Earning My Wolf Badge
The past weekend I survived my first overnight Cub scout camp out. My 8 year old is in his third year of Cub scouts. So this year I broke down and agreed to take him on the annual camp out with his pack. In a moment of weakness/insanity I also agreed to let our 5 year old son come and stay overnight.
This was a HUGE sacrifice for me as I would miss a day and evening of college football and the Cubs' last chance to stay alive in the playoffs. So I made my wife buy batteries for our radio so I could at least listen to the outside world from our campsite. Saturday morning arrived and we began to pack for the overnight campout. I would have liked to been able to draw on my experience as a Webelo growing up. But my Cub scout experiences consisted of making bird houses, visiting our local newspaper, and making more birdhouses. Quite lame and certainly no camping was involved. So I did the next best thing and called my friend Brad who has camping gear and borrowed his stuff. My wife packed a box with food, provisions, first aid and my radio and the three boys and I were off.
The pack's camp grounds are actually only about 15 miles out of town so I figured worst case scenario I could drive the five year old back home if he got cold feet. However the boys were pumped up and ready to rock as we drove to the campsite. We parked and the boys shot out of the car like a bullet before I called them back to help me take our gear to the camp. The whining began, "Ahhh daadd" but there was no negotiating. I loaded them up like pack mules and we walked a short 200 yards to our site. I ended up balancing the five year old's share of the load on top of mine 50 yards out, but we made it in only three trips. We started to assemble our tent. I had a better chance solving my old Rubik's Cube. Then our first injury...I let our 8 year old hammer in one of the stakes and he made SOLID contact with his left thumb. He was fine until he saw the blood. But a Band-Aid saved the day and we continued with the tent. Thankfully our Den leader came to our rescue and helped us get the tent set up.
Time for a light lunch. I whip out the PBnJ and chips. Our Den leader breaks out a camping kitchen set that is nicer than my kitchen at home and fixes a beautiful turkey sandwich on rye with an assortment of fruits and vegetables for his boy. My son glances at me with a "Are we on welfare dad?" look and I mutter "Den Leader!" under my breath to the tune of Seinfeld's "Newman!". After lunch we do a host of activities from archery, to knot tying, to map reading, to a b-b gun range. Our 5 year old got to participate in most of the activities and also spent time running around with other little kids in the woods and brush around the campsite. I gave a try at the knot tying along with our den. After a few crash and burn attempts at some complicated knots, I ended up attempting the square knot, but for some reason it just looked like the knot you use to tie your shoes. The Den leader was able to ace every knot in the book. My 8 year old went over to him and asked for help and I muttered my second, "Den Leader!"
The afternoon sailed by. Injury # 2 occurred when the younger son cut his thumb. He was fine until he saw the blood. First aid kit to the rescue again. Then I remembered that I had brought two air mattresses to blow up so we could have something to sleep on besides the rock hard ground. Look, I'm no hero, I just wanted a fighter's chance at a decent night's sleep. I wondered into the tent to blow up the mattresses but realized the inflator was out of juice. The inflator did have an adaptor for the car's cigarette lighter, but I was hoping to discreetly blow the mattresses up and not draw attention to the fact that I was soft. Well, how hard could the ground be? I threw a sleeping back out and laid down. The pain of a dirt clog jamming into my spleen convinced me I needed to go to plan B. I had to fill those two bad boys up from the car and do the walk of shame through the entire campsite, letting everyone know I was going to sleep on an air mattress. About then the wind started to pick up pretty good. So by the time I filled up both mattresses it was a 30 mph gale. It took everything I had to keep from para-sailing into the next county. I felt the looks of shame and disgust from my fellow campers. But as one of my law school classmates used to say, "Jealousy breeds criticism." They WISHED they had these air mattresses. I could take the disdain for a good night's sleep.
Finally it was dinner time. The boys were feasting on hot dogs as the fire got cooking. The Den leader brought out a skillet and proceeded to cut up onions, garlic and other veggies and placed bacon and what looked like a sirloin stake on the skillet. "Den Leader!" But the hot dogs and pudding cups went down well. The kids brought out their flashlights and hung out by the campfire or in the tents trying to scare each other. All the parents started to talk about the Nebraska football game and complaining about missing it. That was my cue for redemption...I brought out my radio and offered to share it with the group. Suddenly I was being offered the pack's Father of the Year award. The group's mood soured as the first half of the game wore on and it was clear Nebraska was in for a whoppin by Missouri. By halftime if was over. Which was fortunate for me because people were calling it a night and I had permission to take the radio back to our tent and listen to the Cubs game.
I got the boys into the tent and turned on the radio to find the Cubs down 2-0 in the 4th. CRAP! We got on our sleeping clothes and got the sleeping bags out. Luckily it was only going to get into the 50's that night. The boys shared the queen size mattress and I took the twin, which felt a little low on air. At this point the wind was howling worse than ever, but the tent held, although it flapped around, snapped and sounded like we were on the top of Mt Everest. The boys passed out and I was left to my radio turned down low. The Cubs continued to struggle until about the 7th inning when all of the sudden a local announcer cut in to give a recap of the Nebraska game with post game interviews. WHAT!!! I was furious! I searched around the dial but all I could find was a static filled and barely audible call of the game. My mattress continued losing air but I was focused on trying to hear the game. It was late now, and in between hisses and crackles I managed to hear the final out. Cubs lose. Out of the playoffs. Perfect. I turned the radio off and tried to go to sleep. The wind and the tent kept me up until around 1:30 AM. I managed to fall in and out of sleep. I had nightmares Tommy Lasorda was jumping up and down on my back. I woke up around 5:00 AM to a dirt clog lancing my liver and a powerful need to find the campground port-a-potty.
The camp came to life around 6:30 AM. The boys woke me up, looking well rested on their full and air filled mattress. I stumbled out of the tent with my Tommy Lasorda damaged spine. Through my half opened, bloodshot eyes, I saw the Den leader sipping coffee, reading a New York Times Sunday edition and making blueberry pan cakes. "Den leader!" My oldest son asked me "Are we going to make breakfast dad?" "NO" came my quick reply. "Let's pack up. We're eating breakfast at home." Two hours later we had everything packed up, said our good bys and headed home. The smiles in the backseat made the searing pain in my lower back feel a little better. Next year we're going for hamburgers. And hopefully a playoff win?
This was a HUGE sacrifice for me as I would miss a day and evening of college football and the Cubs' last chance to stay alive in the playoffs. So I made my wife buy batteries for our radio so I could at least listen to the outside world from our campsite. Saturday morning arrived and we began to pack for the overnight campout. I would have liked to been able to draw on my experience as a Webelo growing up. But my Cub scout experiences consisted of making bird houses, visiting our local newspaper, and making more birdhouses. Quite lame and certainly no camping was involved. So I did the next best thing and called my friend Brad who has camping gear and borrowed his stuff. My wife packed a box with food, provisions, first aid and my radio and the three boys and I were off.
The pack's camp grounds are actually only about 15 miles out of town so I figured worst case scenario I could drive the five year old back home if he got cold feet. However the boys were pumped up and ready to rock as we drove to the campsite. We parked and the boys shot out of the car like a bullet before I called them back to help me take our gear to the camp. The whining began, "Ahhh daadd" but there was no negotiating. I loaded them up like pack mules and we walked a short 200 yards to our site. I ended up balancing the five year old's share of the load on top of mine 50 yards out, but we made it in only three trips. We started to assemble our tent. I had a better chance solving my old Rubik's Cube. Then our first injury...I let our 8 year old hammer in one of the stakes and he made SOLID contact with his left thumb. He was fine until he saw the blood. But a Band-Aid saved the day and we continued with the tent. Thankfully our Den leader came to our rescue and helped us get the tent set up.
Time for a light lunch. I whip out the PBnJ and chips. Our Den leader breaks out a camping kitchen set that is nicer than my kitchen at home and fixes a beautiful turkey sandwich on rye with an assortment of fruits and vegetables for his boy. My son glances at me with a "Are we on welfare dad?" look and I mutter "Den Leader!" under my breath to the tune of Seinfeld's "Newman!". After lunch we do a host of activities from archery, to knot tying, to map reading, to a b-b gun range. Our 5 year old got to participate in most of the activities and also spent time running around with other little kids in the woods and brush around the campsite. I gave a try at the knot tying along with our den. After a few crash and burn attempts at some complicated knots, I ended up attempting the square knot, but for some reason it just looked like the knot you use to tie your shoes. The Den leader was able to ace every knot in the book. My 8 year old went over to him and asked for help and I muttered my second, "Den Leader!"
