Jeebus
New member
Haystacker said:Yes, I fished everything out.
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True confessions - They're funny cuz they're true.
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Not realizing the extent of the bear pop. in the Adirondacks, my fellow counselor and I took a group of 6 14 year olds (we work at Camp Winona) on a five day trip there. The first day there, leaving our overnight packs at the tent site, we had an incredible day hike. When we got back, though, we found all our pasta and other dinner supplies had been eaten (two of the kids' packs were found a few hundred feet into the woods). No matter. We'll simply feed 8 people with Lipton soup and as much cheese as you could possibly melt into it.
That night we were a little smarter, but not enough. We set up what we thought was a bear-proof hanging system at the site, and after putting the kids to bed, my fellow counselor and I headed a ways down to the river to enjoy some spirits. Upon our return a few hours later, we saw what was our trashbag full of every piece of food we owned on the ground, torn to shreds and completely depleted. After rolling on the ground laughing for 10 minutes, we saw the claw marks on the tree and realized the bear easily swatted our bag down after climbing the tree.
The bear returned later that night while we were in our tent, so we tried to speak loudly. That did nothing, though, and I stayed awake for an hour listening to it lick our pots. When we woke up, one of the pots had gone from circular to oval. We hiked out the next morning and bought our starving campers donuts.
That night we were a little smarter, but not enough. We set up what we thought was a bear-proof hanging system at the site, and after putting the kids to bed, my fellow counselor and I headed a ways down to the river to enjoy some spirits. Upon our return a few hours later, we saw what was our trashbag full of every piece of food we owned on the ground, torn to shreds and completely depleted. After rolling on the ground laughing for 10 minutes, we saw the claw marks on the tree and realized the bear easily swatted our bag down after climbing the tree.
The bear returned later that night while we were in our tent, so we tried to speak loudly. That did nothing, though, and I stayed awake for an hour listening to it lick our pots. When we woke up, one of the pots had gone from circular to oval. We hiked out the next morning and bought our starving campers donuts.
Quietman
Well-known member
This is fun!!
Three hammock tales.
1) When I was younger, was all the rage to sleep in "hi-rise" hammock condo's on 2 good trees. I was on the 3rd level when my brother on the 4th level said "someone blow out the candle lantern that we had left next to the packs" Being stupid, tired and forgeting my situation, I said OK, leaned over in the hammock and fell 8 feet on to the candle lantern, easily putting it out and melting a 3" hole in my bag. Still have the bag today.
2) Always remember where you leave your gear! After a few shots of Rumplemintz, got into the hammock, and forgot which side of the hammock I'd left my pack on, relieved my bladder, thought it sounded strange. Next morning I was not popular when the group's TP suply I'd left on the top of my pack was a lighter shade of yellow.
3) Heavy rain was forcast in King Ravine so spent lots of time arranging the tarp for complete coverage. My brother was in the hammock below mine kept bitching for me to go to sleep. Finally got the tarp set and got into my hammock and started to doze. Again, a full bladder required attention. Leaned to one side and let fly, my brother hollers from below, "Thought you'd fixed the tarp so the rain wouldn't get us wet!"
Three hammock tales.
1) When I was younger, was all the rage to sleep in "hi-rise" hammock condo's on 2 good trees. I was on the 3rd level when my brother on the 4th level said "someone blow out the candle lantern that we had left next to the packs" Being stupid, tired and forgeting my situation, I said OK, leaned over in the hammock and fell 8 feet on to the candle lantern, easily putting it out and melting a 3" hole in my bag. Still have the bag today.
2) Always remember where you leave your gear! After a few shots of Rumplemintz, got into the hammock, and forgot which side of the hammock I'd left my pack on, relieved my bladder, thought it sounded strange. Next morning I was not popular when the group's TP suply I'd left on the top of my pack was a lighter shade of yellow.
