At Camp Fife Dan and I got wind that we were hosting some other troops at our campsite for a big marshmallow roast and story telling with this crazy old dude who lived at the camp and had all kinds of rad stories about living in the woods like a frontiersman.
We decided that Troop 528 was going to have the biggest, most bad-assed fire in the history of the Columbia Council (or whatever our regional code was). We were from Toppenish, a small-ass rural town near Yakima, and by God we were going to impress those concrete-camping city kids from Seattle.
We amass our materials four hours beforehand and with hatchets and knives we proceed to craft our firewood, working it as the potter does his clay. Logs were split to precise measurements. Cross-beams were split (but not separated) to facilitate burning. Between two large pieces of wood, long as the fire pit was wide, we assembled a tiny mound of needles and things. Over this went our twigs, and ceder splittings, ect ect, layer upon layer, with a tunnel running straight to the heart.
The moment of truth comes. The other campers are arriving, crowding around the firepit. The order is given.
I produce a 9 inch "fireplace match" and strike it. Some of those city kids were impressed, having never seen a match as big or as long as that in their life. Under Dan's guidance I slowly insert the flame into the heart of the fire and touch the center. We both step back, pull our red military-issue berets out from under our lapels, and put them on our heads before crossing our arms and looking (for all the world) like complete badasses.
The fire grows slowly, and then roars into life.
A pillar of fire 8 feet tall knifes at the starlit sky. Kids are pushing benches back three... four... ten feet back from the blaze.
Two hours later it was still, more or less, too hot to roast any marshmallows.
After the Seattle kids left we got a rather stern talking-to from the adults.
But Dan and I didn't care, because we were Artists and these people clearly did not understand. Besides, the lecture couldn't last too long - the adults had to go to sleep.
And Dan had a half can of WD-40 left in his pack.
You know what is not flammable, Pam potato spray, that shit wont light on fire at all.
I enjoyed your story, although I have nothing else to add, so I will just say thanks.
Jigrah on
0
Options
HacksawJ. Duggan Esq.Wrestler at LawRegistered Userregular
edited June 2008
Speaking of how much Eastern Washington sucks: when I went out to the Gorge for Rush it was blowing like the heavens had come loose and were just flying about all over the fucking place. The wind consistently blew for like nine fucking hours and super hard. My hair still hasn't forgiven me.
Yeah it was unseasonably windy almost all of the spring.
Which also made it unseasonably cold and wet.
The cherry harvest suffered from overwatering
Volucrisus Aedrius on
0
Options
HacksawJ. Duggan Esq.Wrestler at LawRegistered Userregular
edited June 2008
Rush was awesome, though. Geddy Lee made a bunch of pithy comments about how windy it was. Fuckin' awesome.
Hacksaw on
0
Options
#pipeCocky Stride, Musky odoursPope of Chili TownRegistered Userregular
edited June 2008
Man the only thing I remember about cub scouts is when I fell over on a hike, stopped myself on the ground with my hands, and a pointy, upturned stick drove itself three inches into my wrist.
Posts
You know what is not flammable, Pam potato spray, that shit wont light on fire at all.
I enjoyed your story, although I have nothing else to add, so I will just say thanks.
Which also made it unseasonably cold and wet.
The cherry harvest suffered from overwatering
I only remember because I have a scar.
Need some stuff designed or printed? I can help with that.
is this like the british version or something
Pete was stll alive on the boat right?