Sparks №37: Tell Me a Camping Story
My First & Last Camping Trip
A “what-the-hell-was-I-thinking” story
It was 1980-something. My then-husband and I lived in Georgia and attended a small church. As the only female member over the age of 20 who did not have children, I was shocked when Cindy, the Leader of the church-sponsored Girl Scout Troop, asked me to be her assistant. Confused, I reluctantly said yes, figuring, at the very least, it might be an interesting break from my regular activities, which were my bookkeeping job and my other job, housework.
The first few months of Girl-Scouting went well. Having been one myself many years before, I knew what scouting was all about. We had weekly meetings that centered around the activities to be completed to earn badges. The young girls were fun and polite, and I enjoyed working with them.
The final activity of the scouting year was a camping trip in May. I’d never been camping. Never wanted to go camping. But I figured this outing wouldn’t be so bad since we were staying at a scout camp with cabins.
Thank heavens, no sleeping on the ground!
We drove to the camp in two vans, Cindy’s and the church van, which I drove. Two mothers volunteered to join us, following in a car with three girls.
Upon arrival, we unpacked, and cabins were assigned. Each adult would share a cabin with five scouts. My cabin roomies were Jackie, Jennifer, and Jennifer (our troop had 4 Jennifers), three of the youngest scouts, and Christy and Christie, two of the older scouts. (Our troop had 5 Christys, and each one spelled her name differently: Christy, Christie, Christi, Kristie, and Kristy.)
The cabins were more rustic than I’d imagined. The windows were square holes with no panes of glass or screens, just plastic flaps that did little to keep critters or rain out. The beds were rough wooden pallets a foot off the ground and just wide enough for one person in a sleeping bag. And, I sadly noted, no bathroom.
Our cabin was the furthest from the toilet facilities, a small building that housed three commodes and a sink. On either side of the cement block building were two shower stalls.
Our first evening went well — sort of. We built a fire and roasted hot dogs, which I don’t eat, and marshmallows, which I don’t eat. My dinner consisted of cole slaw, potato chips, and half a hot dog bun smeared with mustard. When planning the trip, I told Cindy that I didn’t eat typical camping food, and she promised there’d be plenty of meal alternatives and assured me there was no reason to pack my own food. She lied.
We sat around the campfire and told ghost stories, which I didn’t think was a good idea considering we were in the dark woods with young kids. When I mentioned my concerns, one of the mothers called me a killjoy, and the stories went on as planned.
At 9:00, we retired to our cabins. I’d never used a sleeping bag before and brought one borrowed from a neighbor. I couldn’t figure out how it worked.
Really, sleeping bags have to work??
As I was struggling, trying not to curse under my breath — our troop was sponsored by a church, you know — Christy with a y came to my assistance and unpacked the sleeping bag, adjusted all the zippers and flaps that were a puzzle to me, and instructed me on how to get in and out of the complicated folds of nylon, flannel, and what felt like raw cotton.
Yeah, that was embarrassing.
As the cabins were not wired for electricity, we prepared for bed in the weak glow of a battery-powered lantern. When everyone was snuggled in their sleeping bags, I turned it off.
And, laid there. Listening to all the many night noises.
Scurrying. Hooting. Scratching. Buzzing. Scuttling. Snapping. Chirping. Squealing.
I tried to determine if any of the sounds were within the walls of our cabin and then realized it didn’t matter since whatever was outside could come inside through the window holes covered with a plastic flap.
For two hours, I lay there in the dark, listening, worrying, and regretting that I ever agreed to be a scout leader. And needing to pee. Badly. Cindy told me if I needed to go to the latrine in the night, I was to wake one of the older scouts in my cabin and have her watch the younger ones while I was gone. I didn’t want to do that but eventually had to.
I woke up Christy with a y and told her I was going to the latrine. She sat up, wiping sleep from her eyes, and promised she’d stay awake until I returned.
The wet chill in the air shocked me as I followed the path that I thought led to the latrine. It didn’t. I ended up at the campfire. I retraced my steps until I saw my cabin and took a different path. No latrine. I tried again and finally found it. As I entered, something scurried out. I peed quickly and ran back to the cabin. Christy was snoring.
I checked on the other girls and struggled to remember how to get in my sleeping bag. I didn’t want to turn on the lamp for fear of waking the girls. I fumbled with flaps and zippers in the dark for several minutes before giving up and settling atop the puffy mound.
Just as I was drifting off to sleep, something touched my arm. Stifling a scream, I saw Jackie, our youngest scout, standing nearby. I need to use the bathroom, she whispered.
Back out into the chilly, damp night. But, this time, I remembered which path led to the latrine. Jackie was petrified of the noises, and I had to stand in front of her like a sentinel as she used the toilet.
We hurried back to the cabin, trying to ignore all the woodsy night sounds around us. I helped Jackie get settled in her sleeping bag and laid atop mine.
I was cold and clammy but managed to fall asleep after a few minutes. Moments later, I woke up to a muffled scream. Jackie was awake again. This time from a nightmare, probably triggered by the damn ghost stories.
I calmed her down while perched uncomfortably on the side of her pallet. It took 20 minutes to get her back to sleep and another 10 minutes to get me back to sleep.
Did I get to sleep the rest of the night? Heck, no. I was up again to take one of the Jennifers to the latrine. Then, the other Jennifer. Then, Christie with an ie. Christy with a y was my only roomy with a full-sized bladder. I always left her in charge when I took the others to the latrine, and she was always asleep when we returned.
I’d barely gotten back to sleep after the last latrine run when Cindy blew a bugle — where the hell did she get that? — to wake us up.
Breakfast was better than dinner. Sausages that I didn’t eat but tasty pancakes that I ate and enjoyed. No coffee — cause, well, kids, I guess. But, the sweet tea that was served was surely as unhealthy as coffee!
Dang, I really needed a couple cups of coffee!
Sometime during the morning, we took a hike. One of the girls wandered off, and I was sent to retrieve her. She was in a field of calf-high vegetation. I hurried through the greenery, scared it could be hiding snakes. As I guided the girl back to the path, I realized the field was full of poison oak.
I was highly allergic to poison oak!
The hike ended with the wayward girl and me in the showers, scrubbing with lye soap to wash off any poison. Although I didn’t develop a rash, I scratched the rest of the day in anticipation of a rash.
Our noon meal was lunch meat and Wonder Bread sandwiches, which I didn’t eat, and apples and carrot sticks, which I did eat.
The afternoon was spent doing campy things to earn campy badges.
Another dinner of some sort of meat charred over flames that I didn’t eat, settling on a few pieces of cheese and some crackers. Then, we helped the girls create S’mores — one of the worst desserts ever created. Although I’d seen S’mores on TV, I had no idea how to make them. One of the older scouts — a Christy or some version of Christy — taught me so I could help some of the little ones. Everyone ate the gooey, almost-burned marshmallow creations while I nibbled on a plain graham cracker.
Another sleepless night with multiple latrine trips, but when the bugle sounded in the morning, I jumped up and started packing, ready to escape scout camp hell.
After breakfast, we loaded the vehicles. I couldn’t move fast enough to get all the gear and my girls on the bus and on the road. We were pointed towards home before the others knew we were gone!
I think I spun the tires of the church van leaving that place.
© Dennett 2022
In response to this prompt by Ellie Jacobson:
