Frantically packing in the early morning from the wild night before. Everything must fit in one bag, plus the beer cooler. Luckily this wasn’t my first rodeo; I’ve been seasoned enough. All my gear was ready from my previous nature endeavours.
I had my essentials for the overnight stay. Everything was neatly packed, including a bottle of whisky for my soul, a bottle of rum to share with my friends, and a bottle of Jägermeister for the appetite. A dozen or so beers and cigars to keep me engaged. I always brought a book.
I was ready for our annual get-together camping trip. We called it Gypsy Camping. Not because we moved every night from place to place, but because they brought lots. Anything from eclectic toothbrushes to full foam mattresses and six-person tents, occupied only by two.
The tradition was created to escape our busy lives and to recharge our batteries while connecting with nature. Soak up the sun, eat food prepared on a fire, swim, and disconnect from reality.
My friend Larry is a banker. He hates to be late. He madly drove his overpacked SUV down the curvy roads. He was extremely knowledgeable of the financial world; however, he never forced his professional opinion on anyone. Always on time, but not this time. He was never the one to speed, but because our stops ate up some time, he was making some distance.
We had to pick up a boat from a friend of ours, Jeff. He couldn’t commit to continuing our tradition with the valid excuse of being lazy and his new girlfriend, which we made a huge statement by not inviting her. We had our proven pack of friends; we didn’t need any baggage.
It was a shame he couldn’t make it, but the rules are rules.
It wasn’t the same without him. This was his first time missing the trip.
Lastly, we stopped by the liquor store to pick up more beer for my cooler. As a wise man once said: “Camping without beer is just sitting in the woods.” We were all set.
Arriving at the marina, the sun was already beating down and almost reaching the zenith. It was scorching. The weather report promised continuous sunlight and hot to boiling temperatures for the remainder of our trip. Fingers crossed.
On arrival, we were greeted by the rest of our pack and the high energy.
Andrew and his wife Pauline had already unpacked their vehicle and were having cold drinks while soaking their feet from the pier. Visibly overpacked with huge bags neatly stacked by the shoreline.
They had kids, so any opportunity to take a breather, get away from diapers and broken toys, was a blessing for them. They both were joyfully cheering and laughing.
Michelle, Larry’s wife, was away at the registration booth, trying to get the parking permits. She bore a close resemblance to a Barbie doll. Big blue eyes, long blond hair and a quirky sense of humour that always kept you on your toes. She wasn’t around for our swift arrival.
Her long-time friend and our long camping member, Daniella, was trying to zip up her overly stuffed bag. At least she got proper gear this time around. We called it: “a garbage bag full of sleeping bags” packing method.
Last year she brought a huge, black garbage bag stuffed with multiple sleeping bags, an air mattress and other equipment. When the electrical cord fell out from the bag while we were portaging, carrying all the bags from one pier to the next one, I almost lost my cool.
She is a world traveller, currently living in Norway. While visiting her parents, she couldn’t miss our tradition despite the personal vendetta with the sun.
Sun was not her friend.
She would turn red, looking like a burn victim upon instant exposure to the rays. But she made it, that's what counts.
There were six of us this time.
We hit the water and made it to the first portage location after a short thirty-minute boat ride. We weren’t rushing; we were indulging in the environment around us.
While Larry, Andrew and I were carrying heavy coolers full of food, the ladies were having a drink on the shore straight from the bottle. They called it “a ritual.”
That ritual was long because of the struggle to carry the boat over and the top-heavy mother of a motor.
The struggle was real, but it was worth it.
The campsite was small, tents standing close to each other on the rock face, about seven feet from the waterline. With thick, dark forest behind it. Some were concerned about others' abilities to snore at night, but that made us even closer. It was a perfect spot.
Larry was our fire and a grill master. He could start a fire without a morning cup of coffee and make hell of grilled meat on a fire pit. He didn’t drink this time around, because he decided to have a quiet time this year.
Last year while camping, I was asleep until I heard some loud screams:
“Hello! Hello!” Larry was yelling.
I woke up frantically, I could barely open my eyes, not sure what to make out of this. I was trying to understand the urgency of the event. It was 4 a.m.
“Are you awake?” He continued yelling.
“I am now!” I replied, still half asleep after a heavy night of drinking.
“Bring me a cigar!” Larry added.
“Coming!” I said promptly, while trying to get my bearings straight and get out of the sleeping bag without ripping a zipper open.
What a start to an early day that was. Subsequently, we both passed out around lunchtime, exhausted.
When it comes to partying, Andrew and Pauline were at the tip of the spear. They and I did most of the damage to the liquor; however, they would always pull their weight in the food preparation, collecting firewood, and cleaning dishes. No party would be the same without them.
