COLUMN: Just say no to hyperboreal phenomena
Oh, the weather outside is frightful, and just when I decided that my potential for being a moron was over, I went camping last weekend.
Disregarding any and all warnings given to me by friends, experts and anyone with even a remotely rational opinion, I decided to help out the local Boy Scout district with its Winter Klondike campout. What a dumb idea! I must have been heavily sedated when they asked me to go, or perhaps I was just a little too excited at the prospect of sleeping in a snow cave.
I miraculously forgot that Logan winters just happen to occupy the entire period from Labor Day to Father’s Day, and consequently have since regretted my poor decision. Even so, I learned a lot about surviving a blizzard when you’re more than a few blocks away from your warm comfortable bed. Hopefully some of the comments presented in this column will help you decide never to go camping. But if you’re one of those strong-willed and extremely hairy folks, then maybe my words will help you also to decide never to camp again.
I don’t care how experienced you think you are at camping, never set up camp after dark – it really sucks. When I arrived at the camp just before 10 p.m., I was instructed to start shoveling snow. I didn’t know why exactly, but I didn’t argue … much. About 43 seconds later, when I thought I had shoveled enough, it started to snow.
Already disappointed at not getting to sleep in a cave, I, unburdened by the use of a flashlight, began setting up my tent, or what turned out later to seem like a rather cheap and drab design for a coffin. The experience was already involving way too much physical activity. I mean really … shoveling snow on a campout? That’s what my mom makes me do when I go home for Christmas.
Setting up camp made me pretty hungry, and luckily the other guys saved me some dinner to cook over a fire. Before last Friday, never in my life have I recognized the amazing need for rotation while cooking hot dogs. One side of the frank would roast while the other accumulated inches of snow. I couldn’t tell whether I was preparing an entre or a dessert. Eventually I got everything cooked and had a tasty meal complete with mildly lukewarm chocolate and a hearty portion of Nyquil.
That’s right, I wasn’t about to lie there all night moaning like a moose with bowel problems. It’s a good thing the drugs worked, because shoveling in the dark left my sleeping surface bumpier than the Himalayas. Once I fell asleep though, I stayed plenty warm and dry, but still confused at how I got duped into this situation.
Morning arrived with a mild fright when I realized I couldn’t move my legs. Even though I had some disturbing dreams, I didn’t recall anyone breaking into my tent during the night and severing my spinal cord. I know Blaine and John like to play pranks on people, but that would have been a little too merciless even for them. Plus, I knew they’d be too chicken to go winter camping anyway.
I quickly ascertained that the snowfall overnight was heavy enough to make my tent sag and prevent my feet from moving. And yes, it was still snowing. Inasmuch as I wanted to shout many obscenities, I refrained from such scurrilous actions by putting several cookies in my mouth.
After spending about 45 minutes in my nylon sardine can changing clothes and trying to pack some gear, I discovered that I was trapped in the small chamber. Roughly half a foot of snow fell overnight, resulting in an actual transformation of my lodging into a snow cave. Woohoo! I got my wish – well sort of. I again stuffed a few cookies in my mouth before furiously banging the tent walls to diminish the death grip the snow had on my enclosure.
When I finally emerged, the other campers in our group seemed genuinely amused by my antics, but I didn’t care. I was simply overjoyed that I didn’t leave any belongings out overnight, because they would have been lost until July when the snow supposedly finally melts.
The experience wasn’t all bad, because Saturday morning was filled with fun activities for the Scouts. Those of us on the staff offered entertaining activities like falling into deep snow banks, getting snow rammed into nasal passages and ear canals, and developing frostbite in any remaining extremities. But the best-attended activity by far was the campwide game called “We’re Cold, Let’s Get The Crap Out of Here,” my personal favorite.
If you can’t tell, I had a really fun time camping last weekend and would do it again in a heartbeat. Not bloody likely. You’d have a much better chance of finding a moose with bowel problems.
Garrett Wheeler, a graduate student in engineering, is a proponent of global warming. Anything is better than this weather! E-mail any comments to him at wheel@cc.usu.edu.