Gentlemen, I hope you will indulge me this story from my youth on the topic of camping...
My friend Kevin Schumacher (RIP) and I often "camped-out" together. We were perhaps the wilder and more
reckless of our collection of friends. What we did was actually considered "backpacking", as everything that we used we had to carry out into the "wilderness" on our backs, so sadly, no stoves or elaborate tents (NOT a criticism!).
We both lived in Maryland (USA) and would drive to West Virginia, New York, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Maine on our excursions, often with a canoe in tow. We
always waited until after the first few frosts, in order to be certain that the insects would not plague us. We hated insects more than the cold!
As an aside, I saw my first black bear on a trip with Kevin (in Maine)...
very exciting, but it was, unbeknownst to me at the time, actually the first of many future encounters with bears, as Pennsylvania has the most black bears in all of the "Southern 48" states.
On one trip to Southwestern Pennsylvania, we
met our match, so to speak. Kevin and I, for some reason (bad luck?) were most often met with inclement weather on our trips. It was the dead of winter, and we drove to a friend's abandoned farm. It was in the hill country, with gently rolling hills, hollows, and streams... idyllic at most times of the year.
We parked on the property, and hiked up into the hills. We set up camp in a patch of white birch trees that was situated near the top of one hill. It was rather cold, and there was about six inches of snow on the ground. We pitched our small two-man tent, collected firewood, and started a fire. We made our meal, and brewed some coffee. As the sun went down, the coffee continued to pour, mostly in an attempt to stay warm.
We both soon began to realize that it was much colder than anything we had prior experienced. You would pour a cup of coffee from the pot situated over the fire, and within one minute (literally) the coffee in the cup was frozen solid.
Well,
in this instance, we exercised
uncommonly good judgement, and decided to abandon the campsite. We packed it up in the middle of the night, and hiked back down to our old 1970 4WD Jeep Wagoneer. We drove for about 45 minutes to the nearest town, where we found lodging in a motel. The town was out of the hill country, and felt somewhat less cold than where we had set up camp.
The thermometer outside of the local bank read negative 16° F. In retrospect, I think it was a wise decision...
Kevin and I, Cacapon River, West Virginia, 1970s:
