The campground was pretty much our speed -- it was not the middle-of-nowhere refuge I feared, but rather smack in the middle of a residential R.V. park. We had a whole hill to ourselves, with a communal fire pit and dining area. It even had a basketball court in the middle of it -- not exactly roughing it!
We arrived early yesterday morning and met the group. They already had a casualty -- one boy bloodied himself up pretty good crashing his bike down the hill, mandating a new "no bike riding down the hill" rule.
They also regaled us with tales of the local fauna. Apparently, a couple fearless skunks sauntered into the campground, putting everyone into a panic. The skunks refused to leave, searching brazenly for scraps, while the campers scampered about nervously, trying not to frighten or alarm the skunks. They were terrified someone would end up in a tomato juice bath.
We found a spot and set up our tent. We'd barely gotten settled when the pack leader announced it was time for a Scout bike ride. Off we went, 16 boys and 7 adults, braving the offroad trail. Mark, as he loves to do, had traded his bike to another kid, who promptly fell off it halfway down the first hill. Mark was not allowed to trade anything else for the rest of the day.
We soon intersected with a cystic fibrosis charity walk. The walkers were friendly, and patient with the mob of Scouts riding recklessly along the path, and the volunteers along the side eagerly handed water bottles out to Scouts and walkers alike. Mark fell back after the first hill, so I rode with him, and was kind of glad (the Scouts kept clumping up in front of me). It was a really pretty ride along the lake.
Back at camp, we ate lunch, and then the boys set off on their own adventures. There was a huge grassy valley behind us, which the boys were allowed to explore in groups. It was hilarious to see them pour out of the bushes, wielding large sticks and branches they swore they'd found on the ground. The biggest lesson I learned this weekend was that little boys are fascinated with big sticks.
And knives. A couple boys had brought their pocket knives, and their whittling chips (like a license that says they passed knife safety). Mark was bummed he didn't have his, and watched enviously as they lit into some pieces of wood. His envy evaporated when we realized one of the boys had cut his thumb pretty badly with the knife. Luckily, there was a fireman and an EMT among the Scout parents, and Casualty #3 was expertly bandaged up.
Soon enough, the Scout Master rallied the troops for fishing. The boys were brimming with excitement, eager to display their fishing prowess. They bragged about who would catch the biggest fish. Of course, a fishing pole is nothing more than a long stick, so that was exciting too. The poles soon became light sabers, and you know where that leads...miraculously, no one got hooked during the duels.
We descended onto the shore in full yell, thoroughly ruining the quiet solitude of the fisherman already there. The only creatures louder than us were the giant geese squawking on the sand. The boys promptly started casting all about them, and I can't believe we didn't end up with a Casualty #4.
I taught Mark how to cast, preparing to impress him with a mighty distance. Instead, the line dropped into the water right in front of me. "It's okay, there's a learning curve," I told him, though I never did master it.
We continued on like that for about ten minutes until a very nice gentleman showed Mark the correct way to cast. He looked over the line and said, "You don't have a weight on here -- you need a weight." I searched through the starter tackle box that came with the pole; it had everything BUT a weight.
Luckily, one of the Scout dads had an extra weight. He crimped it on, then gave Mark some bait cheese to mold onto the hook (I forgot our pretty neon food in the tent). The weight sure did the trick -- soon, Mark was casting twice as far as he had before. He was still crossing everybody else's lines, but now he was casting at least 10 feet out into the lake.
And here is the ultimate proof that Mark is my child:
Mark actually did a pretty good job of casting. He didn't do so well with the actual fishing -- he kept pulling the line in and casting again, but he was having a blast. He kept trying to "trade" fishing poles with another kid who had a gun-type fishing pole. (It was the same kid who he'd traded bikes with.) Instead of casting, you load the hook and line into a barrel and shoot it out into the water. It was pretty hilarious.
Soon enough, Mark grew bored. "Fishing is actually kinda boring when you don't catch any fish," he said, and I imagined a thousand fisherman nodding their heads in agreement. (I, on the other hand, was grateful he didn't catch anything -- I had nightmares all week about gutting and cleaning fish!)