3) Heavy rain was forcast in King Ravine so spent lots of time arranging the tarp for complete coverage. My brother was in the hammock below mine kept bitching for me to go to sleep. Finally got the tarp set and got into my hammock and started to doze. Again, a full bladder required attention. Leaned to one side and let fly, my brother hollers from below, "Thought you'd fixed the tarp so the rain wouldn't get us wet!"
jjmcgo
New member
Greeley Pond leeches
A story from the 1960s when the camping rules were different: My buddy and I were about 17. We hiked into Greeley Ponds, set up a tent and left some of the weight in the tent. Hiked up East Osceola. Returned to the tent and ate. Getting near sundown on a hot summer night, we jumped into the pond to cool off. Walked out with about 15 leeches hanging off both of us.
A story from the 1960s when the camping rules were different: My buddy and I were about 17. We hiked into Greeley Ponds, set up a tent and left some of the weight in the tent. Hiked up East Osceola. Returned to the tent and ate. Getting near sundown on a hot summer night, we jumped into the pond to cool off. Walked out with about 15 leeches hanging off both of us.
I was a teenager on my first trip to the Whites and I had no idea what I was doing. With my friends I had planned a three day backpacking trip based solely on looking at the map. We had little understanding of the terrain. We were happily heading up Madison when we lost the trail. Of course we said "let's just keep going and perhaps we'll find it again." When our unintentional bushwhack led us deeper into wet and thick woods, we had another great idea. "Let's just head uphill! Eventually we will come out above treeline and then we will be able to see where the trail is. Surely treeline can't be that far." It was starting to get dark when I realized just how stupid a plan this was. I was ready to give up, to get some sleep, and to try to head back down in the morning. I told my companions that I would look around for a level spot large enough to fit the tent. I spotted a clearing in the distance and pushed through the underbrush to get to it. It was the trail.
Lessons learned through stupid errors are long remembered, especially if you do the same stupid thing twice. As I now tell my kids, trial and error shouldn't be the only way we learn things - sometimes we need to think first.
Lessons learned through stupid errors are long remembered, especially if you do the same stupid thing twice. As I now tell my kids, trial and error shouldn't be the only way we learn things - sometimes we need to think first.
mafogle
New member
Here's are my most embarrassing moments in the backcountry - how I got lost, got my friends lost, and nearly killed myself!
A few years ago, I lead two friends (Ron and his 15yr old son Rob) on a summer overnighter in the High Peaks. We planned to hike from Upper Works to Wallface Pond, spend the night, and the next day bushwack up to Lost Pond and/or Mt MacNaughton, then follow the brook from Wallface Pond back down to the Indian Pass Trail. The weather was perfect. I was going to be great.
Anyway we got a late start from the trailhead, and rather than hike all the way to Scott's Clearing and back to the pond, I convinced the other guys we could save time by reversing the loop and following Wallface brook up to the pond. Passing the Wallface lean-to we came to the brook crossing, the distance was about right, and following the brook for a bit the compass heading was right.
Well, you can guess already that we got lost The brook climbed steeply to the NNW up the side of MacNaughton but never bearing off to the NE as expected. At about 3000' it disappeared altogether. Now was the time to stop and go back, but we pressed on. I was sure that we could make the summit of MacNaughton, and there find a herd path down to the Pond. Well let me tell you about "cripple brush," I had read about it, probably even seen it , but now I was in it. Small pine trees (spruce?) 8'-10' tall growing no more than 18" apart, all the branches interlaced. We were going no where fast, maybe 1/4 mi per hour. I tell my friends that we're not lost, just a little confused.
Two more hours and I admit defeat, nearly within sight of the summit. With a couple hours till dark, we worked our way back down to a rocky outcrop. There I take bearings on Algonquin and Adams, triangulate our possition - we're in the middle of Duck Pond I'm loose the last remnants of my credibility. But Ron notices the compass needle swing as it moves across the map - the rock under the map is magnetic! We take new sightings and set off on the most direct heading for the Pond.
The going is slow, taking back bearings along the way. We agree to stop and pitch camp at the first spot flat enough. We come to one of those alpine bogs, sphagnum moss, dry in the mid summer heat, laying thick over a flat rock ledge, just big enough to pitch our tent. A tiny brook trickles near by - sweet!
So there we were half way up a Mtn, where no one could find us, where no one would even look for us, if they were to look for us - but hey, why would anyone want to find us? So there we enjoyed the deepening summer evening. Soon it will be completely dark - wouldn't it be nice to have a little camp fire. (Can you feel the foreshadowing?) All we need is a nice flat rock, weren't there some back along that brook. I grab my headlamp, "I’ll be back in a sec" I tell my friends and set off up the brook to find an appropriate hearth stone.
I cross the brook on a fallen log maybe three or four feet above the water, a short ways up the slope I spy a flat stone. It's bigger than I'd like, but, "ughh" I can just lift it, back down the hill I stagger with it to the fallen tree. One, two baby steps across the tree. On the third step the rotting log collapses, and I land in the brook a straddle the log, the rock in my lap, branches sticking from the side of the log scrape and dig into my legs, my knee is on fire.
I climb out of the brook and up to the tent, but I still have the rock. I inspect my wounds, blood slowly oozes from four or five cuts and scrapes, the worst is high on the inside of my thigh, near the groin, near the femoral artery. I feel a little faint. "I'm OK," I tell my friends - to myself "If I wasn't I'd be dead by now." I am Ok, pheww! We have our little fire, tell a few stories, around the dying embers. This is great, "God it's great to be alive!"
In the morning, all is quiet, not even a bird, far away is the drone of, "What is that buzzzing?" "Like a thousand weed whackers in the distance?" says Ron. "Or a billion mosquitoes?" says his son Rob. "There aren't going to be any mosquitoes" say I. It's too dry, mosquitoes like standing water, all there are here are these little running brooks. Sure enough we break camp, and set off without a single mosquito bite.
Keeping on our heading of yesterday, in an hour or so we come to the Wallface brook, and head downstream, through a seething cloud of black flies. Blood drips from our foreheads, ears, and ankles, from a hundred tiny wounds. But we are urged on by a more pressing force, down the brook past waterfalls, no time for pictures. It grows late, we have to hurry, dinner tonight is at Hemlock Hall in Blue Mtn Lake 6pm sharp! And tonight is Wednesday , which if you've ever been there you know means the best chicken and biscuits north of the Mason Dixon Line.
We staggered into the dining room just in time, with healthy appetites, a good stories, not enough pictures, and for me more than a little wiser.
~Martin
A few years ago, I lead two friends (Ron and his 15yr old son Rob) on a summer overnighter in the High Peaks. We planned to hike from Upper Works to Wallface Pond, spend the night, and the next day bushwack up to Lost Pond and/or Mt MacNaughton, then follow the brook from Wallface Pond back down to the Indian Pass Trail. The weather was perfect. I was going to be great.
Anyway we got a late start from the trailhead, and rather than hike all the way to Scott's Clearing and back to the pond, I convinced the other guys we could save time by reversing the loop and following Wallface brook up to the pond. Passing the Wallface lean-to we came to the brook crossing, the distance was about right, and following the brook for a bit the compass heading was right.
