips that followed we made more Death Marches and had some great times. By 1997 most of us had settled down and gotten married. Those of us who didn’t have kids yet were well on their way to doing so. But at least once a year we made it camping.



It was one of these trips my dad came up to visit. We had started a pot of Death Chili. and before we knew it was time for another death march. We started up the hill. Dad stayed behind a stirred the pot while Jerry took a nap. (He was Hammered) Pete Kevin and I started up the mountain. We had made it about 25 feet from the road and 100 feet up and we looked down. Jerry had woken up and was staggering around the fire. Dad was standing behind him with a hand ready to grab his belt if he should happen to fall in. Soon after, Dad began to accompany us on our trips. I guess he wanted to keep us from becoming dead, or worse.



Then in November of 2005 Paul, was stationed relatively near by and was able to make a trip up. On this trip we got our Name, the Legion of Doom. It all started innocently enough. Carl, Jerry, Kevin, Paul, Pete, and I all made it up from our group. Dad had invited the rest of The Professionals. The Professionals are Dads camping buddies. They are named that because the have a very elaborate camping set up with tons of cool camping gear.



Dad made us all stand together for a group picture since this was the first, and to date only time all of us were there together. He took a look at the shot, smiled and said It’s the Legion of Doom, later that night we would confirm his statement.



We brought along a keg of beer and by Saturday it was a bit on the empty side. So Kevin and I headed to Wal-Mart to buy some back up. When we returned Jerry, Pete, Carl and Paul were all playing Drunk Shoes. It appeared to be working pretty well as Paul was quite plastered. Kevin and I quickly worked to catch up but try as we might, we could not pass Paul.



With the Drunk Shoes game over and Paul on the verge of a purge, we headed down to the creek. There is a nice sized pool at the end of the campsite. When there is lots of water it may be waist high at it’s deepest point. We all hopped in and were mostly shocked into sobriety by the 50 degree water. But Paul had been throwing more creekers than ringers and was in need of some more self induced hypothermia to clear his head.



So we stomped the creek. I think he may have made 4 trips up and down the creek. When he got done his lips were blue but his head was clear.



We had a nice dinner of beer and BBQ pork with a side of beer. By the time our bellies were full and our brains were beginning to buzz the sun had called it a day and severe case of “dark” had broke out. It was now time to get the fire back to something I was not ashamed of.



Our fires never really go out anymore. We camp in the spring. When we return in the fall it just takes a little coaxing to get it going again. Evidently our fires have melted the crust of the earth down into the mantel to form a reverse volcano. When we camp it comes back to life and some small Asian island nation has another national catastrophe. Yin and Yang. When we leave it goes dormant a bit they rebuild their huts and 6 months later we all repeat. But it never really dies. It works out pretty well on our end.



Our fire had died down a bit. It was taking 3 minutes to melt a beer can which is completely unacceptable, so I set about to stoke it back up. Just for the record a can should never land in a fire intact. They should actually splatter when they hit wood. As they have melted in mid air. Preferably they should vaporize on the way in, to form a hard dull gray finish on the nearby trees that is bug resistant.



Once I was satisfied with the fire I placed a sheet of plywood standing on edge on the side of the fire. I decided to hack a few eye holes in it. Next came a nose and a jagged mouth. All this time someone was encouraging me onward, I’m pretty sure it was my dad but I could be mistaken. The first Drunk-O-Lantern was born.



It had flames licking out all its orifices but it could still be better. So I grabbed a full, 1 pound propane tank and slipped it behind the ply wood. I was hoping the safety valve would be pointing out the mouth or nose and it would breathe a 15 foot long jet of blue-yellow flame.



It was turned the wrong way and the flame did not make it out the mouth, right then. I looked around and noticed that everyone was now hiding behind trees and trucks. Every one that is, except Jerry and me. So being a prudent young man I hid behind someone hiding behind a truck. We told Jerry to move but he replied “Seen this before, ain’t nothing to worry ‘bout.” In fact he had seen it several times and each time it was equally disappointing. But tonight, he was in for a treat.



Dad snapped a picture of the Drunk-O-Lantern and a few seconds later the safety valve said “The hell with this!” there was a very loud boom, complete with shock wave. Our fire was blown out and a churning 30 foot tall mushroom cloud of burning propane and ash was reaching skyward.



Jerry calmly got up and left. I think Dad said for the 3 millionth time “My God I’ve spawned an idiot!” and everyone checked themselves to make sure they were still intact. After we verified that our “boys” were still where they belonged and that in fact, our pants were, not full of poo, we began to dodge the hunks of fire wood that were raining down upon us. If you had looked up it would have reminded you of the closing credits from the “Buck Rogers” series in the early 80’s. We stomped those little suckers to death and the bigger pieces we put back into the now dark fire pit. Next we heard a tinny “clank” as the remnants of the propane cylinder returned to terra firma.