Mark ran off to play with the other Scouts, and I returned to the circle of chairs back at camp.
"Did you catch anything?" a mom asked, and I shook my head. "Nothing but a little boredom," I answered.
"Yeah, fishing seems pretty boring," she said. "You just sit around doing nothing."
A nearby dad couldn't let that pass. "It's exactly what you're all doing right now," he pointed out. "Except with a pole stuck in the ground next to ya!" We had to agree he was right.
It was kind of overcast, which made everyone a little sleepy. The afternoon dragged on (not in a bad way), and seemed to last for 100 hours. At one point, a mom asked if we should start dinner, and another mom answered that it was only 2:30!
The dads and boys played and I was content to watch them until it really was time to start to dinner, and claim my spot on the dinner crew.
We cooked up about 80 hamburgers, 40 hot dogs and 10 boxes of mac n cheese. There were a lot of Scouts and family members, but we didn't even put a dent in all the food.
And what's the answer to too much food? More food! Or rather, s'more food!
The men could hardly wait to build up a campfire. As soon as dinner finished, they dumped a trashcan full of wood into the firepit and doused it with lighter fluid. They told the kids to stand back, tossed in a match, and watched a huge fireball erupt. The parents moved the circle of chairs toward the fire.
The Scout Master led the boys in a round of skits that we performed when we were little kids at camp! It was really funny. Here's my little star (resting his head on a football):
Soon enough, it was time for s'mores. Unfortunately, there was so much wood on the fire that you couldn't get even remotely close to it. It was like a wall of heat, and I came away from it with tears in my eyes. I think I ate more embers than marshmallow.
The families, including mine, started heading off to bed. I could barely keep my eyes open, and Mark said, "Yeah, it's already 9 o'clock." Nine o'clock! On a Saturday night! And I couldn't wait to crawl into bed.
Our tent was on a slope, so I slept tilted down all night. But with the air mattress and comfy sleeping bag, it was really nice. I only woke once at night, when I heard a little critter scratching outside my tent. At first I thought it was the little bunny or gopher we'd seen earlier (wildlife!), but the scratching sounded a little louder than that. I rattled the tent to scare it off. I was about to rattle it again when I realized it might be a skunk. I ceased all rattling immediately.
I slept soundly through the night, until the honking geese woke us up at 6 a.m. The other families woke up shortly after, and I listened to them talking. One kid was acting up, and I heard his mom yell, "It's Sunday morning, I'm tired, I need coffee and a shower! BEHAVE!" I could second that emotion.
I tried to go back to sleep, but a group of boys decided to liberate a giant flying disc that had lodged itself in the tree above our tent. "Where's the whistling football?" one of them yelled, and I waited for it to hit our tent. Which it did, about three minutes later.
"You hungry?" I asked Mark.
He still hadn't moved. I asked if he wanted to go get some breakfast with me, but he just shook his head.
"Bring it to me," he ordered. "ROOM SERVICE!"
Well, you can guess how well that went over. I repeated his room service request to a nearby dad, who yelled, "Hey Scouts, Mark needs help waking up! Go help him! " I laughed my head off as all the boys, without hesitation, converged on the tent and started shaking it.
"WAKE UP, MARK!" they screamed, pulling him out. "WAKE UP!" I might just try that trick tomorrow morning.
After breakfast, we broke down camp. I took down the tent but couldn't figure out how to get it all back into the tiny bag it came in. (And I realized just how one mom showed up at camp with a tent but no tent stakes!)
Pretty soon, the car was packed and the bikes were tied on. I felt like I'd been up for hours, and the day was halfway done. I glanced at my cell phone -- it was 9:30.
And so we survived our very first camping adventure. We saw some wildlife (bunnies, gophers, hawks) but thankfully not all of it (the sign reading, "Mountain lions spotted in this area, no children allowed without an adult" made me kinda nervous). I worried Mark wasn't going to enjoy it, especially when he asked yesterday, "Why bother camping for just one night?"
But I knew he'd had a great time when he told me, as he fell asleep Saturday night, "Mom, camping's really really fun. Even if it is for just one night!"
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