The afternoon sailed by. Injury # 2 occurred when the younger son cut his thumb. He was fine until he saw the blood. First aid kit to the rescue again. Then I remembered that I had brought two air mattresses to blow up so we could have something to sleep on besides the rock hard ground. Look, I'm no hero, I just wanted a fighter's chance at a decent night's sleep. I wondered into the tent to blow up the mattresses but realized the inflator was out of juice. The inflator did have an adaptor for the car's cigarette lighter, but I was hoping to discreetly blow the mattresses up and not draw attention to the fact that I was soft. Well, how hard could the ground be? I threw a sleeping back out and laid down. The pain of a dirt clog jamming into my spleen convinced me I needed to go to plan B. I had to fill those two bad boys up from the car and do the walk of shame through the entire campsite, letting everyone know I was going to sleep on an air mattress. About then the wind started to pick up pretty good. So by the time I filled up both mattresses it was a 30 mph gale. It took everything I had to keep from para-sailing into the next county. I felt the looks of shame and disgust from my fellow campers. But as one of my law school classmates used to say, "Jealousy breeds criticism." They WISHED they had these air mattresses. I could take the disdain for a good night's sleep.
Finally it was dinner time. The boys were feasting on hot dogs as the fire got cooking. The Den leader brought out a skillet and proceeded to cut up onions, garlic and other veggies and placed bacon and what looked like a sirloin stake on the skillet. "Den Leader!" But the hot dogs and pudding cups went down well. The kids brought out their flashlights and hung out by the campfire or in the tents trying to scare each other. All the parents started to talk about the Nebraska football game and complaining about missing it. That was my cue for redemption...I brought out my radio and offered to share it with the group. Suddenly I was being offered the pack's Father of the Year award. The group's mood soured as the first half of the game wore on and it was clear Nebraska was in for a whoppin by Missouri. By halftime if was over. Which was fortunate for me because people were calling it a night and I had permission to take the radio back to our tent and listen to the Cubs game.
I got the boys into the tent and turned on the radio to find the Cubs down 2-0 in the 4th. CRAP! We got on our sleeping clothes and got the sleeping bags out. Luckily it was only going to get into the 50's that night. The boys shared the queen size mattress and I took the twin, which felt a little low on air. At this point the wind was howling worse than ever, but the tent held, although it flapped around, snapped and sounded like we were on the top of Mt Everest. The boys passed out and I was left to my radio turned down low. The Cubs continued to struggle until about the 7th inning when all of the sudden a local announcer cut in to give a recap of the Nebraska game with post game interviews. WHAT!!! I was furious! I searched around the dial but all I could find was a static filled and barely audible call of the game. My mattress continued losing air but I was focused on trying to hear the game. It was late now, and in between hisses and crackles I managed to hear the final out. Cubs lose. Out of the playoffs. Perfect. I turned the radio off and tried to go to sleep. The wind and the tent kept me up until around 1:30 AM. I managed to fall in and out of sleep. I had nightmares Tommy Lasorda was jumping up and down on my back. I woke up around 5:00 AM to a dirt clog lancing my liver and a powerful need to find the campground port-a-potty.
The camp came to life around 6:30 AM. The boys woke me up, looking well rested on their full and air filled mattress. I stumbled out of the tent with my Tommy Lasorda damaged spine. Through my half opened, bloodshot eyes, I saw the Den leader sipping coffee, reading a New York Times Sunday edition and making blueberry pan cakes. "Den leader!" My oldest son asked me "Are we going to make breakfast dad?" "NO" came my quick reply. "Let's pack up. We're eating breakfast at home." Two hours later we had everything packed up, said our good bys and headed home. The smiles in the backseat made the searing pain in my lower back feel a little better. Next year we're going for hamburgers. And hopefully a playoff win?
posted by Hank Louis Tierney at 7:00 PM
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