It took minimal coaxing to get the fire back in shape. The Drunk-O-Lantern was shot though. Where the face once was there was now a 3 foot wide hole. And I vowed never to drop a full, 1 pound, green, Ozark Trail, short squat, propane tank in a fire again.



We’ve been the Legion of Doom ever since, and we have the T-Shirts to prove it. Our Ranks have grown to include The Professionals. This works out pretty well, since they seem to have more sense than we do. And they can cook very well. They cook the grub and we don’t blow any one or anything up and provide comic relief. They also stop us from doing anything completely stupid like driving our trucks through the creek or Running Ranger Dan off the mountain. It work’s out pretty good.



So, this fall we’re about to gather to indulge in some more cold beverages, great food, and low brow humor. And just maybe a few stupid campfire tricks for old times sake.



I do have some full 1 pound Coleman propane tanks and some tall skinny blue ones laying around…Hmm

Legion of Doom…for Beginners.

If this is your first trip with the LOD or you’re just a little confused as to what some of the things are, here is a short explanation of some of the more common things you will hear.



Drunk Shoes: A game similar to Horse Shoes with drinking penalties.


Holy Cow! Look At The Size Of That Moose: A name given to the 5 gallons of Long Island Ice Tea we mix when the keg runs dry.


The Professionals: An early name for Bob, Greg, Joe and Teddy. Given to them for their elaborate camping set up and cool camping toys.


The Beast: The name of a Blue 1987 Dodge Ramcharger that attempted to kill the owner and innocent bystanders on several occasions


Draxelflaffle: A word invented by Kevin. Loosely translated it means “Hold on a second, I’m puking.”

Fargelsnargel: A word invented by Pete in response to Draxelflaffle. Loosely translated it means "WTF did you say? Well two can play that game Skippy. So There!"


Naval Warfare: An adult beverage comprised mainly of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum and Admiral Nelson Coconut Rum with a little Coke added for color. Drinking this could lead to shooting at the dark with an old SKS.


Cooler of Cirrhosis: A short lived new name for the 5 gallons of Long Island Iced Tea we plan to make on the Fall of ’09 trip. It quickly became unpopular after Carl referred to it as “COC”.


Duct tape: A strong adhesive tape used to trap people in state maintained outhouses. Also used to restrain f***tards to trees.


Ranger Dan: Refers to any Georgia Conservation Ranger with repressed homosexual tendencies. They are easily spotted by their complete lack of a sense of humor, their deep abiding love of trees, and a chronic case of Assholeism. To be avoided at all costs. The best defense against them is sarcasm, as they cannot comprehend it. They become confused, mumble and walk away.


Ol’ Moley: A woman who works at the local bait shop. Named for the huge mole on her face, she is a master of stating the obvious.


Sambuca: Pronounced SAAAAM BOOOO CAAAA! It is an adult beverage that will make the laws of physics obsolete. Drinking it causes the gravity within a 20 yard radius to become completely unstable. Gravity becomes weaker and stronger in areas causing those who imbibe in it to fall to the ground at random. Sober people can be affected by this so give anyone partaking of it a wide berth.


Jobu: The little idol Pedro Cerrano worshiped in the movie “Major League”. Also the one we blame for all bad weather, acts of random drunkenness, and general mayhem in the mountains. Jobu is a prick and campers need to remind him of this as often as possible.


Jimmy Buffett: the official Bard of the Legion of Doom.


The Four Horsemen: Bobby, Jerry, Kevin, and Pete. When these four gather apocalyptic events are sure to follow.


Unspoken guidelines of the Legion of Doom.



The following are a few common sense type things that should go without saying.



Never run out of beer.


Don’t piss off the old guys.


Please refrain from throwing propane cylinders in the fire.


Drink all your beer once you open it. To only drink half is disrespectful to the craftsmen who worked so hard to brew your frosty refreshment.


The Jimmy Buffett cover of the Grateful Dead’s song Uncle John’s Band is far superior to any others that may currently be recorded or could be recorded in the future. This is not open to debate...ever.


Assholes are not tolerated in camp.


When running from a bear, remember you only have to run faster than the slowest person. If you are the slowest, I hear playing dead works. Good luck with that.


Never invite hippies into camp. They will crap in the trail.


Always bring rain gear.


If after drinking 2 cases of beer, something seems like a good idea…it probably is not.


Don’t spit into the wind.


Don’t step on Superman’s cape.


Don’t mess around with Jim.

75 Ways To Bite The Big One With The LOD

We seem to tempt fate every time we go camping. One of these days we’re going to be taken out in one of the following ways.



