CAMPING
NOTE: This chapter is like a journal of happenings rather than a journal of observations of nature.
Waking up at 5:30 a.m. I scurried about, gathering things together. Today is December 8, 1984 and I am going camping at Fisheating Creek with my family.
On this chilly morning, we left the house at ten minutes to 8. We stopped at a drawbridge, which was going down. The bridge bell rang for some time and I thought it was my alarm clock. I dug madly in my bag only to find the alarm clock off the whole time.
Canoeing was very worthwhile there. I went with my dad and little Donald Howell. We went up to a very big obstacle. Leaves (plants, that is) were floating on the surface. It was very hard to go through. We gave up on it and retreated back to camp.
I took Max for a walk around the camp. Upon seeing three bridges connected to three islands, I took Max to the farthest one out, and left him there. In other words:
I took Max out to Island A (the farthest one out). I called him and laughed as he ran over all three bridges to me.
My dad and me and Donald returned on the canoe out to the obstacle and we overcame it. We fished for a while, had no luck, and returned.
After a hot dinner, I went to bed early. I awoke the next morning to a ch-chilly start. I put on 4 pairs of socks and built a fire. I remembered going to the woods to retrieve a piece of firewood. I brought it back to camp and tried to split it on a rock only to succeed in splitting the rock.
I went horseback riding later on the second of the best two horses in the camp. Lady was my horse, and Hank was Lisa’s.
As Lady remained tied to the post, I hoped a farm hand would untie her. Everyone left already, so I had to untie her myself. How did she catch up to the group? She GALLOPED! I had some witnesses, and one took a picture of me taking off with the dust. The same thing happened back!
After a delicious lunch, I canoed myself to a bank some distance from the camp, and I got on it to greet my family and friends long-distance. I then set back to camp. I later went canoeing with my dad and Max. My impressed dad glanced at the afternoon scenery and said, “The perfect day! Temperature’s just right.”
We passed by a dead tree full of vultures – a vulture club!
We went up to a stream and went up against its current. After some coaching from Dad, we got up as far as we could go, and enjoyed a free ride downstream. Max was enjoying himself for the the first time on the trip.
We came home around 3 p.m. on December 9, 1984. I was pleased with a weekend never to forget.
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