Happy Campers (#9)

As I count down to the final post of this blog, I feel a bit sad. After all, I've been posting since 2005. But, the time has come. Sixteen final posts, representing 16 years of blogging. Reworked from 2011, here is #9 of 16)

 We--three men with chronic mental illness and I (who may or may not be considered chronically mentally ill)--went camping as scheduled last week. There were supposed to be four guys, but one guy panicked at the last minute and didn't join the fun. Smart guy. 

Self: Why do you mention chronic mental illness as part of this story?

Me: Because that is the population of whom I serve.

Self: Is it relevant to the story?

Me: I daresay it is.

Self: Why? What is it relevant?

Me: Because these are my people. 

Self: Hmmm.

Me: And, I hate camping. The only people I would take camping are "my" people.

Self: I do hate camping.

Me: There you go.

Self: Do they hate camping?

Me: They never get to go camping. 

Self: Hmmm.

Me: Thus, I'm including their background in the descriptors of this blog.

Self: Okay. This time.

The three guys who signed up for this overnight outing all reported camping experience, so I hadn't been too worried. In fact, I didn't worry at all. As long as they had camping experience, all would be fabulous. 

Note to self: Do not believe all that is presented.

Despite their camping prowess, none of them had tents, so I borrowed some from a co-worker. We stuffed the tents, coolers, fishing poles, worms and duffle bags into the van. (Note to self: if someone brags about camping prowess but doesn't have a tent, stop and question this.) Since I couldn't fit everything in my car, I asked a staff person to drive the guys and their stuff to the site and I would follow in my two-door coupe Honda Civic.

We arrived as scheduled at our beautiful campsite, right on the lake. Thankfully, the weather promised no rain. (There is no way in hell I'd camp in the rain. Been there, done that, never doing it again. Those guys would have been sad, lonely and at home if it were raining.) It was mid-afternoon, so we needed to get moving on setting up the campsite. After all, this was a remote tent-only camping site without power of any kind. Not even a hook-up in case of electricity-need-crisis (aka iPhone runs out of power). The guys dumped everything out of the van--onto the parking lot blacktop, dragged their fishing poles and worms to the campsite and sat down on a picnic table near the fire pit. The staff person drove off, leaving us without a van and only my car. Good enough, I think.

Me [to the guys, sitting on the picnic table, looking at their containers full of nightcrawler]: "HEY! What about the rest of this stuff?" [point to tents, cooler, duffle bags]

Guys: [staring at me, as if to say, YOU bring it up here. We're tired. We're camping! We've got nightcrawlers!]

Me: "Come help me carry the rest of your stuff. You want food, don't you?"

Guys: [hear the word FOOD and perk up.] They dragged the rest of their belongings to the campsite and then sat back down on the picnic table. 

 

It quickly became quickly--almost immediately--evident that my little campers had misrepresented their camping prowess. It didn't take long for me to realize I was the only one who really knew about camping....and, trust me--I know very little about this complicated use of leisure time.

[Chronic mental illness can warp the view of the world. So, maybe these guys thought they had camping experience. Maybe they stayed outside in the backyard in a blanket fort one time and that qualified for camping experience. Maybe they were so excited to be invited on a camping trip that they thought it best to agree with anything I said or asked. Chronic mental illness like schizophrenia can mess with cognitive this-or-that, so maybe this was the issue... or, maybe they are lying sacks of poo and the mental illness has NOTHING to do with the current situation.]

Me: "Look, I know you want to go fishing and hiking and exploring, but we need need to put the tents up first, then gather firewood, then have fun. [Point to the sky] The sun will soon be on its way toward the horizon. We have to do this stuff before dusk."

Guys: [blank stares]

Me: "You know, sun set. When the sun sets."

Guys: [less blank stares]

Guy #2: "Aren't there streetlights? We can put up the tents later."

Me: "Streetlights." [A statement, not question.] "Do you see any streetlights? Any lights at all? Do you see an electric box?"

Guy #2: "We don't have electricity here?" [shred of panic, followed by pulling phone out of pocket, definitely looking at how much battery life is left.]

Me: "Tent first, firewood second, fun third."  

Guys: [Looking around the campsite, then at the sky.] 

Me: "Don't forget--don't go anywhere without a buddy. Even if you are just going to the bathroom, take someone with you. Got it?" 

Guys: [All three of the guys nodded yes.]

Me: [not sure they are actually listening]: "Can I have you say yes, you heard me?" 

Guys: [All give a rousing] "Yes!"

Guy #2: "Buddy system!"

 

Not three seconds later, Guy #1 announced, "I'm going for a hike!"  

He then started toward the lake. 

Alone.

 

So much for my directives.

 

I shouted at him to come back. I muttered to the other two: "He wasn't supposed to go anywhere without a buddy. We need to put up the tents before dark. Didn't I just say that?" They nodded in agreement, too smart to say anything beyond the nods. Mr. Wander-Away returned to the site, laughing. He shrugged his shoulders and said he wanted to check out the fishing spots.