1. Raped by a bear while on a Death March to the waterfall.
2. Pulling a “Bon Scott” after 18 rounds of “Holy Cow! Look At The Size Of That Moose!”
3. Taken out by a Drunken Idiot’s 9mm while said Idiot is trying to remove clip.
4. Run Over by fellow camper while playing “Hide And Go Pass Out”
5. Set ablaze by a “Camp Fire Gone Bad”.
6. Innards dissolved by “Chili From Hell.”
7. Shot while trying to escape “Tree Molestation” charges from Ranger Dan.
8. Liver Liquefaction.
9. Broken Neck from “Creek Pool Diving.”
10. Stoned to death by college kids with a dead battery.
11. Freak “Air Mandolin” accident.
12. Crushed Skull while riding back from school bus on mountain bikes without helmets.
13. Inhaling new airborne strain of E. coli bacteria released by a burning poo bag.
14. Shooting off the mountain in a jeep during “Mr. P.C.’s Wild Ride”
15. Starvation while duct taped in a crapper.
16. Eaten alive by moles while sleeping.
17. Impaled by exploding mauls.
18. Frozen Paintball Enema.
19. Being the person who administered the Frozen Paintball Enema.
20. Not paying the person who administered the Frozen Paintball Enema.
21. Crushed while trying to unstick “The Beast”
22. Meat Poisoning.
23. Sepsis from Ruptured Stomach.
24. Quoting lines from “The Sound of Music.”
25. Killed by shrapnel from exploding universal joints.
26. “Hey Y’all Look at This!”
27. When Propane Is Not Your Friend.
28. Made into BBQ by “Ol’ Moley” behind the bait shop.
29. Annoyed to death by Freaky Neighbor Camper who was attacked by hornets while cutting firewood because he was not aware of his surroundings and felt like he needed to tell everyone within 8 miles of him of his terrible experience. (Intentionally a run on sentence. Should be followed by ...and one time...at band camp...)
30. Being a friend of the guy who cleared the Walnut Fork Campsite and made the “new” road to school bus.
31. Duct taped to tree and covered in raw bacon after sweeping Legionnaires with pistol while drunk. Aka…Bear Bait Stupidity Cure.
32. Fried biscuits cause your arteries to harden so quickly you look Pompeian.
33. While never proven, we’re pretty sure a hangover can be fatal. We’ve been close several times collectively.
34. Banged in the head by a canopy “falling the f*** off.”
35. Falling in the fire while exhaling.
36. Brained by a creeker.
37. Death by I.E.D.
38. Death while trying to I. an E.D.
39. Exploding Anal Vapors or Chili Induced Rapid Deceleration. (He survived the explosion, only to be impaled by a conifer upon reentry…)
40. Pissing Off the Old Guys.
41. Hitting it with a shovel – like a man.
42. Drunken chain sawin’ / fire wood scrounging.
43. Turtles turn out to be vicious, mean drunks.
44. Sudden Sobriety Syndrome (caused by running out of beer while right smack dab in the middle of a very good drunk.)
45. It rains so hard you just f****n’ die.
46. Suffocation in a tent caused by the depletion of oxygen from farts caused by rancid deer meat.
47. Being a Mormon.
48. Protective father slaughters several male progeny over a practical joke gone bad. I.e.: Q: Luke, what are the kids doin’ in the camper? A: They’re all layin’ naked under a blanket…
49. Spud gun misadventure.
50. You suddenly become so intelligent during a practical application of Cliff Clavin’s ‘Buffalo Theory’ that you spontaneously evolve into a higher life form.
51. Replacing “Ron White” with a “Dane Cook” CD.
52. Deliberately throwing Creekers.
53. Inviting Brokeback Mountain extras into camp.
54. Death by Hot Damn 100 Proof.
55. Drunk shoes rules gone bad (death by pushups, impaled while spinning around the stob, etc…)
56. Ex-Marine camper finally snaps during a Sambuca fueled flashback.
57. Sudden reversal of the Earth’s magnetic field causes all 43 of the razor sharp knives you have attached to your body to suddenly turn inward.
58. Draxlflaffled to death.
59. B.A.C. of 1.0 (a perfect score!)
60. Bacon Grease Camp Fire Flambé.
61. Hari-kari committed as the first notes of Dueling Banjo’s fills the air.
62. Shot by ricochet from drunken idiot attacking the dark with a Russian assault rifle.
63. Shipwrecked during “Naval Warfare.”
64. Cardiac arrest induced by Rubber Snake in Cooler.
65. Extolling the virtues of Opera in camp.
66. Calling the “Cooler of Cirrhosis” by the abbreviation “COC.”
67. Choking to death on your own tongue while snoring after a night of celebration.
68. Smothered to death by fellow camper while snoring after a night of celebration.
69. Mauled to death by a bear while attempting to ride it into town.
70. Frozen to death during freak blizzard.
71. Bitten on the bum by an extremely rare and venomous spider that only lives inside of state maintained outhouses.
72. Chugging a “Pepper Beer.”
73. Giving a Fellow camper a “Pepper Beer”
74. Impaled by flying driveshaft while following “The Beast” up Highway 441.
75. Struck dead by lightning after waving extended middle fingers in the air and yelling “F*** YOU JOBU!”

