Chapter 9 - Campout
After a busy morning of getting things together, I met Win at the Tree Nursery just after noon on Saturday. We both looked like regular Boy Scouts, with our backpacks and our sleeping bags, and carrying more stuff in bags. We had a lot more stuff to carry for a one-night campout than we ever had to carry while we were building the cabin. Of course, we had had all summer to do that, and didn’t have to carry it all at once.
Win told me as we hiked up the slope that he had talked to Karl that morning and invited him to the party, but it was unlikely he would show up, with the gig that night to prepare for.
“He told me again what fraternity they were playing at, but I can’t remember it; Sigma Something, or Something Sigma. It doesn’t matter.”
“Nah. As long as they’re making some money.” I thought Win gave me a funny look when I said that. Maybe he was thinking about my own money-making venture, but he didn’t ask.
It took an hour to get to the campsite, but at least it was a drier walk than it had been on Wednesday. The weather had been warm and dry all week; we wouldn’t have been able to camp out if it hadn’t. We didn’t have a radio with us – Tom would bring his – so we spent the time talking about stuff. We had been trying not to think about Summer School, but it was impossible to ignore. How would our summer be impacted, and how much of our normal activities would be restricted? Of course, we wanted desperately to find a way out of it, but there didn’t seem to be any prospect of that. Only a miraculous improvement in our grades over the next six weeks, a change of heart by Mrs. Pratt, or interference by our parents would change our fate. The chance of any of those things happening was near zero.
The events of the past year – it was nearly a year since we had decided on our disappearing act – had certainly raised our own realization of what we could accomplish when it came to frustrating the adult world, but it seemed that we were powerless in this case. We had to change the subject; it was too depressing, so we talked about the Yankees, and about the Planets, the Stones, the Beatles. As we got closer to the campsite, we talked about what we had to do to get everything ready. It was our job to make a firepit, collect some firewood, and sort of plan out where the tents should be set up.
Our clearing had dried up some, but the ground was still spongy and damp. We were definitely going to need ground cloths. Looking around, we tried to figure out the best places for our tents. The first thing we did was drop our packs and sleeping bags and stuff on the rocky ridge, which was quite dry. Then we walked around the clearing, checking the ground, and we soon had it planned out. We selected a spot for our fire pit, and set about making a circle of rocks. With all of the gear we were carrying, neither of us had been able to bring a shovel or rake, so we had to do everything with our hands. Rocks were easy to find, and we soon had a circle made in front of a long dead log, which would serve for seating for three or four of us, and we had the empty five-gallon buckets that we had used all last summer to carry dirt. They had been hidden in one of the gullies.
The next thing was to find firewood. I was worried that everything would be too wet to burn, and a lot of it was, but we knew that dead wood dried out pretty quickly, and we managed to find some big branches of fallen wood that looked like they would be fine. As the two of us were hauling a big branch into the clearing, we heard laughter and music, and soon we saw Tom approaching on the trail to the south, his transistor radio hanging on his sleeve. Right behind him was Roy, and bringing up the rear was Rollo. All of them were laden with the same stuff we had brought – backpacks and sleeping bags and one or two paper bags of miscellaneous stuff. Nobody had a shovel or a rake.
Everybody was in a good mood, and we immediately started arguing happily over the best spots for our tents. Since we had enough firewood to get started with, Win and I figured we had better get going on our tent before we lost out on our space. Soon all of us were bustling about, staking out tarps and getting our pup tents ready to set up. None of us were currently Boy Scouts, but all of us had either been in the Scouts or 4-H at one time, and we had all done this before, so it was reasonably efficient. There was some debate about leaving a good space for Jimmy and Larry. It was their own fault for being late, some said, but it was pointed out that they had taken on a vital task that we would all benefit from, so we agreed to leave them a nice spot.
Win and I hurried as fast as we could in setting up ours, because I was determined to claim the honor of Firestarter, but I knew I would have to get there first or I would lose it. We made it with a few minutes to spare, and I had a teepee of sticks ablaze before the other guys were finished.
Everybody loves a fire, of course, and we had never had one all summer the year before. We had never stayed overnight during the building phase, and we hadn’t wanted to draw attention to ourselves. Now that secrecy was no longer an issue, we were free to enjoy all the delights of camping. Soon we had a nice blazing fire going, and the five of us were sitting around, drinking sodas and laughing while we waited for the sixth-graders to show up. It wasn’t long before we heard the noise of them approaching, but it came from the north, not the south.
