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