Until Next Time.

Here he sits, looking out his lone window onto a green tinted parking lot. The memories of another lost weekend slowly fading in his head. And the reality of his dreary, daily grind setting in, closing around him like a vice.

“We are not our names.”

Images flitter past like late afternoon sunlight though the trees on a country road. The feel and smell of rain, and heavy smoke filled air. The tastes of great food and cold beer still linger on his tongue. The solidarity of fellowship with his friends and family still warms his heart. It all helps to soothe the raw nerves of the daily existence.

“We are not our problems.”

The sounds of laughter and merriment still resonate in his head. The clang as a horseshoe collides with a pin as yet another rule is made. The dull thud and sharp crack as maul meets wood to undo what nature has brought together still split the deafening silence. As he searches for a meaning to what he does each day.

“We are not our age.”

The sensation of water closing in around his nylon clad legs, as he creeps deeper into a rain swollen creek. Anticipating with quickened breath, the “tap…tap” at the end of the line as a fish takes the bait. The joy of pulling a slippery writhing trout from a cold pool as the relentless spring rain falls around him. It’s all an escape from everything, and yet nothing.

“We are not our hopes.”

Soon they will all be distant echoes of yet another weekend in the mountains. And when the smoke has cleared and the sounds fade into his subconscious he will bring them to life once again. On another weekend, on another mountain he and his brothers will once again shine like the sun.

“Sometimes it’s not enough to be numbered with the grains of sand on the beach and the stars in the sky.”

Drunkshoes: A Primer.

Drunkshoes is a time honored LOD camping tradition. For those of you who are not familiar with the concept it's like Horseshoes and Quarters all rolled into one huge mess.

Teams of two men assemble on the field of battle. Beers in one hand and Horseshoes in the other. They taunt each other and scrape their feet like bulls getting ready to charge.

Once the bravado is at it's highest they fling a shoe at an iron stake sticking out of the ground. The closest shoe gets a point. But if you happen to land outside the box your team has to take a drink.

If for some reason the shoe goes two paces past the box in any direction the team has to chug one beer each. Once the beer is chugged play resumes.

In the event someone rings the stake they get 3 points and the person who threw it gets to make a rule. The rules stay in effect the entire duration of play. That's when the fun really begins.

After an extremely good round or 18 or Drunkshoes a player may feel the urge to cool down. This calls for a Creek Stomp. It is usually preceded by a head first dive into a shallow pool. During the Creek Stomp a player may fall, stumble, and or bust his ass. Turning blue is usually a side effect of the Creek Stomp. The water is around 50 degrees.

Following the Creek Stomp it is customary to eat an extremely good dinner and then chunk a propane cylinder in the nearest campfire for grins.

LOD Spring Freak Out 2009

Well it's time. Time for the annual pilgrimage to the hills. Looks like it is going to be a wet trip. So I think we need to mix things up a bit. Here's a few ideas.

Chug For The Title. This is a timed beer chug each morning. The Winner is referred to as "Lord Faggotor: King of Uranus" all day. The loser, will be referred to as "Beer Bitch" and gets to swim to the keg and refill every one's beer all day.

Chain Saw Juggling. We've all seen it done. But how drunk do you need to be to try it? A brave soul would supply the answer.

Horse Skeet. Think Drunkshoes with a twist. We all know the basic rules for Drunkshoes. Out of the box is a team drink. 2 paces outside the box is a creeker,and therefor, a team chug. I suggest the non throwing team member on each side, try to shoot the horseshoe mid flight with a paint ball gun. The receiving team cannot leave the two pace ring or it will result in a DQ. If you get hit by an errant paintball you may return fire during your throwing turn. Should be lots of fun and could also result in a new combat sport.

Game Warden Dunking*. The object of the game is to lure a Game Warden to the creek and give him a good dunking. Which would lead to the next game.

Escape And Evade*. This game involves running like hell through the woods from an angry, wet, and armed Game Warden. The object of this game is to not go to jail for dunking a Game Warden. Play at your own risk.

Fall On Your Ass. This is a new game we played last fall. It involves doing shots until you fall down laughing your butt off. Lots of fun. I think last time we had a three way tie for first place between Jerry, Pete, and Kevin. You get extra points for destroying your own camping equipment in the process. Points are deducted for trashing a fellow campers equipment, so be careful.

