A New Guest Post from Aerye, this time in honor of Big Bear Butt’s Man Vs. Wild post.

So, back when I was a junior hunter… I mean Girl Scout, we had overnights in real Girl Scout Camps. Not sure what they do now, but our closest camp was not the ‘pretty princess hideaway’. We walked 3+ miles up gravel topped roads UP to one of various camp clearings that consisted of a lean-to with a huge trough-like sink, a large rock ringed campfire with a metal setup for cooking, a latrine that was… erm… rustic, complete with a shower set up that was really no more than a curtained area with three shower heads over wooden planks. You slept on these wooden platforms that had three steps up, and canvas walls, no doors save a canvas flap you could tie and you slept on the floor in yer bedrolls that YOU hauled up. For all of us who lived in even the semi city that was Queens NY, it was WONDERFUL! No lights save your flashlight, real honest SKY.. cold ass wind that froze every single part of you that it touched and made the concept of a shower unthinkable… even after 2 days in the wilderness.

OK, no one liked the damn lizards and freaking huge spiders in the latrine, but when you screamed, at least 6 other brave scouts came to your rescue….

Our troop leader was one of those “Camping in June is EASY; girls, we’re going to camp in NOVEMBER!”

Um… on top of a windy peak. In the dark. With 8 chicken-shit girls who think a pigeon is wildlife.

So, of course, we all got really excited and talked our parents into this insanity, and Friday afternoon, courtesy of a public school clerical half day, we drove off. After seventeen million bad Girl Scout songs, we landed, and carrying 2 nights and nearly 3 days of food and things to do along with our gear we hiked. Got to the lowest campground. No joy– someone had taken it. Twenty minutes later, got to the second campground. Nope. Third? Nope. My thought at this point was along the lines that every girl dressed in green in the tristate area was out to get us, especially me, who was carrying the cooler. Never be a patrol leader. We finally landed at the LAST campground, the one at the TOP of the ‘mountain’.

My patrol didn’t HAVE cooking that night, so we dropped everything up for them to put away and went off to claim our tent. On the way, we saw a huge black squirrel. One of the girls started feeding it popcorn, which as we all know is the NYC squirrel natural diet. Squirrel followed us all the way to the darn tent where it came in and watched up set up– begging so cutely for the popcorn. In walks our troop leader. She was less than pleased and chased the vermin out, warning us that these are WILD ANIMALS. Yeah, like that’s gonna stick with 5 giggling preteen girls.

Our first task? Using our compasses, we walked a hike in patrol. It was getting dark by the time we got to the nice river by the campground and ooooo look at the cute as a bug porcupine! More popcorn was shared, and it, like the vermin afore, followed us, much to the horror of our troop leader who again chased the thing off and lectured five very serious faced girls that wildlife was NOT for us to play with. She left, giggling commenced, we went to the latrine to wash up for dinner.

Sitting out front, just in a bush was a raccoon. He was a cute raccoon. He was a smart raccoon, and like every other bit of wildlife that ever lived in a Girl Scout laden area, he understood how to beg for free food. Hey, I can understand that– free popcorn and granola bars beat out grubs and raw fish in my book. And so, cute little “Bandit” (hey, we were young, it seemed like the perfect name, and so what if we were about as imaginative as hunks of wood) got stuffed full of food, and led back to our tent where we gave him more.

Now I was stupid, but not THAT stupid. Realizing that said raccoon now KNEW we had food here, I sighed and broke the news to the patrol that the candy and cookies for our midnight pig festival was going to have to be forfeit– that Bandit would come and rip our stuff apart for it. So, sadly, we piled a bag with granola bars, cookies, twizzlers, and the usual sweet crap you must eat after midnight and we brought it to our Troop Leader, stating that we just wanted it kept safe. She sighed, but let it go, and thus dinner was demolished and we went to bed.

May I say that November at the top of a mountain, even in freaking New Jersey is damn cold. I had brought thermal underwear, had a old feather filled sleeping bag AND a ground cloth AND a blanket and I STILL slept in my clothing AND coat. The other girls all curled together, but I passed; they all talked too much, and I kinda wanted sleep. I said I was fine, and fell asleep wishing I could just freeze solid. I piled my pack over my feet, making a windbreak that also kept everything tucked in, even if it was a bit heavy on my legs, and I put my hood on, then put the stuffed critter I;d brought on top of THAT to keep my ears warm; it was a bit heavy, but again, warmth trumps anything else when you are cold and the wind is howling against the crappy canvas of your lean-to.

Ever wake up incredibly warm and know it’s wrong, somehow and yet, the warm is so damn good you don’t want to open your eyes and end it? I decided, always being eminently practical, that I’d just enjoy the warm and wonder why later when I heard the first gasp. Then the stifled scream.

Oh, so NOT a good thing. But my head was so warm, as were my feet… and damnit I like warm. I kept my eyes shut. Dozed off again too.

Then I hear, in one of those voices that are a mix of abject horror and fear, “Anne… do NOT move.”

People have got to realize SAYING that makes you want to move. I resisted, but got tense. I was covered up so my field of view was near nil, even in the early dawn light. I saw a flash, then another, then the side of the lean-to was pulled open and For some reason this made my feet colder… and then my head got colder.

I sat up to my entire patrol staring at me in horror, along with my troop leader, holding her camera.

Apparently, “Bandit” had come back in the night, and failing to find food, crawled into my pack… you know, the one on my feet. He brought friends, too — one deciding that the nice pillowy area made by a hood and a stuffed animal was lovely, thank you.

The picture of me in my raccoon hat actually got into the papers…and thus, my first real brush with nature.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 28th, 2008 at 2:42 pm and is filed under guest, real life.You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.