My first night I didn’t make it to the tent and passed out right at the entrance. Waking up at 2 a.m. while shivering, I climbed in my sleeping bag to have a short sleep until my morning alarm.
I had a daily routine. I would be awake at 6:30 a.m. while everyone was still sleeping, despite me drinking past midnight the night before. Usually making a coffee and sitting on the highest point of the campsite, overlooking the water and watching the sunrise. Reading my book. Enjoying the solitude and the sounds of nature.
I made coffee in the morning for all my friends, usually a drink in my hand and an occasional cigar. Michelle made all the food preparations and was keeping track of meal times throughout the day. She was a lightweight; a few drinks would be enough, making her blush and laugh out loud. She was fun to be around, a genuinely caring person.
I reminded Michelle of her father. Very wholesome man, a gentle bear. Not by the big features, but his ability to drink from sunrise to sunset, smoke tobacco, except I wasn’t a pipe smoker, and be up close with the ladies.
A few years back her father visited my place with beer and snacks. I was ready for his visit with two cases of beer, one for each of us. I didn’t finish my case. At 3 a.m., Michelle’s mom was knocking on my door to drive him home. He is at sea now.
The first few days camping were a dream, full of fun and static adventures on the island. We ate, drank and drank some more, took naps and lit huge fires. Made fun of each other and gossiped about Jeff and his new girlfriend.
It wasn’t her fault. Although, he had it coming.
On the third day it was gloomy and windy. The temperature dropped significantly. I read a few pages and had a cup of coffee to warm up. Saw some other boats departing. Maybe that was our cue, which we ignored.
After breakfast, Pauline and Daniella decided to go see a waterfall. Andrew and I decided to take them there. It wasn’t a long boat ride, fifteen minutes despite the wind. I operated the boat; I can wheel anything with an engine.
The ladies set up the tent on the new spot in case it rains and went for a swim, Andrew accompanied them. I sat on the rock to read until it started to rain. It got significantly windy.
Andrew promptly said that we must make our way back, otherwise we would get stranded on this island.
We couldn’t take all the girls at once with us, because of the weight in the boat and high waves.
Andrew operated the boat; he had more experience than me and I was heavier than Daniella, so the two of us had to be on the boat. Pauline came with us first.
We left Daniella to wait. Told her to pack the tent and be ready for the pick-up. Time was of the essence.
Pauline was lying on the floor while I was leaning over the bow, keeping the boat down. Andrew was at the stern operating. Winds were vicious. Dark clouds covered the sky and blended with the colour of the water. We couldn’t see the nearest islands.
The boat was filling up with water and violently rocking. It took us over twenty-five minutes to get to our island in order to drop off Pauline. I timed and estimated our next arrival time.
We couldn’t come close to the shore to let her out; the waves were ferocious. The boat would smash against the rockface.
She jumped from the boat a few meters shy of the shore, while Larry threw her a hoisting rope, which we used for hanging food overnight against the wildlife. She got to the shore.
Andrew and I were on our way to pick up Daniella. We could barely see the land at that time. The wind was filling our eyes with water and pushing us off course.
We made the ultimate decision to dock the boat in order for Daniella to get in; however, the tent was still standing, violently shaking in the wind, and she was swimming near the waterfalls.
Andrew ran to get her, while I ripped the tent off the ground and made an attempt to roll it.
By the time I managed to roll the tent, two of them, all soaking wet, started to climb into the boat.
She still didn’t have her PFD on.
I was pissed. Andrew was furious. I never saw him in this state.
We got into the boat and reached our friends. Fuming with anger, we tied the boat down and went in our tents.
Luck was on our side. It wasn’t our day after all.
I had a stiff drink and a cigar right inside the tent. I didn’t give a shit.
Later Michelle, while hysterically laughing, described this event as “we were partying as gypsies at the cemetery.” Which made total sense to our amusement and a desire for our overall adventures.
When I woke up the next morning, the water was smooth and calm as a financial transaction at the Swiss bank. It was our last full day.
First thing I went to check on the boat, to do a battle damage assessment. The stabilizer fins were scratched, all propellers were slightly warped, one was missing a chunk. The boat had some cosmetic damage but was overall intact.
We managed to finish most of our food that day and by midnight we sadly ran out of alcohol. What a shame. We still burned the fire high and laughed until we couldn’t.
On our last day, we all woke up early. Still laughing from the night before, packing and grabbing a quick bite to eat before the departure, and the tedious portage ahead of us.
Before hitting the water for the last time, I lit the cigar, as every captain would. To celebrate another year's trip full of fun and adventure.
We made a pit stop off the highway to grab a bite and to stretch our legs before the final push home. The place was a small, greasy diner, with rundown washrooms, but it had running water. It was our tradition.
We will burn through another year to meet again.