 

With the three guys standing in front of me, I pointed to the pile of folded up tents. Guy #1 dumped the tents out onto the ground.....and, just stood there.....looking at the little piles of tent-makings.  

Here's what it looked like:

Oh boy. This is an issue. He definitely knows nothing about a tent. In fact, the look on his face suggests he has never even seen the inner workings of a tent.

I ask, "so, does anyone know how to put up a tent?"

 

The blank stares and teeny little shakes of the heads told me what was already obvious. I turned to one of the guys. "You told me you had gone camping LOTS of times and knew how to put up a tent. Do you know how to put up a tent?" 

He stared at me and then quietly squeaked out, "no."  

Dear god, we're going to rely on ME to set up the tents?

  

Guy #1 started to wander off--alone--again, this time with fishing pole and worms in hand. In no uncertain terms, I made it quite clear that he would be staying with me and putting together HIS tent. He stopped, came back, stared at the tent-makings, making no effort to put the tent together. 

Trust me, he learned how to put up a tent. So did I. Forty five minutes later, with a lot of sweating and a bit of swearing, one of the two tents was semi-standing and good enough for one night's sleep. It looked sad but it was standing, good enough for one overnight stay. I told them they'd be staying in one tent unless someone put up the second tent. 

No one moved.

No one asked where I was staying, either. Every man for himself, so it seemed.

 

Next came the firewood search. Who knew none of the three had never made an actual fire during their "extensive" camping adventures? When I saw the few twigs and branches--which MIGHT qualify as kindling--they brought back, I knew I was in really serious trouble. "Um, I don't know how to tell you, but that's enough wood for about 15 minutes. You'll have to find more. Think bigger."

 

Suffice it to say we had to go to the concession stand on the other side of the lake and buy cords of wood. 

Yes, I took them with me to go buy the wood. Yes, in my two-door coupe. I stuffed them in like sausages. I'm not sure how I got them in OR out of that small car. I mean, the one guy was 6"4.' The hell if I was going to leave them alone at the campsite. Buddy system, my ass.

I was disappointed that we had to purchase a few cords of wood, as it seemed like cheating, but I wanted a fire more than I wanted to not cheat, so I got over it quickly. The sun was quickly fading and I so did not want to be in the middle of nowhere without electricity and no fire. After peeling them back out of the car, I proclaimed my fire building prowess. 

I am pleased to report that I got a fire going without much issue. Thank god for Girl Scouts. 

We didn't have any paper, so I did cheat at one point by spraying a stick with bug spray and then used that to get the fire going a little faster. (I do NOT recommend this method of building a fire. If you are ignorant enough to do this, make sure you are far away from the fire when spraying the stick....and, don't tell anyone what you are doing. I certainly did not tell them what I was doing.)

 

We enjoyed traditional camp-type activities--hiking, fishing, roasting marshmallows, making S'Mores, texting, taking anti-psychotic medications...you get the picture. 

Dinner was hot dogs on a stick, over the fire. You would think they had won the lottery with that one. Hell, they didn't even eat the hot dogs with buns. They ate them right from the stick. Since none of the guys (the same guys with extensive camping experience) knew what a S'more was, they learned a new skill. We might have eaten the entire package of chocolate and graham crackers. There were a few marshmallows left over, but that is only because we were getting nauseous from all the other crap we had consumed.

Medication. These guys are on serious anti-psychotics. We're talking knock-you-off-your-ass anti-psychotics. Sedating to drooling-on-yourself point. They all had their own little envelopes of medication. If there was one thing they knew, it was that they needed to take their medication, no questions asked. They knew when to take them, how to take them, why they take them.

I forgot to address the medication part as part of this camping experience. I was going to tell the guys to take their meds a little later so they could stay awake longer, but too late--the guys took their meds at 8 PM, as usual. By 9 PM they were going to bed. Here we are in the middle of a beautiful campsite, on a gorgeous night, with a great fire crackling.....and, they go to bed.

At least I didn't have to worry about them wandering off.

For the record, they didn't fall immediately asleep. How do I know? Because one would fart and the other two would laugh. All I could do is roll my eyes and chuckle to myself. Soon, the snoring overtook the farting and all was well in the camping world.

 

Suffice it to say, I had a LOT of time to be with myself.  Around midnight, after the fire had died down to a red glowing ember and the snoring was getting even louder, I realized it was going to be too warm to sleep in my car (couldn't open the windows due to the bugs), so I made myself a little set up using two folding chairs and a cooler. As the daddy long legs were running rampant, I put on a baseball hat, put on my sweatshirt, tied the hood tightly around my head so literally only my glasses and brim of the hat were peeking out.  I then sprayed the shit out of my hood and brim with bug spray. I settled in, thinking how cool it was that I was about to sleep under the stars, praying to the gods of the Woods that the daddy long legs wouldn't crawl into my eyes. I was dripping in sweat but I was safe. I shut my eyes, hoping sleep would come and the bugs would stay away. It really was a beautiful night.

 

It was 1 AM and I was still wide awake. I stared at the stars, checked my Book de la Face, hummed little tunes, put a few logs on the fire..... then, I heard a small "crack." 