Here came Larry and Jimmy and Karl, walking in from Lost Nation Road. Win and I immediately started giving them shit about taking the easy way, especially after the way they had talked about Rollo (who just sat there, mystified) but when they unloaded all the stuff they had brought, we quickly forgave them. We hadn’t expected Karl at all, and he only stayed a couple of minutes, but he had brought two shovels and two rakes, carrying them over his shoulders.
Karl had to go and load equipment, so he headed off, and we shouted “thank yous” to him as he left. Soon we had a work detail organized. While Jimmy and Larry set up their tent, the rest of us worked on filling in the washed out side of our pit. Two guys shoveled dirt into buckets, and the other three carried and dumped. It didn’t take very long, and we had it almost filled by the time Jimmy and Larry joined in. There was a lot of raucous debate over the best way to do it, but Tom took charge and got it all sorted out, while I went back to the fire, which had burnt down a bit.
When all the dirt had been tamped down, the last step was to carry buckets of pine straw from nearby areas and cover and rake until it all look undisturbed. It looked good, like it had before.
Rollo was hungry, naturally, and asked when we were going to start cooking. It was only mid-afternoon, and everybody hooted him down, so he just calmly sat down on the big log next to the fire, pulled a sandwich out of a paper bag, and started munching. We all held our noses and cursed him for the smell, but he paid no attention to us. It was time, though, to take stock of what we had to eat.
Everybody had brought sodas, and some had brought bags of chips, but it was Jimmy and Larry, our shoplifters extraordinary, who had provided the bulk of our dinner. As we watched in anticipation, the two proceeded to pull things out of their backpacks and bags and drop them onto a flattened out brown grocery bag we had laid on the ground. Package after package of hot dogs appeared, and buns, of course, and all sorts of candy bars, and lots of those little bags of Planters peanuts. Last, but certainly not least, were a half dozen Devil Dogs and several Ring-Dings.
Congratulations rained down on the two master thieves, and they basked in their glory until, in a moment of silence, Rollo asked, “No marshmallows?”
We hurled abuse at him for complaining in the presence of such bounty. He asserted his right to ask, but when we threatened him with the loss of dessert, he kept his mouth shut.
Roy wanted to go down into the cabin, and Jimmy and Larry hadn’t seen it, either, so the three of them took the flashlight and some matches and slid behind the hedge. The rest of us headed off to collect more firewood, since we needed to have enough on hand to get us through several hours, at least. I was back in a few minutes, dragging a big branch behind me.
Rollo was just coming back, as well, with an armful of sticks and chunks of wood. As we unloaded our burdens in a big pile, Jimmy and Larry came out from behind the hedge, both laughing.
“I don’t believe it!” Jimmy shouted, “Did you see how dry the ceiling is?”
“We should build cabins for everyone!” Larry added, “We’re the best!”
“Or maybe we should just build roofs,” Jimmy said, “The rest of the cabin doesn’t look so good.”
They had each brought a couple of cans with them, and they set them down on the ground next to the rest of the food. Four cans of pork & beans to go with our hot dogs.
Rollo looked at the cans and asked, “No Spaghettios?”
“Jesus, Rollo!”
“Aren’t you ever satisfied?”
“Get your own goddamn Spaghettios!”
We all assaulted him, verbally, but, as usual, he just shrugged it off. He must have really wanted those Spaghettios badly, because, in a minute, he actually started behind the hedge. Then we heard Roy hollering for somebody to throw down a hammer. A couple of us had brought hammers to drive in the tent stakes.
I handed a hammer to Rollo, and I asked Jimmy what Roy was doing.
“He was trying to get the sawhorses and the table top out through the tunnel, but they wouldn’t fit.”
Well, that was a good idea, and I went down behind Rollo and helped Roy. The sawhorses and table top had been hastily nailed together and, with the help of a claw hammer, were just as hastily taken apart. Rollo carried some pieces up, along with his canned treasure, and Roy and I followed with the rest. Soon we had a table set up next to the fire, and we settled down to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to the radio and bullshitting.