Hide And Go Pass Out. The title says it all. The question is, Will Jerry remain Grand Champion? Or will he pass the title? We'll find out Thursday!


*Extra points for Ranger Dan.

Jobu Tried To Kill Me.

One bright and lovely spring weekend The Legion Of Doom had convened on the hill for our usual merriment. It was a wonderful trip. With one exception. Jobu tried to kill me.

We camped in the bend in the road campsite. It is a nice site. It has a few good things going for it. It's very secluded. You cannot see it from the road. It has a nice fire ring. It's in a nice peaceful little valley with a creek on one side. It's really quite nice. About the only drawback is there is not a flat piece of ground to be found to place your tent on. You just need to make sure you sleep with your head pointing up hill. No biggie.

Being spring I was miserable. If it is a plant, I'm allergic to it. I think spring is a pretty time of year, but I can do without all the pollen nonsense. I've come up with a list of over the counter allergy medication that when ground with a mortar and pestle, and then snorted up each nostril seems to help. I've also discovered that when camping in the spring I should drink large quantities of beer. This helps me forget how utterly miserable I am.

We made it through Friday night and all day Saturday without getting ourselves harmed in any serious manner. The camping trip was shaping up nicely. Saturday night rolled around and we began to drink seriously. (We really hate to bring home lots of beer.) It was a beautiful night the was not a cloud in the sky.

One beer lead to another and pretty soon we decided to chunk one in the fire. This was before we began to make huge fires so the bottle had time to get good and hot before it exploded. It went off with a thunderous BOOM. It was pretty cool so we stoked the fire back up and did it again.

This time the bottle did not explode. Instead the beer inside began to boil. You could see the bubbles rolling through the brown bottle. It then began to hiss. Then it began to shake. The shaking worried us a bit. It really need to be relived of some of its pressure. So...we threw rocks at it.

The problem with throwing rocks when you have been drinking is your aim. Its hard to aim at something that keeps moving back and forth. I decided that I needed to aim somewhere in the middle. I did hit it a few times but with not sufficient force to break it. Now we were begging to panic. The bottle was starting to jump around the fire pit. Something had to be done!

Just when we were getting ready to duck as the possessed beer from hell was beginning to fly about camp, some one yelled "Hit it with a shovel!" Ordinarily this would not be a big problems. Most shovels have a 5 foot long handle. Our shovel was an E-Tool. If you don't know what and E-Tool is its a folding shovel about 2 feet long that our government uses to torture our Armed Forces.

Being the drunkest in the bunch and thereby the most bullet proof I snatched up the E-Tool and began to battle with the flying beer bottle. I began to swat at it with all my might. I wounded it and The demon settled back into the fire pit. I then began to whack it with all I had. From behind me I heard my "Friends" yelling "Hit it like a Man!!" I turned to look at them and all I saw was three heads poking out from behind a large white pine. I thought "What a bunch of cowards!" and smacked it one last time.

I remember admiring the mushroom cloud as I was flying backwards carried by the shock wave. If you have never surfed a shock wave I highly recommend it. I recall looking down on Jerry , Kevin, and Pete as they hid behind the tree. The puzzled looks on their faces was priceless as they tried to figure out where I had gone. Before I lost sight of the campfire I saw what I thought was two eyes and an evil grin forming in the mushroom cloud...It was the face of Jobu. He was laughing.

The next morning I woke up in the creek. The water was rather cold but the crayfish that were picking the glass from my clothes gave me some warmth. I walked the two miles back to camp.

When I got there I noticed a silhouette of my body on the tree that was behind me during the "smacking." It was the only bit that did not have glass embedded in the bark. The ground around the fire ring was stripped bare. It looked as if someone had pressure washed it. And the rocks that made up the fire ring looked to have been sandblasted.

I did recover from my injuries. There is still a piece of glass embedded in my scalp and my right hand still twitches every now and then. And when ever I hear "Hit it like a Man" I flinch and have the sensation of flight but I can live with it. Jobu didn't succeed in killing me this trip or the few dozen that followed it. But he still tries.

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday Dad! I hope it is a good one.

Jobu, The Moldy.

Jobu...he's a prick. He is who we blame for all the bad stuff that happens when camping. As long as you feed him and give him a little beer or rum he is OK. Ignore him and he gets rowdy. Jobu has may tricks at his disposal. This is a tale of one of them.

We had evidently grown complacent in out treatment of Jobu, so he tried to drown us. We arrived to a beautiful October day. First camping ritual is to drink a beer when you arrive to your site of choice. This usually helps to ease the pain of setup. After a beer or two we set up camp.

When it comes to tent placement, you want to choose where you set your tent carefully. Flat open areas are usually ideal. Close to the fire is also another choice. Me, I like high and flat. Next, is your dining canopy. You want to put that close to the main gathering area which will be your fire pit. We had our camp site set up.

There were six of us on this trip, Jerry, Kevin, Pete, Carl, Doug and myself. We had a great time that Friday night. The details of which seem to escape my memories. But I'm very certain we had a good time by the painful reminder I had Saturday morning.

Saturday dawned cold and gray. We cooked breakfast and washed it down with a healthy portion of Miller Lite. We went down to Apple Valley and hiked down to the big waterfall. A drunken stagger to the waterfall has become a rite of passage in the LOD. It has affectionately become known as a "Death March." Good times as long as you don't bust your ass or more importantly spill your beer. As we made the journey back it started to sprinkle.

We arrived back at camp to a nice light but steady rain. We arranged coolers and all gathered as close to the center of the dining canopy as we possibly could. This was hampered a bit by the huge ancient spool that used to reside at out campsite. We had chosen to use it as a table and had placed it in the center of our old blue Wal-Mart canopy. We would later regret using this as a center support. The rain continued to come down. We heard thunder off in the distance but looking back I think it was Jobu laughing at what was to come.

As the rain came down we drank. Some of us took naps in between beers. I made spitballs from a news paper that someone brought up and fired them from the spud gun. Later as the rain continued to come down we learned that our center pole arrangement for the dining canopy encouraged the formation of pools of water at the dining canopy's corners. I discovered that if you gently nudged the corner pole when someone is walking under it it would dump 2 gallons of cold wather right on their unsuspecting heads. This kept me amused for hours.

The steady rain was taking a toll on our fire. At this point in our camping careers, we had yet to make a really huge fire. In an effort to protect our sacred camping flame we made a cover from an old truck fender. The truck parts had been laying there since Jobu struck the vehicle dead back in the early 20's. We arraigned the parts into a crude fireplace. But the rain was too steady and the wood to wet to light. So we turned a can of Coleman fuel on its side and put the spout through a crack in the fender. What was left of the fire was enough to warm the fuel and create a small gas flame to give us some heat.

The rain kept coming. Day turned to night.

We rallied our spirits. Jobu was not going to beat us. Not us! No Sir! We lit up our lanterns and surrounded ourselves in the warm glow and heat of white gas love. As our hats became soaked we dried them on top of the lanterns. If you should ever try this technique one word of advise. Let your cap cool before you put it on. I have a scar on the top of my head from the hot button in the middle.


Eventually we ran out of beer and staggered off to the tents. I discovered I had a leak in my tent. It had formed a small pool at one end. I carefully positioned my air mattress where it would not be under any drips and settled into my sleeping bag for a fitful nights sleep. I had placed my tent on high ground. It turned out that Jobu really didn't like this and he has reminded me of it on just about every camping trip since.

During the night the rain got harder. We woke to a pond were the fire pit had been. Bottles and cans were floating down a small stream that ran though the middle of our camp.

Kevin's tent had made an attempt to stop a newly formed feeder creek to Walnut Fork. He even built a small earthen dam around it. But the during the night the water breached it and came rushing in.

Pete had dreams of white water rafting. He woke up to find himself floating on his air mattress in 8 inches of water.

Doug and Carl did not sleep well either. Due to the placement of their tent and the force of the water running through it an eddie had formed. They spent the night in a swirling mass of unholy wrath.

As we emerged looking like shipwreck victims from out tents Jobu turned the water up from "Soak" to "Holy Hell! Turn off that f*****g fire hose you asshat!"

No one said a word to each other. We just started the trucks and cars and began shoving things in them. Wet tents went in coolers. 400 pound soaked sleeping bags were shoved in trunks. I wadded up the dining canopy and crammed it in the back of the Beast. Camp was broken down in record time. We all said "Bye," waved our extended middle fingers at the clouds, and began our trek home.


As soon as we were about an hour away from camp...the sky cleared. and right there in front of me was a big puffy white cloud that looked like an extended middle finger. Jobu didn't like us to much it seems.

After this trip I bought an new tent. I also bought a huge tarp it was always over my tent from then on. I also vowed never to have a fire drown from rain. And so far none have. We also began setting up our tents on high ground. Now the only thing that goes near the fire pit is the kitchen set up. And a pile of wood that would heat the average sized home through the worst winter ever.

Thanks for the lesson Jobu. You'll have to try better next time. You're still a prick though.