Huh.

Maybe it was the fire. I leaned back into my chair.

Crack. Crack.

This time, I took out my flashlight and turned to my right, shined it on the tents.  Nope. No movement. Still snoring. Huh.

 

From my left I hear a definite snap, followed by a crack and then another snap. Like breaking twigs. Moving branches. 

Snap.

 

I realized something was very close.....coming closer....closer... 

I turned my flashlight and pointed to my left....

 

OMG! A KILLER RACCOON, BIG AS A TODDLER! 

Close enough to scare the hood right off my head. I don't know how those three guys didn't wake up because I was hooting and hollering for that damned thing to get away from me. I remember thinking about how I had no idea raccoons were big. This guy was big. I thought they were small and fluffy. There wasn't one damn thing small or fluffy on this dude.

Toddler Raccoon didn't seem too frightened of me and kept waddling my way. 

He was too close for my comfort. Waddle, waddle, waddle.

"GET AWAY! WE DON'T HAVE ANY FOOD!" (This was true, as I had put it all in my car to make sure we had no unwanted visitors. So much for that plan.) I could tell it was not in any way, shape or form afraid of me or my rantings. 

Standing on his back legs, he stopped and looked at me. 

I swear to God he was mocking me. 

He took a few steps closer. I thought I was going to shit myself. 

After staring at me for seven hours (okay, probably ten seconds), Mr. Raccoon finally decided I must be not worth the effort and I really didn't have any food. He turned and slowly rambled slowly toward a the nearest tree....and, crawled slowly up the trunk...he then perched itself on a branch and stared at me. 

Seriously.  Little golden eyes glowing at me from above.

I stared at the tree and his little glowing, golden eyes. "I'm not taking my eyes off you, mister." I was struck by the fact that raccoons climb trees. Seriously, I'm worried about the guys not having camping experience? I didn't even know raccoons were in trees.

That's when I heard what sounded like a bunch of branches cracking and rustling. My killer raccoon wasn't moving, so I took this as a VERY.BAD.SIGN.

I pointed my flashlight a bit to the left... there were several sets of eyes staring at me from that tree. 

Oh my gawd, it was a friggin' FAMILY of KILLER RACCOONS! I was sure death was inevitable. They were going to overtake me and the campsite. The guys would wake up to an empty campsite with not a trace of their fearless leader. Although the killer raccoon family wasn't moving, I knew I had to do something before they came and killed me.

 

It is then I decided it was no longer too hot to sleep in my car. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly I got out of my chair. I assured the raccoons I meant no harm and in slow motion backed away from them. Thankfully, the family stayed in place. I think I might have cried when I made it to my car.

After I was able to stop shaking from my brush with killer raccoons, I slept from 2 AM-5 AM. For the record, it is REALLY hard to sleep in a Civic. But, when you are tired and terrified of being killed in the night by killer raccoons, you do what you have to do. You sleep in a Civic.

Why did I wake up at 5 AM? Because the park ranger knocked on my window and scared the piss out of me. He told me I can't sleep in my car. Where was he when I was about to be killed last night?

I crawled out my car, sore and beyond tired. Pleasantly, I was treated to a beautiful sunrise and a raccoon-free campsite. It was the perfect morning--well, besides the kink in my neck from sleeping in a Civic.

 

As for the guys? They slept right through the night and didn't get up until I made them at 6:30 AM. They ate some chips for breakfast, stuffed the tents into the little nylon bags, questioned my sanity when I told them about the raccoons and waited for the van to arrive. They were happy and refreshed, ready to return to the site so they could appropriately brag of their camping prowess and of their survival skills.

Brag they did. When the van arrived to pick them up, they were full of stories, unable to wait until even getting into the van before overtalking each other. It made me smile. 

It didn't matter that I was so tired I wanted to puke. 

It didn't matter that I didn't have a toothbrush or that I'd be staying to clean up the campsite. 

It didn't matter that they didn't know how to put up a tent.

It didn't matter that they didn't catch fish. 

It didn't matter that I had to buy wood.

What mattered is that they had had a great time.

It mattered that they felt like survivalists in the wilderness. 

It mattered that they got to do something "normal" in a world that does not find them normal.

It mattered that they had something to brag about.

It mattered that they had something of which to be proud.

It was at that moment I was reminded I have the best job on the planet. 

They left in the van, smelly, in the same clothes and without a care in the world. 

It didn't matter they were smelly or in the same clothes. 

It mattered that they didn't have a care in the world.

As for me, I cleaned up the campsite, went home and took a nap. Right before falling asleep, I swore to myself I would NEVER take anyone camping again. Never. I hate camping. I hate bugs. I hate killer raccoons.

Self: "You're an ass--you know you'll take guys camping again next year." 

Me: [smile] "I hate camping. You know that."

Self: "I know you'll take guys camping again next year."

Me: [smiling]. "Maybe in a year I'll forget about the killer raccoons."

Self: "They weren't that big."

*******************************************************

Dammit if I didn't take a group of guys camping the next year.

********************************************************