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Welcome to Camp Hypothermia
Nov. 16th, 2021 10:53 amIt was going to be a bit of nostalgia, a trip back to our old stomping grounds--the Durland Scout Reservation in Putnam Valley, New York. This time, D. wasn't going as a Cub Scout, sheltered by a cabin; he was going as a full fledged Boy Scout, pitching a tent on the edge of Clear Lake, in the full embrace of Nature.
After that last sentence, I can hear some of you thinking: "Wasn't it cold?"
Why, yes, it WAS cold, thank you very much, but I thought I had this covered. Extra warm sweaters. Extra warm socks. And I thought the weather forecast didn't look THAT bad....
A fatal miscalculation.
It started out innocently enough. My wife waved goodbye to us, reminding D. that if we met up with any bears, he only had to outrun me to be safe. (Harsh, but true.) We met up with the rest of the troops in Brooklyn to pass out tents and equipment for the trip. I made remarkably good time to Putnam Valley, something that never happens. (That, right there, should have made me uneasy.)
But by the time we all gathered in the campsite parking lot, then trudged up to the lake with aaaaaaall that equipment, it was really too late for the kids to do anything but pitch the tents and go to sleep. The adults (parents and counselors) stayed up and talked a little, then retired to the lean-to stationed just at the edge of the woods. The outhouse was 50 feet INTO the woods, a dim white shape barely visible in the surrounding darkness. It did not look inviting.
So I slipped into my trusty sleeping bag, insulated with three layers of clothing and tried to ignore the chill coming off the lake. It didn't work. It was too cold. My body was vibrating. I somehow got a few hours of sleep.
The next morning, the sun was out and bright, and by the time I shook off the chill, D. and the rest of the Scouts were gathering wood for the fire pit. Hey, that's more like it! In the early afternoon, we had visitors--Cub Scouts from D.'s old troop. The kids watched demonstrations by the counselors, oohed and aahed as the fire sparkled and crackled, or just played at the edge of the lake. It was finally shaping up as the kind of trip I remembered. Then, around 2:00, it was time for the scout babies to go back to their cabins. D.'s troop (and their counselors) decided to tag along.
The weather forecast called for rain, so I gave D. a poncho--the one he got at his New York Marathon station!--just in case.
They were gone for 15 minutes when it hit--HAIL. Followed by torrential rain and howling wind. The parents gathered together at the campsite waiting for one of our kids to use one of their fancy cell phones to tell us everything was okay. It took a while, but finally, somebody responded. (D.'s phone was on "silent." Of course.) Everybody returned to the campsite, wet and traumatized. After snapping at D. to give me a damn call when there's a crisis, I sent him off to change clothes and sit by the fire.
As the storm cleared and darkness fell, it grew considerably colder, the fire pit the only (small) area of refuge. The kids actually cooked their own dinners with sterno can burners. (D. had spaghetti with tomato sauce.) One camper went a little nuts with his food stash: he had a block of provolone cheese, salami, beef teriyaki jerky and strip steak kebobs. He was very popular.
We all turned in early. It was too cold to do anything enjoyable (besides eat). I piled on a couple of extra layers, hoping to beat the cold. It worked a little better, but not nearly well enough. Well, I thought, at least D. has a blanket as insulation for his sleeping bag, and a hot water bottle one of the counselors gave him for the night.
The hot water bottle froze during the night.
Sunday morning, we cleaned up, packed up, and bugged out. Nobody really wanted to stay any longer than necessary. I felt fortunate to get back to Brooklyn in one piece.
***********
D. is usually the optimist in situations like these. He'll find some good in even the most dismal of circumstances. But nope--not this time. He totally agreed that this trip sucked ass.
What's especially sad is that he wanted to do some fishing on this trip. He even built himself a home made fishing rod, with a lure and a weight and everything. He never had a chance to use it.
**************
Given a choice between bad outcomes, I think I would have preferred the bear.
🐻
After that last sentence, I can hear some of you thinking: "Wasn't it cold?"
Why, yes, it WAS cold, thank you very much, but I thought I had this covered. Extra warm sweaters. Extra warm socks. And I thought the weather forecast didn't look THAT bad....
A fatal miscalculation.
It started out innocently enough. My wife waved goodbye to us, reminding D. that if we met up with any bears, he only had to outrun me to be safe. (Harsh, but true.) We met up with the rest of the troops in Brooklyn to pass out tents and equipment for the trip. I made remarkably good time to Putnam Valley, something that never happens. (That, right there, should have made me uneasy.)
But by the time we all gathered in the campsite parking lot, then trudged up to the lake with aaaaaaall that equipment, it was really too late for the kids to do anything but pitch the tents and go to sleep. The adults (parents and counselors) stayed up and talked a little, then retired to the lean-to stationed just at the edge of the woods. The outhouse was 50 feet INTO the woods, a dim white shape barely visible in the surrounding darkness. It did not look inviting.
So I slipped into my trusty sleeping bag, insulated with three layers of clothing and tried to ignore the chill coming off the lake. It didn't work. It was too cold. My body was vibrating. I somehow got a few hours of sleep.
The next morning, the sun was out and bright, and by the time I shook off the chill, D. and the rest of the Scouts were gathering wood for the fire pit. Hey, that's more like it! In the early afternoon, we had visitors--Cub Scouts from D.'s old troop. The kids watched demonstrations by the counselors, oohed and aahed as the fire sparkled and crackled, or just played at the edge of the lake. It was finally shaping up as the kind of trip I remembered. Then, around 2:00, it was time for the scout babies to go back to their cabins. D.'s troop (and their counselors) decided to tag along.
The weather forecast called for rain, so I gave D. a poncho--the one he got at his New York Marathon station!--just in case.
They were gone for 15 minutes when it hit--HAIL. Followed by torrential rain and howling wind. The parents gathered together at the campsite waiting for one of our kids to use one of their fancy cell phones to tell us everything was okay. It took a while, but finally, somebody responded. (D.'s phone was on "silent." Of course.) Everybody returned to the campsite, wet and traumatized. After snapping at D. to give me a damn call when there's a crisis, I sent him off to change clothes and sit by the fire.
As the storm cleared and darkness fell, it grew considerably colder, the fire pit the only (small) area of refuge. The kids actually cooked their own dinners with sterno can burners. (D. had spaghetti with tomato sauce.) One camper went a little nuts with his food stash: he had a block of provolone cheese, salami, beef teriyaki jerky and strip steak kebobs. He was very popular.
We all turned in early. It was too cold to do anything enjoyable (besides eat). I piled on a couple of extra layers, hoping to beat the cold. It worked a little better, but not nearly well enough. Well, I thought, at least D. has a blanket as insulation for his sleeping bag, and a hot water bottle one of the counselors gave him for the night.
The hot water bottle froze during the night.
Sunday morning, we cleaned up, packed up, and bugged out. Nobody really wanted to stay any longer than necessary. I felt fortunate to get back to Brooklyn in one piece.
***********
D. is usually the optimist in situations like these. He'll find some good in even the most dismal of circumstances. But nope--not this time. He totally agreed that this trip sucked ass.
What's especially sad is that he wanted to do some fishing on this trip. He even built himself a home made fishing rod, with a lure and a weight and everything. He never had a chance to use it.
**************
Given a choice between bad outcomes, I think I would have preferred the bear.
🐻
