It seems I have sort of a love-hate relationship with Mother Nature. I enjoy camping, hiking, canoeing, etc. She enjoys seeing me suffer.
I'm not really kidding here. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to embrace the outdoors and spend time communing with nature. Nature, on the other hand, has acted very much like she's just not that into me.
And, of course, like some love-sick teenager, I've declined to take the hint. Make that "hints." Or, perhaps downright, out-and-out "Amityville Horror"-type instructions to "LEAVE."
For instance, there was the first of many weeklong canoeing trips on which my dad used to take me, my brother and any of my friends who wanted to go and some of his work buddies.
The first night out, my brother and I were convinced there was a bear outside our tent. We spent what seemed like an hour debating what to do before I was persuaded to stick my head outside and shine a flashlight on what we were sure was a mammoth grizzly just waiting to pounce (if, in fact, mammoth grizzlies actually, you know, pounce.).
The theory, which was developed solely by my brother, by the way, was that the sudden flash of light would so startle the bear he would dash off into the trees. This was based on no actual knowledge of bears or bear behavior on his part. I've since been informed that, if there had been a bear, he likely would have been so startled he would have smashed the flashlight and whoever was holding it like a grape. Frankly, when you think about it, that makes a lot more sense. At the time, however ...
Thankfully, the killer grizzly turned out to be a family of raccoons dexterous enough to get into a duffle bag and a bread wrapper and appeared to be making sandwiches. And, rather than being startled, they sort of looked at us as if they were kind of ticked we hadn't brought Grey Poupon.
That was also the trip where my best friend answered nature's call, only to discover a few days later that nature had responded by stocking his makeshift lavatory with poison ivy. Yeah, there's just so much calamine lotion can do about that.
Later, I would take my sons on various Cub/Boy Scout camping trips. Like the one during the coldest October in record. At that time, I thought air mattresses were for sissies. At that time, I also thought "Rocky Branch" was just a colorful name and not an actual description. About midnight, I discovered both that I was wrong and that the phrase "between a rock and a hard place" is pretty accurate. I was also blissfully unaware of just how much noise bass boats make just before dawn at the start of a tournament. I know better now.
There was the time a pop-up thunderstorm left me wrapped in the cold, wet side of the tent as it blew in on me. Or the trip with pop-up tent that didn't, which left me sleeping in a pretty sad-looking sort of teepee with all the sheltering qualities of tissue paper. At least that time I had an air mattress. However, it had a leak.
Why is it I always figure these things out around midnight?
For a bit, it seemed like it always rained on our camping excursions. Except when we wanted it to rain, like, say, just before a float trip. Then, we had a drought, which turned the "float" part into a "drag."
During one trip, it started lightening while we were rappelling. We got hit by a lake-effect storm while in the deer woods. We saw exactly no ducks on a duck hunting expedition. However, we did see turkey vultures when we blew out a tire backing into a stump.
So, to be honest, I was beginning to take the hint here. I mean, some people can't wear a watch, I'm probably too tall to be jockey and some things just aren't meant to be. Maybe it would be best if Nature and I just agreed to disagree, vowed to remain friends for the sake of the children and move on.
And then I discovered the trick. Lodges.
Specifically, Petit Jean Lodge, where the Lovely Mrs. Smith, a couple of the progeny and I spent the weekend. Petit Jean is about 30 minutes from Russellville, so unless you're afraid of a nuclear accident (and who worries about things like that?), you don't have a lot to fear from the surroundings.
The lodge is on top of a mountain, has a panoramic view that stretches practically to Tulsa, has hiking trails, a lake and, best of all, climate-proof, heated and air-conditioned cabins.
That way, if Nature starts acting up, we just go inside and close the door until it quits the tantrum.
Now it wasn't like we were staying in a hotel or something. OK, actually it was exactly like we were staying in a hotel, but, we were in the woods. And it was pretty rough up there. I mean, the cable TV only had about 20 channels, and carried ESPN, but not ESPN2.
Of course, I really didn't care because I was busy watching a breathtaking sunset from the lodge balcony. But if I had wanted to catch up on drag racing or a strong man competition, I'd have been out of luck.
So maybe I do have a place in the outdoors. A small place, with lots of amenities and a pretty good restaurant. And maybe the answer, at least for me, isn't a headlong dive into the wilderness as much as a gentle wading on the shore. My personal history would at least suggest it.
Oh, and one more thing. I'm pretty sure there aren't a lot of bears at Petit Jean. But just in case, I was prepared. I brought my flashlight.
Commentary on 08/07/2015