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Camping at It's Finest
 
For 25 years straight, I had been involved in a boy's camping program known as Royal Rangers, 18 of which had been as a leader. The program teaches boys leadership skills through various activities; camping being the foremost.
 
One past summer, I conducted what we called a “Skills Training Camp” for boys aged nine through seventeen. The skills were cooking, compass and map, nature study, ropecraft, lashing, and firecraft.
 
The staff and I arrived at the campsite three days prior to the camp opening in order to make advanced preparations. Familiar with these parts of the Sequoia National Forest, I began to orient the staff to the area. There were six of us, including my oldest son Ryan who was fourteen at the time. I led the group down the gentle slope towards the babbling stream which would be our water supply for the week. The water level in the creek was down to around a foot in the deepest place, but was still cold from the snow melted water that continued to flow even in the middle of August. I knelt down beside the granite basin that had been carved ever so gracefully by this creek over the past thousands of years. I bent my body toward the wet, cool liquid below, until my lips kissed the surface and I drew the moisture into my mouth to demonstrate the purity of this find. The rest of the group followed my example and began to lap at the liquid like a pack of dogs after a romp in the woods.
 
I stood up and gazed at the beauty of the majestic mountainside. Pine trees massed the vegetation surrounding us; I could tell they were primarily Jeffrey pines and a few dotted areas of digger pines, an occasional dogwood and live oak sprang up here and there. At my side, a Jeffrey pine reached upward over a hundred feet extending its limbs into the powder blue sky. Just a few blotches of clouds, resembling huge cotton balls, dotted the field of blue directly over our heads. I was viewing first hand what others have seen only on postcards or documentary educational programs. It was utterly breathtaking. As I gasped, I filled my lungs with this pollution-free air and recalled my neighbor's 1970 Comet. Each morning as the car idled, a dark blue smoke billowed from the atrocious monster as it waited with a patient rumbling; warming itself for its owner who gulped down the last of his coffee and English muffin. The scent of the pines was so very refreshing, more so than could possibly be imagined. I had to stop at that moment and ask everyone present to just smell the aroma of these coniferous beauties.
We went back to the truck and grabbed our gear and proceeded to set up camp. Each individual with a purpose and aim in this shared endeavor worked as quickly as possible for nighttime comes rather quickly in the canyon.
 
We all sat around the campfire telling stories and bragging of various "manly" feats. Knowing that the morrow would be so chocked full of preparatory tasks for the opening day, we decided we needed as much sleep as possible. We bedded down in the small, canvass domed shelters we call tents, hardly enough protection from a heavy rainfall let alone a 1000 pound black bear.
 
There were no electrical outlets to supply refrigeration units so we iced our food in those familiar plastic boxes everyone refers to as ice chests. They were no more a covering for food to a bear than a zip-lock bag to you or I. I was well aware of the presence of bears in the area but I was hoping for at least a one day reprieve until we could make our food locker the next day.
 
At three o'clock in the morning, I heard a loud bang; which is all I can really describe hearing, being awakened out of a well-deserved, after-a-hard-day-at-work sleep. I fumbled around on the floor of my tent just to the left of my sleeping bag, mumbling to myself, "Now where did I leave that thing". Grabbing the flashlight, I tucked it between my knees as I knelt in front of the tent door. As I unzipped the flap and it fell open; it reminded me of the tongue of a tennis shoe after a hard day on the court. I crawled out the narrow opening into the brisk mountain air that instantly sent a chill through my body. I directed the light to the spot from where the sound apparently originated. There were the ice chests. We had stacked the three of them much like a preschooler would his blocks, one on top of the other. The top food container was on the ground and the ice that was keeping our week long supply of frozen hamburger patties was poured out all over the ground. Now the cold air activated my senses, my brain kicked into gear and I immediately said, "A bear." I scoped the perimeter of the camp and saw him. Lumbering up the side of the mountain the slow moving creature had a package of 20 ground beef patties in his mouth. Occasionally he would glance back over his shoulder at me, as if he wanted to make sure there was no posse being organized for immediate pursuit.
 
Frustrated and angry I bellowed at the top of my lungs, "Go on, get out of here", as if he really would listen! Bending over the partially frozen meat scattered amidst the dirt covered ice cubes, I placed the food back in the container not bothering to sort the dirty ice from the not so dirty. I scooped up handful after handful of the chilled pieces until the chest was nearly filled to the level it had been before the earlier raid.
 
Now I was really cold. The only thing between me and nature was a pair of size 36 Fruit of the Loom. I climbed back in my sleeping bag and pulled my stocking cap down over my ears and muttered, "dad gum ... stinkin'... rottin' ... bear".
 
 
 
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