We talked a lot about the previous summer – what we had accomplished and all of the fun that went along with it. Some incidents were especially treasured: the day we almost killed Roy by dropping a fully assembled stud wall on him, Rollo’s triumphant construction of the latrine, which had earned him the permanent title of “Ass King,” and the shameless looting of the Holy Family Church, pulled off by me and Win. Tom’s rigid security rules came in for some praise; through an entire summer of most of us hiking up here several days a week, and back, no one had ever figured out what we were doing, even when we disappeared, which was when it really mattered. A lot of it had to do with the adults’ complacency and indifference, but our Security Chief’s insistence on secrecy, and posting lookouts, and everybody taking different routes every day certainly helped.
Petty larceny made everything possible, and each of us were involved to some degree, but our younger confederates, Win’s brother Jimmy, and Karl’s brother Larry, were the stars when it came to shoplifting food and supplies. We couldn’t have done it without them. Karl, whose larcenies were of a bigger and more serious nature, was indispensable, as well. I’m still not sure why he was willing to help us, since he had a lot more to lose than we did.
What made it all so great was that, after all that work and planning, we actually got away with it. For six glorious weeks, no one, except we seven kids and Karl, knew where the Hell we were. Sure we had to pay for it, with grounding by our parents, harassment by the cops, and tons of extra work from the teachers, but it was all worth it.
So this was our celebration of what we viewed as our great triumph, and it was a great party.
Pretty soon somebody (guess who?) suggested that we start cooking, so we started to get it all organized. I worked on the fire, arranging the coals for heating up beans in a fry pan, and leaving lots of space to cook hot dogs on a stick over the fire. We had several pans that the guys had brought, and a couple of the kids went searching for just the right sticks for our dogs. There was a moment of panic when it seemed like we didn’t have a can opener. With all of the camping gear we had brought, it seemed impossible, so we all searched our packs again, and I went down into the cabin, where I knew there had to be at least one, left from last year. I did find one, rather rusty, but it would do in a pinch, but when I came back out, somebody else had found one.
So we proceeded to have a typical all-boy, no-adult campout meal, filled with spills, burns, drops, and lots of adolescent humor. Beans and dogs, ketchup and mustard, lots of potato chips, and all washed down with soda. Vegetables? Not a chance.
The meal never really finished, as long as we were awake, because somebody was always sticking another dog over the fire. The Devil Dogs and Ring Dings came out early, and caused considerable discord, because there were enough that each of us could have one, but that left three to be divided among seven. Numerous suggestions were made, and we eventually decided on a song contest. When the next song started on the radio, the first one to name it got the next Devil Dog.
Tom won, of course, and we had to stipulate that he couldn’t win again, or he would have had all three. The next song was a Dean Martin hit, and Rollo was all over it. There was one item left, a beautiful Ring Ding, and we nervously waited, the five of us remaining, while a couple of commercials aired. The next song was “Wooly Bully,” and Larry nailed it first. However, before he could take possession, Jimmy grabbed the Ring Ding and ran off into the woods, laughing his ass off, with Larry right behind him.
The rest of the evening went on in pretty much the same way, with lots of jokes, some good-natured fights, and lots of belching and farting. Rollo proposed a farting competition, naturally, but the rest of us said we wouldn’t do it unless he sat out, as the official judge. That would be no fun, he said, so he sulked for the rest of the night, occasionally blasting one just to prove his superiority.
None of us had a watch, and I really don’t know how late we stayed up. Eventually, we started drifting off to our tents, and since Tom had the only radio, it got very quiet when he left the fireside. Win and I were the last ones awake, and we took care of the fire and got all of the food that was left into our tent, so the raccoons wouldn’t get it.
Camping out at our age always meant waking up early. When we got older, and started drinking, that would change, but at twelve years old, it was early rising. Besides, while we had all gotten permission from our parents to camp out, none of us had been exempted from attendance at church, so we had to get home.
When we had finished striking the tents and rolling up our bags, the question came up of what to do with the leftover food. If somebody brought it home, he could easily explain it by saying that one of the other kids bought it, but no one really wanted to bother. So we threw some sticks on the coals, built up the flames a bit, and ate the rest of the hot dogs for breakfast, with soda and chips. Then we bagged up all the garbage, brought buckets of water from the stream to douse the fire, and headed home.