Campfires I Have Known - Part2

Here is Part two of a story taken from the archives of stories I've written over the years.  I suppose it fits well into the category of "Beyond the Campfire".  

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I'll never forget the soggy fire my long time friend Rocky and I attempted to nurse into life back in our college days.  We thought we knew all there was to know about the outdoors...we didn't. We were home for the summer and apparently had nothing else better to do, so we put together a spur-of-the-moment trout fishing trip over to the Illinois River below Tenkiller Dam not far from Tahlequah, Oklahoma, where we were attending college.  What we lacked in actual experience we made up in enthusiasm.  We piled close to three tons of camping gear...2.9 tons of which we didn't need...into the back of his old VW he had converted into a dune buggy.  Dune buggies were pretty cool back then.  Of the 0.1 tons of gear we did need, almost none of it was food...we were going to be real pioneers and live off the land by catching trout and cooking them over a campfire.  We actually did catch some fish, but mother nature did not cooperate with us and a steady rain fell the entire trip.  We soon discovered that the old Coleman stove we brought along no longer worked...or more than likely we didn't know how to make it work.  So...we set about building a campfire...with now very soggy wood.

About all we could accomplish to that effect was a smoldering mass of wet smoke which did little to warm our cold hands much less provide enough heat to cook a fish.  Our filleting skills were also somewhat lacking and the soggy mixture of cornmeal and assorted fish parts fell well short of winning any gourmet cooking awards.  Even so, at least it kept us from starving...but just barely.  Had some other campers not taken pitty on us and loaned us a working Coleman stove, we certainly would have had a most memorable outing.  As it turned out...we still get a big chuckle about that experience even today.  Oddly enough...it was the campfire...or maybe the lack there of...that helped to create that memory.

Our skills at building campfires improved over the years...but we still had our share of shriveled tennis shoes, holes burned into tent fabric, and choking lungs filled with smoke.  One of the first float trips we made on the Buffalo River in northwestern Arkansas could be classified as the "no sleep float trip from hell."  One of our troop...who had been invited by one of our regulars...had without a doubt the worst case of snoring I have ever had the displeasure of experiencing.  Now I've heard some pretty good snoring over the years...even contribute my own style to this serenade...but, I've never heard such vile noises come out of a sleeping person ever...I never knew such noises could come out of a sleeping person.  Now, it's not all that unusual for someone to snore a bit when you get four to six guys together on a camping trip...it's somewhat expected and no one seems to be bothered by it...too much.  But, on this single occasion the snoring exploits of our guest not only kept all of us awake...but we had campers thirty yards away complain the next morning about the hideous and foul noises.  Cotton in the ears...nothing could muffle the thunderous rumble. Only two people got any sleep that 3-day weekend...the culprit...and Ralph who was able to disconnect his hearing aid and slept in silent bliss each night.  The rest of us suffered unmercifully.

I'll never forget the puffy eyed look of our crew as we all stood around the campfire each morning.  Never had coffee smelled so good nor offered more relief than on those mornings..that was the most memorable campfire we've ever had if not the most miserable.  Oddly enough, our guest turned out to be one fine camp cook...so when meal time came...all was temporarily forgiven.

The Buffalo River has been the focal point of many such campfires creating an array of unique evenings and images of smoke drifting across the campsites on cold mornings.  The aroma of coffee brewing and bacon sizzling on an open fire becomes an historical point of reference for each of those adventures.  Who could forget the sound and fragrance of freshly caught fish frying over a hot bed of coals as evening approaches...or the sound of the whip-o-will as smoke from the fire drifts low over the camp.  One of my favorite things to do after a campfire meal is to sit back and look up at the stars which are unfiltered by city lights and hear the crackle and feel the heat radiating from the hot coals.  These are memories that can only be experienced around a campfire.  When the stars come out...lost in another world...there is something magical about the fire.  They bring comfort...a sense of home yet a feeling of distance...and generates an enduring legacy that
remains vivid well after the amber coals have cooled.

Countless stories of embellished adventures we have told over the years while sitting around the campfire...hunting and fishing adventures...and more often than not...mis-adventures are recounted again and again.  It's one of the best uses of a campfire...they just seem to go together.

In more recent times I constructed a campfire area on the backside of our yard.  We live in the country and our yard is a long and skinny yard so the fire pit is situated a good hundred yards from the house.  We're surrounded by cornfields and wooded areas.  On occasion we venture out there and sit in the swing that I built and watch the fire run through its life cycle.  I enjoy adding logs to the fire and watch it flare up.  On those cool fall or spring nights...it's quite relaxing to sit out there and just talk about this and that and listen to the coyotes yipping and yelpping at dusk. My wife Kris and I certainly enjoy sharing those moments.

Wilderness may disappear in time...I pray that never happens...but the priceless images of those campfires will never be lost. I am certainly fortunate to have visited such moments...I plan on visiting many more.

Campfires I have Known - Part One - The back yard.

Here's part one of another story taken from the archives of stories I've written over the years.  I suppose it fits well into the category of "Beyond the Campfire".  It's a bit too long to make into one story so I will break it up into two parts.
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The ethics of backcountry travel in today's wilderness often dictates an absence of a real campfire, but, there are still places where the warmth of that enduring symbol can still be felt on those cold starlit evenings.  A campfire adds that unique touch and helps to create a bonding with the outdoor experience...especially within the domain of the night.  They are like snow crystals in that no two of them are ever alike.  I guess that is what is so endearing about them.  Each one develop their own personality and become the personification of that particular outdoor adventure.  The aroma of the burning wood...the heat generated by the amber coals...the soft glow and dancing shadows created by the flames can transform even the most cold of nights into a memory that will last long after the coals are extinguished.

I have known many campfires over the years and have watched them grow from a tiny infant flame into a roaring fire casting an hypnotic glow across the camping site.  Not all the fires were equal...some were downright inferior..but each of them contributed to the pleasure of their respective moment in time.

My first experience with campfires and camping out in general occurred in my grandparents backyard in the small town of Wister, Oklahoma.  The stately old house in which they lived for almost 70 years was situated at the top of a knoll not far from what was downtown.  The yard was over an acre or so in size and was covered with old stately oak and elm trees.  (The elms have probably fallen victim to that nasty Dutch Elm disease by now I'm sure).  In that backyard stood an old well with a crudely built covering.  On those hot and muggy summer days so prevalent in that part of the country, my grandmother would draw three or four loads of the crystal clear ice cold water and place a watermelon or two in it to cool them down.

One summer when I was about 9 years old, my dad purchased an old army surplus canvas pup tent for us kids to use and with that simple piece of outdoor gear I lived dozens of adventures within the shadow of that old well.  My grandmother would allow me to build a small campfire in the dirt...as long as I was careful.  There was no shortage of wood as the old oak and elm trees constantly shed dry branches at the slightest breeze.  She would give me a blanket or two and along with an old army cot that barely fit inside the tent, I would sleep out under the stars...not more than twenty feet from her back door.  She'd take a peak out the window as night came just to make sure I was alright.

The highlight came the next morning when I would rekindle the campfire...grab a couple of eggs and some bacon from the frig and cook breakfast.  My grandmother would always offer to make breakfast...but I insisted on doing it myself cooking on the open fire.  It was great fun...and a wonderful learning experience for an 8 or 9 year old boy.

Those campfires were my pride and joy.  I actually felt like I was living an adventure as grand and exciting as Lewis and Clark.  That old tent eventually rotted away and was discarded but the memories of sleeping out on those hot summer nights...and those first campfires set in motion a lifetime of outdoor discoveries.  They added a sense of realism to a small boy's imagination.  I'll never forget those days, and all the campfires since then had their roots planted during those summer nights.

When Nature Wins

It is said that a photograph is worth a thousand words...maybe so...but there are some moments that even a photograph is unable to capture. I wrote this story about thirteen years ago and it still is one of my favorites and it continually generates memories that could never be reproduced photographically.  It's about a spectacular event that occurred almost twenty years ago...an event that changed my perspective on a lot of things...I have no photos of that day...just a verbal description from the heart of what I experienced...I hope once you read this you will understand the impact of the moment.  
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Never again would a sunrise simply be a sunrise.  It would be a unique moment of time and place forever bound and tested against that morning...forever etched as a defining principle of what an outdoor experience should be.

When I stepped out of the warm cab of my truck and into the chill of that pre-dawn morning air, little did I suspect that this day would be unique.  The air was light and crisp and well below the point of being cold and I shivered as I looked toward the still dark sky across which spread the silvery haze of the Milky Way.  I was to meet an old friend here on the northwest side of Canton Lake, in northwestern Oklahoma, for some late season goose hunting.  Forewarned of his late arrival, I set about performing the well rehearsed motions of suiting up getting ready for the day's hunt.  During previous outings we had noticed that a few hundred Canada Geese followed a predictable pattern each morning and afternoon.  If they continued using that pattern we hoped to ambush one or two as they flew low over a spit of land that extended a couple hundred yards into the lake.  The cover was good there with a cluster of knurled willow trees on the point and copious amounts of tall grass around the perimeter.  The lake was low that season so the walk in was easy.

A thin layer of ice along the shallows crunched under foot as I trudged along the edge of the peninsula.  I carried no decoys, for we planned on remaining mobile and adapting to the movements of the geese when the opportunity presented itself.  I settled in amongst the willow trees and leaned back into a comfortable position long before the first vestiges of daylight became apparent.  There was a calming silence that pervaded over the lake...no wind...no sound...only the soft rush of condensed breath set aglow by the starlit sky.

