Camp much? I am older than your grandmother's tits and I am still at it. Camped every year of my life too as I was taken on my first camping trip when I was one years old. It rained like fuck on that initial camping trip to Harrison Lake. I am told my mom, dad and I woke to 3" of rain beneath our army cots on my first morning in the woods. We did not pack up and return to the city that morning like normal people do. My mom and dad were tough and they wanted their boy to be as tough or tougher.
It rained almost every time we camped when I was a boy because we nearly always camped close to the city in the temperate rain forest. It rained like the dickens in those days. It appeared as though giant banana slugs were going to take over the planet. To this day I associate the sound of rain with camping. The only time we could count on it not raining was when we took big camping trips to the Shuswap or the Cariboo mid-summer so we could be chewed on by giant black flies and swarms upon swarms of mosquitoes.
This year I have already camped twice. The first time was in June and, you guessed it, it rained like a motherfucker. Weather was so bad I did not get out to fish even once. This trip was a solo mid-week camp - a luxury available to those of us unencumbered by the need to work. A similarly aged couple were the only people I saw that week when I was not at the nearby pub entertaining the locals. Pro tip - bring lots of scotch and a good book or two when the forecast is bleak.
Second trip found me in the good company of Genoa, her sister Tiff and their young families. I had barely sat down when Tiff's 5 year old Geraldine started in on me. "You have a cop moustache!" she chided me.
"I do not!" I protested. "It is an Anarchist moustache!"
"Piggy! Piggy! 2 x4! Can't get through Tim Horton's door!" Geraldine giggled.
I have always been happy with hot dogs and beans to eat when I am camping. Not these folks. Charcuterie, fresh berries, steaks, home made pizza and the best lemon delight cake ever were on the ever available menu. Champagne too, not that I drink that French shit.
In the late evenings, the women and children tucked in their sleeping bags, Genoa's old man David and I poked at the fire and worked on the scotch. Scotch is pretty good when it is not raining too.
"How long you been drinking scotch?" David asked me.
"50 years," I told him.
"Always guzzle it like you are tonight?"
"It is one of my few talents."
"You should be dead."
"The night is still young."
Then I let out one of the biggest, loudest farts I ever heard. Until David followed it up with one even bigger and louder.
"I think that was the cake," David theorized.
"I think you are right," I agreed. "I got icing all over my ass."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuSQZru-bTE&list=PL6n7xOfvov7A652n6O9gz_9QVy3qQ2WSS&index=14