Well, you can guess already that we got lost
The brook climbed steeply to the NNW up the side of MacNaughton but never bearing off to the NE as expected. At about 3000' it disappeared altogether. Now was the time to stop and go back, but we pressed on. I was sure that we could make the summit of MacNaughton, and there find a herd path down to the Pond. Well let me tell you about "cripple brush," I had read about it, probably even seen it , but now I was in it. Small pine trees (spruce?) 8'-10' tall growing no more than 18" apart, all the branches interlaced. We were going no where fast, maybe 1/4 mi per hour. I tell my friends that we're not lost, just a little confused. Two more hours and I admit defeat, nearly within sight of the summit. With a couple hours till dark, we worked our way back down to a rocky outcrop. There I take bearings on Algonquin and Adams, triangulate our possition - we're in the middle of Duck Pond
I'm loose the last remnants of my credibility. But Ron notices the compass needle swing as it moves across the map - the rock under the map is magnetic! We take new sightings and set off on the most direct heading for the Pond.The going is slow, taking back bearings along the way. We agree to stop and pitch camp at the first spot flat enough. We come to one of those alpine bogs, sphagnum moss, dry in the mid summer heat, laying thick over a flat rock ledge, just big enough to pitch our tent. A tiny brook trickles near by - sweet!
So there we were half way up a Mtn, where no one could find us, where no one would even look for us, if they were to look for us - but hey, why would anyone want to find us? So there we enjoyed the deepening summer evening. Soon it will be completely dark - wouldn't it be nice to have a little camp fire. (Can you feel the foreshadowing?) All we need is a nice flat rock, weren't there some back along that brook. I grab my headlamp, "I’ll be back in a sec" I tell my friends and set off up the brook to find an appropriate hearth stone.
I cross the brook on a fallen log maybe three or four feet above the water, a short ways up the slope I spy a flat stone. It's bigger than I'd like, but, "ughh" I can just lift it, back down the hill I stagger with it to the fallen tree. One, two baby steps across the tree. On the third step the rotting log collapses, and I land in the brook a straddle the log, the rock in my lap, branches sticking from the side of the log scrape and dig into my legs, my knee is on fire.
I climb out of the brook and up to the tent, but I still have the rock. I inspect my wounds, blood slowly oozes from four or five cuts and scrapes, the worst is high on the inside of my thigh, near the groin, near the femoral artery. I feel a little faint. "I'm OK," I tell my friends - to myself "If I wasn't I'd be dead by now." I am Ok, pheww! We have our little fire, tell a few stories, around the dying embers. This is great, "God it's great to be alive!"
In the morning, all is quiet, not even a bird, far away is the drone of, "What is that buzzzing?" "Like a thousand weed whackers in the distance?" says Ron. "Or a billion mosquitoes?" says his son Rob. "There aren't going to be any mosquitoes" say I. It's too dry, mosquitoes like standing water, all there are here are these little running brooks. Sure enough we break camp, and set off without a single mosquito bite.
Keeping on our heading of yesterday, in an hour or so we come to the Wallface brook, and head downstream, through a seething cloud of black flies. Blood drips from our foreheads, ears, and ankles, from a hundred tiny wounds. But we are urged on by a more pressing force, down the brook past waterfalls, no time for pictures. It grows late, we have to hurry, dinner tonight is at Hemlock Hall in Blue Mtn Lake 6pm sharp! And tonight is Wednesday
, which if you've ever been there you know means the best chicken and biscuits north of the Mason Dixon Line.We staggered into the dining room just in time, with healthy appetites, a good stories, not enough pictures, and for me more than a little wiser.
~Martin
Periwinkle
Active member
Thanks, man...you started a trend.... I've always dreamed of being the namesake of a dumb@ss maneuver!Mad Townie said:
I am, and I am bringing my trusty multi-tool. Beware....So, anyone want to go hiking with me?
TCD
Well-known member
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The early post about the tent poles got me laughing! About 20 years ago on a climbing trip to NH I forgot the poles. Fortunately we were car camping, so we slept in the car. It's been 20 years, and I still get asked, "Did you remember the poles?"
Fortunately we were car camping, so we slept in the car. It's been 20 years, and I still get asked, "Did you remember the poles?"
Mad Townie
New member
I am happy (and relieved?) to report that Peri and I hiked (well, skied) together Saturday, and neither of us had any accidents with sharp objects.
Of course, my skis don't have steel edges . . . .
