A Fine and Pleasant Misery

Published April, 2012

            I have borrowed Patrick McManus' title to his book on the joys of camping because I couldn't think of a more appropriate phrase to describe what I have been through.  I spent three days and two nights in the woods of Blakeley State Park with the Princesses and thirteen of their closest friends for a church girl's camp.  From the moment of temporary insanity when I agreed to be the male presence for this activity, I began to dread it.

            I am no new-kid-on-the-block when it comes to camping.  If you added up all my days I've spent in the out-of-doors, sleeping in the woods, deserts, and mountains of our earth, they would total more than a couple of years, but I have never spent one like this.

            Some camping trips are pure misery, while others are fine and pleasant.  This one was both, and they all may be, but this campout is worthy of note.

            This trip represented the first time in almost nine years that I had put up a tent.  It had never bothered me to throw down a sleeping pad and sleep like a baby on the ground, but that was almost a decade ago, and things about my body don't bend and fold like they once did.  Getting down isn't much of a problem since it is aided by gravity, but please, explain to me what made that same gravitational force multiply in the night to where it takes a crane to get me off the ground?  I get ahead of myself.

            The weather for the day of the trip called for rain in the morning, clear for afternoon departure, which caused great jubilation in my heart, as there is nothing more miserable than setting up camp in the rain.  My rejoicing was premature.

            We arrived in great, beaming sunshine.  Everyone, even I, the curmudgeon, was delighted.  We took all the gear off the truck, spread it out in preparation of setting it up, and the rains came, soaking everything.  My heart and several other organs sunk.  Let the misery begin.

            My mistake was that I helped set up the other tents first.  Guess whose was the only one on the ground, flat and open, when the sky opened up?  Yep, mine.

            Wet and I do not get along, especially while attempting to sleep.  I threw down my tent poles in disgust and went to sit in the cab of my truck.  To their credit, the Princesses tried to help, but wet is wet, and no amount of youthful exuberance will dry me out physically, or spiritually.  I pouted until the rain stopped.

            I attempted to back my truck, with the tailgate down, closer to my campsite.  The windows were fogged, at least that is my excuse, and I backed the truck smack into a tree, ruining the tailgate.  I put my head down on the steering wheel and tried to imagine the trip getting any worse, and tried to think of a plan by which I could go home.  I came up with no plan, and things got worse.

            I was soaking wet from sweating in my rain gear, which I opted to be out of to be soaked from the dripping trees, but at least I was cooler while being miserable.  I managed to get the tent up, the floor mopped up with the only towel I brought, and get my bed set up.

            For this campout, I was going to sleep four inches above the ground.  I brought a queen-sized, inflatable mattress.  At least I would be sleeping damp on a soft mattress, rather than on the hard ground.  The added height would aid me in rising in the morning.  I could roll over and fall to my knees instead of struggling up from flat on my back.

            When it came time to turn in, I was quite smug, knowing the other leaders would be envious of me.  I didn't say anything, but I felt superior, and was anxious for a good night's sleep.  I undressed, unzipped my damp sleeping bag, and started to lie down.  I didn't make it.

            The mattress had deflated since I had set it up.  It had a leak.  I wasn't feeling so smug as I calculated that it was near 11:00 PM, and the mattress had deflated over a period of near eight hours.  If I reinflated, I would have a like number of hours of comfort.   As dawn approached, I would once again be on a squishy cushion of air, I figured it wouldn't be too bad.  I figured wrong.

            With my added weight, air was forced out of the leak, and by 2:00 AM, I was sleeping with my torso on the ground and my feet elevated, the remaining air being squeezed to the lighter end of the cursed mattress.  I determined that sleeping flat on the hard ground was preferable to this, and pulled the plug to let the remaining air out.  Again, I was wrong.  I was damp, cold, and aching.  It was a fine and pleasant misery.

            The morning dawned bright and beautiful.  I cooked my blueberry pancakes and sausage over and open fire, and started a new day.  I was tired, my truck was broken, and I had only the hard ground to look forward to, but the sun was out, the girls were happy, and I was to lead a hike of over five miles.

            When we got back, the Admiral had sent another ground pad, the tent and sleeping bag were dry, and things were looking up.  I was tired from the hike, but the girls had enjoyed it, no one was lost, or broken, and not many bitten.

            The campout had shifted its focus from "misery", to "fine and pleasant", and I was reminded of something I had preached during our travels, "The only difference between an adventure and an ordeal is attitude."  I need to work on the "fine and pleasant" within me for next decade's campout