Tuesday, June 5, 2012

A word about camping

We're going camping. On one hand, I love it so much. I love the quiet, and the birdsong and the smells. I love the campfire and taking long arse-whooping hikes. I love the vistas and woods and changes of scenery. I love the road trip to get there.

I do not love camp food. Due to the previously mentioned arse-whoppingness of the hikes, dinner is freeze dried and comes in a bag. We choose enticing sounding suppers like Katmandu Curry, and Pad Thai. Then we add boiling water, zip the bag back up, and wait. Oh, but first there is the removal of one of those little packets that come in a box of new shoes. You know the ones? The little anti-humidity 'Do Not Eat' packs? Can't forget that.

I also do not love my own wild imaginings of bears with personal vendettas against human beings for getting them addicted to marshmallows, then abandoning the parks all winter long. Which is, I imagine when a bear would especially want marshmallows. Lazing about, hibernating, waking for a fluffy snack. Sleeping in a nylon tent with sharp animals about is difficult for me. Getting up to pee in the night is an impossibility. I mean, really..I'm going to squat in the dark with raccoons marauding about with their little masks and potentially rabid brains? There could be furious chipmunks, tired of campers peeing above their homes. Waiting to bite me.

Hahaha, haha, ha.
I'm exaggerating. Nik would call it my 'drama', rambling on about imagined chipmunk attacks. And it is really. Drama. Tongue in cheek dramatic monologues in order to laugh at things I'm deeply, secretly afraid of. I've seen a rabid raccoon. I looked into it's eyes...and I know.

The Rabid Raccoon
 The re enactment of Nik facing off with it, pepper spray in hand..
.. though we both cowered and begged it to 'just walk away, just waaalk away'.



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