Learn By Doing

25 Things I've learned from camping.

1. A full beer bottle will explode if heated sufficiently.
2. Propane Cylinder + campfire = Bad idea.
3. Rancid dear meat may not kill you, but it will make you wish it did.
4. Hot Dogs should not be eaten consecutively for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
5. Always remove the trailer hitch from your truck before you go "wheelin."
6. Some Game Wardens do not have a sense of humor.
7. Some Game Warden do have a sense of humor.
8. The "poopie seat" location is visible from the road.
9. Assassin Bugs are really ugly.
10. Poo will burn.
11. Brake rotors will not burn in our campfires...yet.
12. Hippy College Kids are wasting their Mom and Dad's money.
13. Immovable objects like the school bus are in fact...Movable.
14. Too many hands in the pot will ruin the chili.
15. Drunk Shoes is a lot more fun with my Younger Brother playing.
16. My father has great friends.
17. You should never fry canned biscuits in rendered fat.
18. Watching your buddies puke is no longer funny when you join them.
19. When someone says "hit it like a man" look to see if they are hiding behind something first.
20. Eye brows grow back...ears don't.
21. Contrary to popular belief Jose Cuervo is not your friend.
22. Paint-balls hurt.
23. Potato Guns are fun, but a meat gun would be awesome.
24. A 1987 Dodge Ramcharger is an invitation for disaster. It is also a key to adventure.
25. Some of the best people I've ever known I camp with. A man could not ask for more.

Love In A Cardboard Tube.

I’m starting to get a little on the hungry side so I think I’ll talk about food for a bit. As a camper evolves, so does his ability to cook in the mountains.

In the beginning our meals consisted mainly of hotdogs cooked on a stick and prepackaged ready to eat foods. Specifically, Little Debbie Nutty Bars and Doritos.

Eventually we began to warm canned food. Beans for the most part. I can remember a can or two of stew as well.

Later we began to cook breakfast foods. Eggs and bacon. And then we tried biscuits.

Biscuits and camping may not sound like to things that work well together without bringing up an oven. Truthfully you really should have an oven present to cook biscuits. I imagine you could use your handy dandy cast iron Dutch oven. But for me that is inviting cinders to form.

One of our intrepid members found a “solution” to the biscuit dilemma. First you need to cook about 5 pounds of bacon. When you are done cooking the bacon you should have approximately 2.5 inches of bacon fat bubbling away in the bottom of your pan. Do not dispose of this fat. It is crucial to the next step.

Now when you were doing your grocery shopping you should have picked up enough canned biscuits to feed 16 folks of so. Open up your canned dough and plop those doughy little turds into your grease. Fry them until they turn an nice crispy golden brown on one side. Turn those little beasties.

When you are complete you should have a nice thin layer of bacon grease left in the pan. Just enough for a batch of eggs, but not enough to dump in the fire. Cook up your eggs.

Now it’s time to eat. Grab a plate and load up about 10 pieces of bacon, a big scoop of eggs and a biscuit or two.

We all should know what campfire eggs and bacon tastes like. But the biscuits are a completely different story.

When you pick up the biscuit the first thing you notice is that it is heavier than you thought it should be. The second thing you notice is that when you release it what ever you happen to grab next slips our of your grasp almost immediately. You chalk this up to all the beer you drank the night before.

After having found a nice chair to sit in out of the smoke from the early morning fire. You pick up your biscuit. A cool thought usually goes through you head at this point. “I’ve got bacon, eggs and a biscuit! Man we have arrived!”

Your joy is short lived however. You bite into your biscuit. Now you need to wipe your chin. “That’s odd” you think. “I didn’t butter my biscuit.” That’s not butter dripping off your chin. It’s bear cocaine. Bacon fat.

After eating one of these coronary sponges you are over come with the urge to vomit. But being a trooper you stick it out. Maybe pouring some beer on it will help to dissolve the fat. But that does not do the trick.

Your only recourse is to wait it out. The details of which you can only imagine.

The next morning you discover that cooking in the skillet is 20 pounds of pork sausage. Once again the biscuits come out. This time you are wiser. When the cook is not looking you toss your biscuit into the fire. Oily black smoke licks skyward as the biscuit is cremated. You look away and hear a “Whump!” as another biscuit burst into flame.

The next trip you discover that the biscuits have once again returned to the mountain. It’s time for a preemptive strike. Start out telling of the MythBusters episode where they cook off cans of instant biscuits in a hot car. Then suggest that they may explode in a fire.

The first can goes in. You hear a small pop. And the side of the can has popped open. “That one must have been a dud.” you say. “Try another.” Soon all the death sponges are consumed by flame.

And your colon thanks you.

As I typed this I realized that if you wrap a biscuit can in duct tape on the sides and secure the bottom you may be able to launch a few biscuits skyward. I think I may have a diversion when we once again assemble on the hill.

PBR's and Roast Beef on Wheat.

