Scout Camp 2008
posted at 2:10 am
on Jul. 30, 2008
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So, that Serenity movie—it’s pretty darn cool.
I spent last weekend car camping. It was the 2008 Scout Camp, only this time, we had 100% more women than normal, and 100% less snow. I can’t think how the two are related, but there you are.
We were camping at Silver Tip campground, which is about 40 km South of Hope, close close close to the U.S. border. There are three official camping grounds for cars along the way, and plenty of other turnoffs and pullouts, so there’s almost no way that you’ll be unable to find a place to hang out.
Susie and I made fajitas for dinner; others had steak, burgers, grilled tuna and sandwiches. It’s pretty cool to be able to bring your own BBQ with you on a camping trip. Car camping: don’t tell the young scouts what they’re missing.
Susie and I were shopping at the new Meinhardt’s that just opened on Arbutus, and we happened across one of those ridiculous boxes of marshmallows, the kind that cost $5 and each marshmallow was had crafted by Norwegian ferret elf children or some other magical being.
Well, we couldn’t, we just couldn’t, pass up on the chance to take the world’s most luxurious snack and make it into the world’s most perfect smores. So that’s what we did, and that deliciousness, merged with Susie’s superior snack toasting skills, results in more tastiness than you can imagine.
Martin was the one who “organized” it—by basically deciding he wanted to go fishing.
My grandfather had a poem he liked, that I got from him as a child. It hung on my wall for years, and went like this:
A feller isn’t plotting schemes,
Out fishin’;
He’s only busy with his dreams,
Out fishin’.
His livery is a coat of tan,
His creed -to do the best he can;
A feller’s always mostly man,
Out fishin’.
I looked it up today for the first time, and found out it’s by Edgar Guest.
I didn’t do any fishing, but I wish I had. I didn’t really have any reason not to, I just didn’t want to trounce in the cold water, and I figured that casting with the one casting rod was about as productive as throwing sticks for Tennyson.
And I mean that—dog just *loved* fetching.
I wasn’t fully prepared for the trip—my thermorest had gone missing in the past year, and while I did bring a tent, it was tiny tiny—square, but not quite long enough for me to stretch out fully. Luckily, Mike’s wonderful Bonair had extra shelter and a bench cushion that provided something for me to recline on.
The conversation was nicely balanced this time: 60% science fiction and Simpsons references, and 40% talk about pregnancy and kids. By all accounts, the weekend was a great success. Having couples instead of just guys was truly fun, and while I hope there’ll be a boy-fest sometime in the next year, this was in many ways better.