Of course, my skis don't have steel edges . . . .
Nadine
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Thankfully I don't have any Periwinkle or Mad Townie or MJ stories to tell
Maybe I should hike with all of you so I have something interesting to share or I could just go along and render frist aid
Maybe I should hike with all of you so I have something interesting to share
or I could just go along and render frist aid 
SherpaKroto
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OK, I'll fess up. I did a Peri in my kitchen after coming home from college in the 70's. Drying a knife that my Dad had just sharpened.
Fell in a stream just after Christmas in the ADK's. Sled slid on top of my snowshoes, pinning me. I was real happy that I had my Gore-tex overmitts on while on all fours in the stream. That is until my hands sunk a bit deeper and the water came in. Arm had the nerve to ask me later if I was taking enough water.
This year's Christmas trip went a bit better. I was solo on the Gale River trail. All smug about what a great campsite I had found. Lantern was hung, and I was reading my maps. Shut the lantern off but was still looking at the map. Note to self: pay attention to the lantern after you shut it off. It slipped out of my hands, upside down on my new down bag. A nice 4 inch round hole. BTW, patches come in 4 inch squares
I'm thinking that just about now Sean should be speaking up about some of his exploits
Fell in a stream just after Christmas in the ADK's. Sled slid on top of my snowshoes, pinning me. I was real happy that I had my Gore-tex overmitts on while on all fours in the stream. That is until my hands sunk a bit deeper and the water came in. Arm had the nerve to ask me later if I was taking enough water.
This year's Christmas trip went a bit better. I was solo on the Gale River trail. All smug about what a great campsite I had found. Lantern was hung, and I was reading my maps. Shut the lantern off but was still looking at the map. Note to self: pay attention to the lantern after you shut it off. It slipped out of my hands, upside down on my new down bag. A nice 4 inch round hole. BTW, patches come in 4 inch squares
I'm thinking that just about now Sean should be speaking up about some of his exploits
Tuggy
New member
Great thread.
Back in the late 70s I got my wife to go camping for her first time in Allegheny Natl Forest in NE Pa. She was worried about seeing bears. I assured her that there was nothing to worry about - bears only eat nuts and berries. We drive down an ole forest service road and then down a jeep track that dead ends in a clearing by a stream. I start setting up while wife goes looking for crayfish. She comes running back breathless and tell me she has seen a bear. I tell her she can't be right but go look for tracks and any sign. Finding none I tell her its her imagination(besides I didn't want her to see a bear before I ever did). I talk her into staying. We camp that night. It rains, pours, thunder and lightning. My $50 dollar pup tent holds up. No leaks, everything dry in the morning. I'm quite pleased with myself. We're sitting on a log eating bacon and eggs by the stream. Wife suddenly says Oh my god a bear! I look up and see a deer running down the stream about 30 yards in front of us. As I'm saying"Its only a deer", I see a bear come off the slope, realize the deer has a broken leg, and suspend my forkful of egg halfway to my mouth. The deer runs into a thicket, the bear follows and all we hear is a series of growls, snarls, and thrashing about. Then silence. We can see the buff color of the deer laying in the shadows and nothing moving. After 15 minutes I circle around to the right and start to head in to see what the bear has done to the deer. I can't tell which end of it is which as I get closer. Then I notice the shadows moving and I get back out of there.
Well, since then my wife has never believed a word I've told her. I read up on what bears really do eat. And, oh yeah, I didn't make her camp there that second night.