It was an overcast dreary sort of day. A day where all you really wanted to do is stay in bed. But you have things to do and places to be. You are going camping. So you go about getting ready for your trip. Bags are packed and your truck is loaded. Your trusty camper is hitched to the back. You get in and say your traditional silent prayer for an uneventful and safe trip. As you finish you hope God forgives you for all the stupid stuff you are about to do.

That was the start of Spring Fling 2008. It turned out to be more of a Spring Sog instead. Thursday Morning was overcast but warm. Dad followed me in his Jeep. I was driving "Jake" my 1999 Ford F150. When we arrived at the Clayton Wal-Mart Dad asked me to tap my brakes. Turns out I had no brake lights. Oh Joy. Jobu was back.

Jobu is the little Voodoo god from the Major League movies. Perdo Cerrano says at one point "F*&K YOU JOBU! I DO IT MYSELF" well...when ever something bad happens like Rain, Catastrophic Vehicle Failure, Angry Game Wardens or Loud Propane Explosions we blame Jobu. We actually say "F*&K YOU JOBU!" and shake our fists at the sky. In the past Jobu has tried to kill me on several occasions. But that is another story.

We arrive on our mountain side hide-a-way. Greg arrived at about the same time we did. I get the camper set up and drag out the coolers. Kevin arrives followed by Jerry. I believe Teddy was already up there. Or maybe he never left from the last trip. I never know about Teddy. He seems to pop out of nowhere sometimes.

Jerry, Kevin, and I all make our contributions to the bar and then I reveal my secret weapon in the war against sobriety. PBR's...cheap and tasty. Good stuff, or so I thought. I'm a little angry at my truck and the beer is cold so I knock back 8 or so.

The bad thing about being 38 is I still think I'm 18. The part of me that is "Bob" still thinks he can do anything and not suffer the consequences. But here of late the body that houses the "Inner Bob" seems to be at odds with the other.

Back to the story...I'm 8 beers into a case of PBR's. And then someone hands me a Jagerbomb. I drink it. Then a rum and coke pops out of nowhere, then a Jack and Coke, Vodka and Sprite, and then it all repeats. And then somewhere deep inside my Cerebral DJ spins up "Gone" by Montgomery Gentry. Bad news...When i start too hear that song in my head it usually mans I'm drunk beyond repair.

Kevin and I decide we need to go survey the rest of the campgrounds so we hop in my truck. Jake fires right up and we back out and put it in drive. All of the sudden there is a gradual brightening of the surrounding air and Poof! there is Teddy at the window. I think I heard that strange sound you hear on Star Trek whenever they use their transporters. He asks "Where you guys going?" we reply "Crapper". He asked "Are you OK to drive?" We slurred out "Yesh..I'm hardley drunked" He replied "Weeelll OK." and then he vanished again.

I drove to the main road and realized that I am indeed impaired and needed to return to camp. So we did. Thank heavens. We got out, locked the truck and gave our keys to my Father. And we decided that since we did something rational we needed another drink. That is about when we discovered that Jerry had disappeared.

He had decided to take a nap under the bar. At some point I though it might be nice to sit down. Next thing I know I wake up and I feel really bad. It's almost dark. I stagger to the nearest tree and promptly get rid of any remaining booze in my stomach. Then I stagger by Greg at his cooking station. He offered me a pork chop. It smelled delightful and from what I heard they tasted even better than they smelled. Greg is one hell of a cook. I politely declined and continued on my way to the camper. Where I slept like the dead.

Friday looked pretty much like Thursday. I drank a beer. And maybe one Rum and Coke. I think we played Horseshoes. Kevin was not feeling well. Jerry and I both felt green around the gills still. More people showed up and Friday turned into Saturday.

Saturday morning...lots of clouds. With breakfast in our bellies we greeted the rain as the fishermen headed out for an assault on the local trout population. Jerry, Kevin, and I head out to Wal-Mart to pick up some dinner. It starts pouring on the way down the mountain. We do our shopping and return to camp. It rained off and on all day. Jobu turned a great day into a soggy mess. Dinner was prepared and we stared drinking a bit. Kevin still felt like hell and the spirit of drunkenness had evidently left me Thursday. Try as I might i just couldn't drink to excess. Which is probably a good thing.

We sat around the campfire enjoying our drinks, smoking cigars while listening to Ron White and Larry The Cable Guy. All in all...Saturday turned out pretty good.

Sunday we packed up. And Jobu attacked my truck again. My four wheel drive would not engage. So with all the rain, I got my truck stuck. Dad pulled it out with his jeep. I said a few choice words to Jobu and headed home. Vowing not to get that plastered on a Thursday again.

But I forgot all about that when our Fall trip rolled around.