Why I Hate Camping – Part 2 In A Series Of Parts

Ever wondered what it’s like to participate in eternal suffering? If you have, and you’re interested in a taste, there is one place I know of that will give you a perfect sampling. It’s called the Klondike Derby.

For some reason, some genius thought it would be a great idea to gather together large groups of 12 to 16-year-old boys in a huge field surrounded by mountains smack in the middle of winter. If you don’t know what the Utah mountains look like in winter, click here.

The main event of the camp-out is a huge sled-pulling competition held between scout troops. As luck would have it, my scout troop consisted of me, my friend Mark and your mom. (Actually, your mom wasn’t there… but Mark’s dad was there, and that’s close enough.) The results of the race come later in this post.

Since it was just the 3 of us, we decided against going to the trouble of seting up a tent. Instead, we unrolled our sleeping bags in the back of the mini van we drove up in. Classy. We were the envy of every troop around, all crammed into the rear of our maroon Astro van!

Half way through the night, (of course) I had to pee.

I sat there in my sleeping bag for about 30 minutes, gazing at the cloud of condensation that was forming above our heads, wondering if it was worth it to jump out of the van to do the deed. I didn’t think my bunk mates would appreciate the gust of freezing air, and I didn’t really want to put on my boots or expose my treasure of treasures to sub zero weather.

Finally, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I threw on my half-laced boots, opened the door and took a leak right outside the van.

The next morning, I was greeted by a block of lemon flavored ice right outside my door.

As we exited the car after our fitful night’s rest, our first objectives were food and fire… though not necessarily in that order. After a few matches and our fair share of scout water (kerosene), we had a fire blazing. I was wearing my boots, snow pants, sweater, coat, gloves and hat while I held my hands over the fire.

After a minute or two, I started to feel a strange sensation on my hands. As I turned them over to have a look, I realized that I had held them too close to the fire and melted clean through the fabric and insulation on my gloves and the sleeve of my coat. Wonderful.

I endured the rest of the trip while experiencing a brisk draft that penetrated to my very core.

After breakfast, we headed over to the ‘fun’ competition. By this time, I just wanted to go home… or die. My scout troop (Mark and myself) were now required to run a quarter mile together… in the snow… pulling a weighted sled. We were thrilled.

To give you an idea of how this looked/felt, I have posted a video for your viewing pleasure.

I don’t know what possessed someone to even fathom that this event would be remotely fun. If I wanted to freeze my butt off and be miserable for a weekend, I’d clean out the fridge and have someone lock me in there… or I could have moved to Canada. To be honest, I might have actually preferred that.