Back in the late 70s I got my wife to go camping for her first time in Allegheny Natl Forest in NE Pa. She was worried about seeing bears. I assured her that there was nothing to worry about - bears only eat nuts and berries. We drive down an ole forest service road and then down a jeep track that dead ends in a clearing by a stream. I start setting up while wife goes looking for crayfish. She comes running back breathless and tell me she has seen a bear. I tell her she can't be right but go look for tracks and any sign. Finding none I tell her its her imagination(besides I didn't want her to see a bear before I ever did). I talk her into staying. We camp that night. It rains, pours, thunder and lightning. My $50 dollar pup tent holds up. No leaks, everything dry in the morning. I'm quite pleased with myself. We're sitting on a log eating bacon and eggs by the stream. Wife suddenly says Oh my god a bear! I look up and see a deer running down the stream about 30 yards in front of us. As I'm saying"Its only a deer", I see a bear come off the slope, realize the deer has a broken leg, and suspend my forkful of egg halfway to my mouth. The deer runs into a thicket, the bear follows and all we hear is a series of growls, snarls, and thrashing about. Then silence. We can see the buff color of the deer laying in the shadows and nothing moving. After 15 minutes I circle around to the right and start to head in to see what the bear has done to the deer. I can't tell which end of it is which as I get closer. Then I notice the shadows moving and I get back out of there.
Well, since then my wife has never believed a word I've told her. I read up on what bears really do eat. And, oh yeah, I didn't make her camp there that second night.
SABERG
New member
Straton Pond in Winter
Ow the Memories, we started out from the Arlington West Wardsboro rd. Beautiful afternoon with knee deep fresh snow. The immediate lesson was dont follow he moose tracks for too long.
Dark settles in and now we are looking for the shelter on the North side of Stratton Pond in the blowing wind with a Coleman in the mouth while on hands and knees across the ice.
Still winter camping 20 years later
AH the memories
Scott
Ow the Memories, we started out from the Arlington West Wardsboro rd. Beautiful afternoon with knee deep fresh snow. The immediate lesson was dont follow he moose tracks for too long.
Dark settles in and now we are looking for the shelter on the North side of Stratton Pond in the blowing wind with a Coleman in the mouth while on hands and knees across the ice.
Still winter camping 20 years later
AH the memories
Scott
tonycc
New member
The Three Stooges Meet the Racoons
OK, I'll fess up with my most embarrassing moment, shared by a couple of other scout leaders. This wasn't a mountain trip, but rather a canoe trek through Algonquin Park in Ontario. It is kind of long, but honest, everything happened just as written and I did delete some of the less stupid portions in name of brevity.
Tony
------------
The first night of my very first trip to Algonquin Park was a very memorable night. Not only was this my first time on a wilderness canoe trek, but I was leading a group of four scouts and two other scouters on their first trek. After getting a late start from Canoe Lake our crew made it to Burnt Island Lake in time for dinner.
Hanging bear bags has always been a major headache to me, but this night it was easy. There was a beautiful large white birch with a perfectly exposed large horizontal branch about 25 feet above the ground just outside the campsite. At the time I thought it was a wonderful stroke of serendipity. Since then I have become convinced the local bandits intentionally cultivated it, sort of a bonsai tree on steroids.
We hung our bear bag containing 5 days of food for seven people and went to bed. Within about 10 minutes of retiring we heard a large thump from the direction of the bag. My first thought was that the rope had broken and the bag had fallen to the ground. I grabbed my flashlight and went to check.
Upon reaching the bag, I could see it was still in the tree about 10 feet below the branch. But it had grown an appendage with two glowing eyes, a very large and fat raccoon. This raccoon must have dove from the branch and landed with a thump on top of the bag where it was now sitting looking at me. I found a rock and threw it at the raccoon, and of course missed. The raccoon shinnied up the rope and sat on the branch. I threw another rock and again missed. The raccoon ran towards the trunk of the birch tree and disappeared into the night.
By now, the other two adults were up and we began discussing strategies for protecting our food supply. I suggested we rig up a second rope so the food would hang between two trees with nothing but sky overhead. As we were rigging our ropes we heard a noise in the camp and found a raccoon with his head in one of the scout’s backpacks just 30 feet away. As we chased him off another raccoon ran between us. Then another, and another. Every time we chased one off another would appear.
