Adventures in Camping

Ontario:  August 2003, Bon Echo Park


I thought camping on my own was going to be the best adventure.  Three days of fending for myself in the wilds of a fully serviced provincial park; ruggedly using the pay showers and hiking all the way to the canteen at the park gate for a Creamsicle.  To prove to myself that I could totally handle camping alone I brought Fritti with me because no other creature in the world is better company outdoors than house cat who hates dirt and thinks wind comes from ceiling fans.


Fritti glared from her caddy as I constructed the brand new tent bought just for the occasion.  She watched as I puttered about, tweaking tarp lines and adjusting the Coleman stove out of the breeze.  Once everything was in it's place I looped a long lead around a tree and clipped the end to Fritti's collar then left the door of her caddy open to the joys of Nature and settled back in my lawn chair with a good book, snacks close by for both Fritti and myself.


Three hours later I had nearly finished my book and my half of the snacks.  The chipmunks had nearly finished off Fritti's food bowl and Fritti was still curled in a tiny ball of hate and denial at the back of her caddy.


Fast forward to 2 AM when the thunderstorm ripped the tarp from it's pegs and hurled it into the swirling night sky.  As the walls of my tent heaved and snapped and I fought to stuff everything into my pack, preparing a dash to the car, Fritti clawed her way out through the screen and bolted into the raging darkness.  


Sobbing as I feared the loss of my poor kitten to the rains or worse, I searched through the bush with a flashlight that did nothing to help against the rain and lightning.  Something told me to check under my car and there she was, huddled against the tires, drenched the bone, yowling and steadfastly refusing to believe I could help her in any way.  Finally I had to resort to dragging her out by her tail and stuffing her into her caddy in the back seat.


Fighting my way back across the campsite, slipping in mud and barely able to see through the horizontal rain, I tore down my tent and jammed everything into my trunk, mud and all.  The tarp was left hanging in a tree and I abandoned my now-broken lawn chair to the elements, along with my right shoe.


I must have looked quite a sight later that morning as I sat in a diner nursing a coffee and listening to the tornado reports.  Fritti sat under the counter, filthy and muttering.  I was covered in mud and cat scratches and missing a shoe.  The waitresses took pity on me and brought me kitchen towels and endless hot coffees and my awesome pancake breakfast was on the house.  

Gosling Lake Portage:
Where no one can hear you scream.

All of this was still a far better experience than the recent night and day spent on my own in the BC back country, squatting on a prime site by Gosling Lake, holding down the fort for Husband who had to work, fending off bears and starting at every twig snap and hating every second not spent in a cafe sipping dairy free sugarless strawberry steamers and reading a bootleg copy of the Globe and Mail and never, ever setting foot outside by myself again.


And you can damn well believe I brought that can of bear spray with me.  Oh, yes.