Why I Am Not a Camper

Late June already.

Without young kids, the whole end of school/summer break thing is irrelevant to me. School letting out is no longer an important date on the calendar in the Runyon home.




I do however miss the energy that the end of the school year brings and the anticipation of those long, lazy days of summer.

But that was my world. Old School.

Nowadays, kids are shipped off to a variety of summer camps. They go on church history tours lasting several weeks. They attend volleyball, basketball, soccer, tennis, dance, and music camps. A lot of kids attend more than one camp and some have parents that don't want to do the parenting thing at all and have their kids go to all of them - and demand they like it.

And then there is scout camp.




For the boys, scout camp is generally held at one of several Boy Scouts of America run facilities that are located all over the country. The ones that our scouts use are generally located in California, Utah or Nevada although on some occasions, our boys will make the trek to Philmont which is in New Mexico. Philmont would be considered the Mecca of the scouting universe. If you are a serious scouter, you go to Philmont to drink the koolaid. You will be instructed by Golden and Silver Beavers. Your goal is to become a Beaver yourself one day.

For the boys, scout camp's emphasis is to earn merit badges.



Along the way, all sorts of shenanigans take place. Canoes tip over. Tents are rigged to collapse. Every year there are universal complaints about the food but in my opinion since someone else cooks AND cleans up you eat what they serve and keep your mouth shut. In summary: Quit complaining. I hate whiners.

There are also middle of the night sneak attacks on other scouts. There are all night story telling sessions (with much embellishment to be sure) and all sorts of memorable experiences that will help turn boys into men. Scout camp is rite of summer and signals the passing of yet another stage in a boys life. Next up for them is usually a drivers license. Then dating. Graduation. College. Mission. Marriage. Taxes. Death. Generally in that order.

My own experience with scout camp - perhaps a decade ago - was something I will never forget. I'm not a camper. I don't like sleeping on anything less than thousand count bed sheets. As far as I know, there aren't any sleeping bags that would meet this standard. Plus I like room service. I may not use room service, but I like to know it's there - just in case.

I don't understand why people want to camp - it's like saying, "I'm not driving my car today - I'll hitch up the horse and buggy." A quaint gesture at best.



Me and camping don't jive. I want an internet connection, ESPN, a robe, a shower with a loofa, and the aforementioned in-room dining option - in case I need it.

Anyway, I've been coaxed into camping a few times in my life. With the exception of Father/Son outings, scout overnighters and my lone experience (to be chronicled briefly here) at scout camp, I VOLUNTARILY went camping ONE TIME.



Wade convinced me it would be a good idea to do it.

He said, "Let's take our boys - it'll be great."

That was the hook - my sons. I would do anything for them and the prospect of sleeping in a tent under the stars DID seem like a good idea (at the time - I was idealistic).

We (Wade) picked the Duck Creek area in Southern Utah for this outing. The boys were thrilled to be going with their cousins. Wade brought Dixon and also invited TL's son Kahre to join us. We loaded up groceries (massive amounts of junk food) at Lin's in Cedar City, and sped off to the mountains located due east. A half-hour later we arrived at our destination and picked a place to set up camp- a flat spot underneath some gigantic trees. On dirt.

The tent was easy to set up. It was one of those things that is wound so tightly in its sack that someone like me with no patience could never get it back in there. I considered it to be a "disposable tent" for this reason alone. It became more disposable later on.

The boys were young - 4 and 2 respectively. Jake was at the end stage of potty training too....you can see where this is headed.

When the rains came in the middle of the night, our lack of camping experience was brutally exposed. Since we set up camp on dirt and didn't put down a liner underneath the tent, water had begun creeping into our abode and the mud wasn't far behind.

Jake started crying.

The lightning and a diaper full of #1 and #2 will do that to any 2 year old. I cried out for MY mommy.

I was clearly overmatched and utterly overwhelmed and we were less than 12 hours into our little excursion. Right then I decided that our two-nighter Father/Son campout would be cut in half.

Changing a diaper is usually a breeze. I could do it in my sleep. Changing a diaper confined as it were in the middle of the night while rain pelted us, a screaming 2 year old, an agitated, wide-eyed 4 year old, a soaked tent, and the feeling that I was rapidly losing control of the situation all contributed to me making a pledge right then and there that I would never again go camping. Somehow we managed to survive that night in the wilderness.

And left for home the next day.

10 years later I was guilted into what has turned out to be my last campout. Our scout leaders picked a campsite in the high Sierra's. Camp Kern was located in the middle of nowhere about 4 hours from Las Vegas. All fathers were asked if they wanted to spend a few nights with the boys who would be in attendance for the entire week. I opted to take the last shift so I'd be able to help tear down the camp and give kids a ride back home. The last shift was also only a two night commitment.

Chris Figgins was my co-pilot on the ride up there. This was pre-nav system so we were forced to use maps and a compass - real scout stuff. Since we were the last fathers to reach the camp, we had the shittiest tent. Not only was the tent sagging, it had holes in it, and worst of all it stood alone in the middle of an opening. This meant we had no shade. This became apparent to us on day #1 when the temperature crept toward the century mark, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The beauty and serenity of this pristine camp was shattered. Tents, as I soon found out, have no fans or AC. Brother Slade, who is an expert camper/handyman by the way, was kind enough to help out two pitiful city boys repair our tent with gigantic knots so the top didn't sag. He also rounded up some pads for our cots to enhance our nightime sleeping accomodations. The pads were filthy and stinky so mentally, I was fighting that issue. Really, the least of my concerns.

The latrine was horrific. A huge hole in the ground with a crude toilet if you were brave enought to sit down. The shower was cold and with hundreds of sweaty, dirty, stinky, filthy scouts using it, there was no way on earth I would even go inside that shed. Not in a million years.

My solution to all of this: Avoid the latrine. Only go #1. Use massive amounts of purell hand sanitizer. I had a lot of bottled water and I preferred to rinse off with that...alone in the woods. For sustenance I had the always delicious cheetos cheese puffs and the versatile Jack Links Smokehouse Original Beef Jerky. I could make it for 2 days on that diet easy - heck, I did it in Peru years later and it worked just as good then. Perhaps I should let NASA in on my little dietary secret so they can keep the astronauts refueled?

When the boys and I packed up camp I bid farewell to that lifestyle. I know that some people love to commune with nature by sleeping under the stars, cooking up meals in a little tin pot over an itty bitty fire and then doing it all over again for a week or more.

That life just isn't for me.

For obvious reasons.