One of the guys went down the privy trail after one that he thought had absconded with something. Shortly after leaving our sight we heard a blood-curdling scream followed by a string of expletives. He returned shaking; babbling about some sort of high jumping mouse that had gone for his throat! The other guy and I just started laughing, and commenting in our best Monty Python voices “it’s just a mouse”, “yeah, but look at those teeth”.
We decided to perform a check of everyone’s packs and found some contraband, which we put in the bear bag. After hanging the bear bag with two ropes, we decided to turn in again satisfied that our food was protected. Within minutes we hear more sounds in the campsite. I look out of the tent and see a raccoon sitting on top of my son’s pack, which is hanging on a tree about twenty feet away. This raccoon is pulling one item at a time out of the pack, inspecting it, then throwing it over his shoulder when he decides it is not edible. I ran from the tent and tried to chase this masked bandit away. He just climbed up the trunk and sat on a branch about three feet above my head, waiting for me to leave so he could return to his pillaging.
I emitted a string of four letter words and shouted to the other guys to get me a paddle. One of them handed a wooden paddle to me and I went after the thief. Just as I swung at the varmint the guy who gave me the paddle had a sudden increase in intelligence and shouted “don’t break it!” Upon later review, I conclude the raccoon had lured me into a trap. Just as I completed my swing he jumped out of the way and I was rewarded with the sound of a wooden blade cracking on the limb.
The raccoon came back, sat in the same spot, and seeing that the paddle was still usable looked at me with eyes that said “go ahead, swing again”. Well I may be a moron, but I’m not completely stupid. I bent down, picked up a huge rock and threw it at a no miss distance. The rock didn’t miss; it hit the limb the raccoon was on bouncing up and back in my direction disappearing into the darkness outside the beam of my flashlight. Imagine my horror when I realized I had been set up again and that there was a very heavy projectile heading in my direction. I began running backwards to escape certain bludgeoning by my own hand. I made all of three steps before I backed into a tent, tripped and fell, breaking a tent pole and nearly squashing the skull of the poor kid I landed on.
It is amazing how clear one begins to think after seeing ones life pass before his eyes, especially when his antics have finally woken up all of the youngsters in his care. I cried uncle, admitting defeat to my very experienced adversaries. The raccoons were no where in sight. Despite sharing watches through the rest of the night we never saw them return, I guess they were satisfied with their complete humiliation of the stupid humans.
The next morning, as we paddled past the next campsite to the east we shared war stories with the occupants. The same band of thieves must have visited them during the night. They took heavy losses to their provisions, but I am positive they had much more pride left than I did.
The trip ended up being one that everyone, especially the boys, will remember for the rest of their lives. Of course, that means I still get reminded about that first night occasionally and forced to tell the story of the when “The Three Stooges Met the Raccoons (and lost)”.
OK, I'll fess up with my most embarrassing moment, shared by a couple of other scout leaders. This wasn't a mountain trip, but rather a canoe trek through Algonquin Park in Ontario. It is kind of long, but honest, everything happened just as written and I did delete some of the less stupid portions in name of brevity.
Tony
------------
The first night of my very first trip to Algonquin Park was a very memorable night. Not only was this my first time on a wilderness canoe trek, but I was leading a group of four scouts and two other scouters on their first trek. After getting a late start from Canoe Lake our crew made it to Burnt Island Lake in time for dinner.
Hanging bear bags has always been a major headache to me, but this night it was easy. There was a beautiful large white birch with a perfectly exposed large horizontal branch about 25 feet above the ground just outside the campsite. At the time I thought it was a wonderful stroke of serendipity. Since then I have become convinced the local bandits intentionally cultivated it, sort of a bonsai tree on steroids.
We hung our bear bag containing 5 days of food for seven people and went to bed. Within about 10 minutes of retiring we heard a large thump from the direction of the bag. My first thought was that the rope had broken and the bag had fallen to the ground. I grabbed my flashlight and went to check.
