THE 23-HOUR CAMP-OUT
Father-sons trip mercifully short
Just like fuzzy kittens playing with yarn, a sun-dappled meadow bursting with daisies, or a cute little baby giving out free hugs, the Penner boys’ one-night, there-areno-rules camping brouhaha is one of the finer things in life. Not.
Ever since my boys could burn themselves with hot sticks, this has been a weekend to look forward to. My wife, who gets the house to herself for 23 hours of bliss, might actually enjoy it the most. Finally, she gets a break from bluegrass music, gas attacks, and Penner-boy petulance, in general.
I say 23 hours because that is, exactly, what it always works out to be. She’s been begging we extend it to a two-day affair, but I know — given the likelihood of injury, suffering, or starvation — we would never last longer than one night. So that’s what it is, a quick-and-painful one-nighter at a campground (we almost always go to Bluerock in Sheep River Provincial Park) close to Calgary. Like clockwork, we leave at 2 p.m. on Friday and we’re back by 1 p.m. on Saturday. She’s always happy to see us leave, but never happy to see us return. (So fast.)
What’s also fast on this junket is the amount of time it takes someone to sustain some type of flesh wound. Once we arrive on our campsite, it usually takes about four seconds before the first-aid kit is retrieved.
Interestingly, this year one of my boys invited a friend, young Evan, 12, who, for some reason, decided it was a “good idea” to come along. (A “good idea” in the same vein as, say, when that kid on YouTube tried to jump the Grand Canyon in his go-kart or when that high-on-himself Sheriff decided to take on John Rambo in First Blood.)
While it took Evan forever ( just over five minutes) to get hurt, he actually loved every second of the trip. He had never been camping before, never set up a tent, never told ghost stories around the fire, never tried to stuff a molten glob of marshmallow into his mouth, etc. So, I must admit, it was entirely entertaining to sit back, relax and watch the show unfold.
And, yes, it was quite a show. Evan turned out to be the star — the “I’ll do anything if you ask me to” protagonist — and stole the spotlight on numerous occasions. Like the time he daringly crossed Bluerock Creek in his cut-offs, the time he whirled around and rammed into the car door, the time he decided to touch the red-hot grill on the firepit, and the time he tried to split a piece of firewood and nearly split his leg instead.
I know, as the parent, mentor and so-called “experienced” member of the tribe, I should have been more “on top of things.” Letting “green” kids play with axes might not be the wisest thing to do. I get that. However, in my defence, I did give him a thorough tutorial in how to wield the thing. “Don’t whack yourself, kid” seemed more than adequate. After all, this is the be-all-end-all motto of the game, no? Furthermore, I looked high and low, but I couldn’t find the Axe Chopping for Dummies book at the library. Presumably, the idiot who could have written it couldn’t actually write it because all of his fingers were gone.
At any rate, the trip turned out to be a major success. Nobody starved (we brought along a couple dozen hotdogs, 200 marshmallows, and 50 bags of chips — not exaggerating). And, in spite of some close calls, nobody lost an eye, a limb or anything else.
Perhaps, the best thing about the trip was our sleeping arrangements. Thanks to the good folks at Treeline Outdoors (a roof-top tent maker based in Turner Valley), I slept like a champion. These cosy roof-top contraptions — we demo’d the Tamarack model, which sleeps two to three — are super easy to set up and, because you are off the ground, there is no need to worry about soggy sleeping bags, rocks, roots, bears, zombies, etc. Not surprisingly, these tents, which come in a number of sizes, are becoming extremely popular. They are a great option for people who want to camp ( but not on the ground in a tent), but can’t afford an RV. I highly recommend giving one a try.
I’d also recommend — especially on nights when the temperature dips below -48 C — that you hog all the extra blankets to yourself. Yes, the biggest downside to our trip was the Arctic-like conditions during the “quiet hours” of the night. Of course, when you consider the whimpering and whining, snorting and snoring, these hours weren’t actually all that “quiet.” Yet another reason why the Penner boys’ yearly camping trip will never be considered one of the finer things in life.