I Hate Camping

I hate camping. Why? Every camping experience of mine has been disastrous.

I once camped in the Rockies with our college group. Two things took away from the fun.

First, we shared food with our tent mates. My buddy, Alex, loved camping. I brought meals I recognized. Alex brought concoctions with lots of fibre. When far from toilets, having to dig a hole to answer nature’s call and sharing it with blood-hungry mosquitoes, you welcome constipation. Alex’s offerings had the reverse effect.

Second, I rented a sleeping bag. The camping store suggested a down-filled one for the cold nights. They were wrong. It wasn’t warm enough. Also, I discovered my allergy to feathers. At daybreak, my body itched everywhere. I got out of this cocoon and went outside into the rain.

Then I saw the moose. They have terrible eyesight. It didn’t see me. The rain prevented it from smelling me. After two days without a shower, it should have detected my scent. It walked towards me. Suddenly, its eyes bugged out. It saw me, but kept walking towards me. I had no idea what to do, so I did nothing. It calmly passed me, almost stepping on our tent.

Still, there were some laughs. I remember the Johnson girl with a plug-in make-up mirror in her backpack. There was no electricity for miles.

I vowed never to camp again, until one of our youth leaders in Ottawa, Andy, suggested winter camping in Gatineau Park. As a leader, I felt pressured to participate.

Sensing my apprehension, he assured me that snow huts waited for us at our destination and a small heated cabin for me. It sounded inviting.

The worst ice storm ever in the region closed our trail. The temperature was - 28˚C. Nothing would stop us, though.

After an afternoon blazing our own trail, it was getting dark. We had to decide immediately whether to continue trying to reach the snow huts or spend the remaining daylight setting up camp. With the temperature at - 28˚C, and our survival depending on this decision, better to deal with familiar surroundings.

A tarpaulin covering a three-foot hole in the snow became our shelter. Twenty weary campers crammed their sleeping bags into the pit.

We huddled around a huge fire, holding our bodies perilously close to the flames. The hot food tasted delicious.

Exhausted after an afternoon slogging through deep snow, I got into my sleeping bag. Suddenly a cramp in my leg felt like a volcano erupting. I got up, hunched over and did a jig under the tarp. I returned to my bag. It came back twice as hard. Trying to sleep was useless. I decided to stay up all night. Getting dressed, I actually stepped on Mark Jones’ head. He screamed, but the rest of the campers laughed.

I tried staying warm by the fire and kept it going until morning. A beautiful meteorite blazing across the sky at 4:30 a.m. was my reward for a sleepless night.

When I got home, I immediately went to the washroom and threw up.

The winter camping experience was horrible, yet when the group met again, there was a special bond among those who had participated in this adventure. Going through this unpleasantness together brought us closer. My trying to put on my clothes, bouncing around like a ping pong ball, and stepping on Mark’s head became more legendary with each telling. Something very good, indeed, had emerged from this horridness.

Sometimes life’s like this camping adventure. Even though you may be going through a rough time, once you’re through it, you may treasure having shared the experience, and something strong and beautiful can grow from it.

Maybe there’s something to be learned from the saying: "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain."

When there is somebody to dance with you in the rain, you know you have a true friend. It’s easy being a friend when times are happy, but getting through the difficult times makes true friendship stronger.

Hopefully you have friends like this. If not, maybe I can be your friend. Just don’t ask me to go camping.