Upon reaching the bag, I could see it was still in the tree about 10 feet below the branch. But it had grown an appendage with two glowing eyes, a very large and fat raccoon. This raccoon must have dove from the branch and landed with a thump on top of the bag where it was now sitting looking at me. I found a rock and threw it at the raccoon, and of course missed. The raccoon shinnied up the rope and sat on the branch. I threw another rock and again missed. The raccoon ran towards the trunk of the birch tree and disappeared into the night.
By now, the other two adults were up and we began discussing strategies for protecting our food supply. I suggested we rig up a second rope so the food would hang between two trees with nothing but sky overhead. As we were rigging our ropes we heard a noise in the camp and found a raccoon with his head in one of the scout’s backpacks just 30 feet away. As we chased him off another raccoon ran between us. Then another, and another. Every time we chased one off another would appear.
One of the guys went down the privy trail after one that he thought had absconded with something. Shortly after leaving our sight we heard a blood-curdling scream followed by a string of expletives. He returned shaking; babbling about some sort of high jumping mouse that had gone for his throat! The other guy and I just started laughing, and commenting in our best Monty Python voices “it’s just a mouse”, “yeah, but look at those teeth”.
We decided to perform a check of everyone’s packs and found some contraband, which we put in the bear bag. After hanging the bear bag with two ropes, we decided to turn in again satisfied that our food was protected. Within minutes we hear more sounds in the campsite. I look out of the tent and see a raccoon sitting on top of my son’s pack, which is hanging on a tree about twenty feet away. This raccoon is pulling one item at a time out of the pack, inspecting it, then throwing it over his shoulder when he decides it is not edible. I ran from the tent and tried to chase this masked bandit away. He just climbed up the trunk and sat on a branch about three feet above my head, waiting for me to leave so he could return to his pillaging.
I emitted a string of four letter words and shouted to the other guys to get me a paddle. One of them handed a wooden paddle to me and I went after the thief. Just as I swung at the varmint the guy who gave me the paddle had a sudden increase in intelligence and shouted “don’t break it!” Upon later review, I conclude the raccoon had lured me into a trap. Just as I completed my swing he jumped out of the way and I was rewarded with the sound of a wooden blade cracking on the limb.
The raccoon came back, sat in the same spot, and seeing that the paddle was still usable looked at me with eyes that said “go ahead, swing again”. Well I may be a moron, but I’m not completely stupid. I bent down, picked up a huge rock and threw it at a no miss distance. The rock didn’t miss; it hit the limb the raccoon was on bouncing up and back in my direction disappearing into the darkness outside the beam of my flashlight. Imagine my horror when I realized I had been set up again and that there was a very heavy projectile heading in my direction. I began running backwards to escape certain bludgeoning by my own hand. I made all of three steps before I backed into a tent, tripped and fell, breaking a tent pole and nearly squashing the skull of the poor kid I landed on.
It is amazing how clear one begins to think after seeing ones life pass before his eyes, especially when his antics have finally woken up all of the youngsters in his care. I cried uncle, admitting defeat to my very experienced adversaries. The raccoons were no where in sight. Despite sharing watches through the rest of the night we never saw them return, I guess they were satisfied with their complete humiliation of the stupid humans.
The next morning, as we paddled past the next campsite to the east we shared war stories with the occupants. The same band of thieves must have visited them during the night. They took heavy losses to their provisions, but I am positive they had much more pride left than I did.
The trip ended up being one that everyone, especially the boys, will remember for the rest of their lives. Of course, that means I still get reminded about that first night occasionally and forced to tell the story of the when “The Three Stooges Met the Raccoons (and lost)”.
professor
New member
As teen, I was prone to sleepwalking - Once while hiking on the appalachian trail I decided to pack up and start hiking in the middle of the night. Fortunately, somebody heard me and tracked me down a few hundred yards from our tentsite, and guided me back safely.
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