Time slowed under the canopy of that cold and dark morning.  I felt small and insignificant sitting there alone.  A slight sense of melancholy drifted over me born from a fatigue that hovered like a fog around my eyes. After several minutes passed, just above the horizon across the far side of the lake a faint glow became evident...a glow so pale as to be almost imperceptible...yet distinct and recognizable as the first sign of the approaching dawn.

Somewhere across the lake a group of mallards stirred and their chatter echoed across the silent waters.  Overhead a flight of buffleheads whistled by winging from my left to right and then circled behind me disappearing into the void.  More flights followed.  A group of teal then pintail and more mallards whipped by...their beating wings whistling as they ripped through the crisp morning air.  Unseen high overhead the haunting chattel of sandhill cranes added to the symphony that was now being orchestrated across the lake.

With each passing moment a new sound and activity of waterfowl was brought into the realm of that once still morning.  Slowly...as in unison with the stirrings of the wildlife on and around the lake, the glow over the horizon changed texture and intensity.

A layer of thin clouds that drifted low on the horizon began to glow with a deliberate shimmer celebrated with layers of pastel blues and pinks intermixed with streaks of orange and red.  The sunrise scene that was unfolding was perfectly imprinted on the mirrored surface of the lake.

A flight of hooded mergansers swooped in and sat down less than twenty yards in front of me.  Their distinctive profiles a silhouette against the ever growing intensity of the breaking dawn.  I was spell bound.  I leaned my shotgun against the willow tree...and simply watched.

The once star-studded sky began to lighten and one by one each of those bright points of light began to dim...blink one final time...and disappear.  By this time multitudes of waterfowl were stirring...darting in front of, behind, and all around me.  I couldn't believe what was unfolding.  It was like an image taken from an artists canvas...yet no words...no photograph...no imagination could capture the majesty of this morning.  The combined effects of the sunrise...its reflection on the calm waters of the lake...the chaotic movements of countless waterfowl could not have been choreographed more splendidly than the spontaneous explosion of time and place presenting themselves across this...the best of nature's theaters.

Across the lake on the horizon, what had began as a faint whimper of light had now progressed to a bold, new amber glow.  Jets of red and orange ripped through and danced across the low clouds.  The lake and sky were ablaze.  Thousands of ducks and many geese flew here and there in confused contrast against the unfolding serenity of that magnificent morning.

Then...like when a conductor raises his baton...a momentary hush fell over the morning and all was mostly very still.  A moment later the sky filled with brilliant light as the sun thrust its burning globe above the horizon...the silence was then ripped apart when thousands more waterfowl exploded into flight...their squawks and chattering filled the silence...their motion across the blazing sky, their reflections moving across the lake added depth and perspective to the morning.

At that moment I realized something unique was unfolding not only around me...but within me as well.  Never before had it become so evident.  From all the years of hunting and fishing...from all the priceless moments spent outdoors...a moment like this was the moment I was seeking.  To witness that incomprehensible complexity of nature played out amongst the indescribable simplicity of a magnificent sunrise...to truly understand for the first time that I was a part of God's creation given the privilege to witness and enjoy the splendid array of what life in him has to offer.  This was what it was all about. Far too many times the most important things in life had been lost in the vacuum of time and place. Never again would that happen.  Never again would a sunrise simply be a sunrise.  It would be a unique moment of time and place forever bound and tested against that morning...forever etched as a defining principle of what a relationship with God is all about. Few images can stir the soul like witnessing God's creative hand as it unfolds across his natural palette.  Every morning...every new dawn...is a unique creation there for the taking...there for all to share.  It;s just a matter being still long enough to not just view it...but to experience it.

My partner eventually arrived and was able to witnessed the last moments of what I had been privileged to observe from its beginning. By the time the sun had fully risen the explosion of activity subsided.  In spite of observing, and maybe because of, all the activity, and not without trying...we failed to bring home any game on that day...even so, it was a fitting end to a perfect, unforgettable day afield.  Somehow it seemed appropriate that nature...so elegantly endowed...so perfectly displayed as was the intent of its creator...would win on this day.

Keith

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Epilog:  This story brings back many wonderful memories from times past.  My friend Ralph who met me up there that day has passed on now...his memory as well as countless memories spent afield with him and others have not been lost.  This one single morning may indeed have been the most spectacular.  That is why I chose to write it down because of the special nature of the event.


With the Christmas season upon us...I hope we all take time to remember not only friends and family...but more importantly the true meaning of the season.  That day afield changed my perspective on a lot of things not the least of which was my personal relationship Christ.  I began to understand more fully the significance of his life and how insignificant my life is without that relationship.  I am forever grateful for that one single moment afield when he spoke to me in such a spectacular way.  Maybe that is why I spend so much time now trying to photograph his creation...maybe someday he will offer again another one of those unforgettable mornings when time and place converge into a single moment of visual splendor.


Thank you allowing me to share this special moment in time.