Why is it that outdoor types and fitness fanatics believe that everyone should be an outdoor type and fitness fanatic? I don't mind going for a gentle stroll in the woods but hiking all day just doesn't cut it with me. Camping is a similar deal. You make your camp and pitch your tent and light your fire and cook your dinner and go to bed with the mosquitoes, fire-ants, scorpions and spiders. Not to mention snakes. I'd rather go and pitch my tent into the nearest river and hie myself off to the nearest motel, the more luxurious the better.
At least, that's what I'd do if I had any choice in the matter. I explained to my parents that at eighteen I was quite capable of looking after myself for a fortnight and I was really too busy to get away for a couple of weeks camping, but they wouldn't hear of it. If necessary they were prepared to ring up any appointments I might have had and request they be deferred. My mother would have done it, too.
Resignedly I prepared for the annual fortnight of hell. We hit the old campgrounds in the middle of the day. This is so my father has time to explore and pick the furthest possible camping site. I was quite willing to camp just inside the main entrance, preferably right outside the trading post and restaurant.
In place of that convenient spot we had to hike five miles through thick forest to find a tiny clear spot with barely enough room to pitch a tent. I may have exaggerated a little there, but it certainly felt like five miles and those woods might just as well have been a forest. As far as I'm concerned any place with a lot of trees and wild animals is a forest.
We pitched our camp. Surprisingly the little spot we found was big enough for both my parent's tent and mine, with a little bit of space left over. Dad set about building a little camp-fire, eager to get on with cooking some dinner. It was almost a pity that I had to remind him that it was a day of total fire ban. He was almost ready to light a match when I broke the news. He gave me a doubtful look but I assured him it was true. Hadn't he seen the notice at the main gate?
No fire meant that we had to trek back to the main entrance and the restaurant to get dinner. I didn't miss noticing that dad sneaked a peak at the fire rating board, looking rather chagrined when he found out I was right. Score one for me.
Back to the camp and by that time I was tired enough to sleep, even if it was in a sleeping bag. I zipped up my tent and sprayed it liberally for flying pests, lay down, and zonked off.
A good thing I did go to sleep so fast. I awoke early the next morning. The sun was shining, too damn early, the birds were singing, too damn loudly, and my parents were calling me, also too damn loudly.
As we had no fire it was off to the restaurant for breakfast. After that we'd be going for a hike. A long hike. My parents were firm believers in exercise being good for you. I had already laid down my plans.
Leaving the restaurant I accidentally tripped going down the steps, twisting my ankle. I told my mother that the forest rangers knew first aid. It's one of their basic requirements. She helped me as I limped over to the ranger station. Once there I told her that she'd better go and tell dad and I'd wait right here after seeing about some first aid.
She trotted off and I limped into the ranger station. There was a nice young man sitting behind the desk and I limped over to him.
"Hurt yourself, ma'am?" he asked.
"Why, yes," I agreed. "I tripped coming down the restaurant steps and twisted my ankle. It's just strained, not sprained, and all I really need to do is keep off it as much as possible for the next two days."
"Um, yes. Perhaps I'd better have a proper look at it. We are trained in first aid, you know."
"I know," I said, smiling sweetly, "and you have just made an amazing diagnosis that totally agrees with mine."
Another requirement of the rangers is intelligence. This guy passed. He looked at me thoughtfully and slowly nodded.
I sat on the steps outside the ranger station, waiting for my parents to come. As soon as they arrived the ranger popped his head out the door and gave them my diagnosis, word for word.
"You might like to borrow one of those walking staffs," he added, pointing to a number of stout sticks leaning against the wall. "Hikers find them and use them but we discourage them from taking them away so we always have a few available. Your daughter can use it to get back to your camp and then put her foot up."
"Pity," grumbled my father. "We were going for a long hike today. I guess we'll have to put that off for a while."
"Oh, really, dad," I protested. "You can still go. I'll be OK at the camp by myself. It's not as though I'm going to be eaten by a bear or anything."
"She's right," the ranger chipped in. "She'll be perfectly safe. We haven't had the bears eat a camper for days now. I'll even drop by your camp when I do my rounds to make sure she's OK."
I limped my way back to our camp and I dragged my sleeping bag out of my tent and settled down on it. Checking my phone I found I had a signal which reassured my parents. I also had a small solar charger which would keep the phone going. To help pass the time I also had an ereader with a decent stock of books on it.
After ensuring that I was fine with some snacks and drinks available for my lunch they left, heading on their nice long hike. I very nearly jumped to my feet and did a victory dance, restraining myself with the knowledge that my mother would be bound to look back and catch me doing it.
I spent an interesting morning chatting on the phone and reading, occasionally giving thanks to the person who invented solar chargers. Even out in the wilds you could keep in touch. I had my lunch and idly considered hiking down to the trading post for a look around. I decided against this for two reasons. First I was too lazy and second if I did go some gossip might mention it to my parents. I settled in for an afternoon of doing nothing.
Just after lunch the ranger I'd spoken to came wandering past. "Just checking to see that you're OK," he said. We chatted for a short while, me explaining how I really hadn't wanted to do a full day's hike up the mountains. He sympathized but I don't think he really understood, being an outdoors type himself. He probably enjoyed galloping up and down mountains and chasing after bears and things.
He went on his way, more camp sites to check out and trails to stroll down looking for lost sheep. I settled down to relax some more.
I'd just got off the phone from talking to a friend and was about to settle down with my ereader for a while when this guy strolled into the camp. I politely rose to my feet to say hello and see what he wanted.
He was a husky young man, older than me by several years, wearing a good-natured grin. He had this amazing shock of red hair, really thick and sticking out in all directions. I heard someone refer to a mutual friend as having combed his hair with a hand grenade. That was the exact impression that Red gave.
"How you going?" he said cheerfully, looking casually around.
"Doing OK," I said. "How can I help you, Red?"
"Eh? Do I know you? No, can't be. No way I'd forget knowing someone as pretty as you. How'd you know my name? Someone mention me?"
Oddly enough he did look familiar but I was sure we hadn't met before. I shook my head.
"Ah, no, we haven't met. I just took a guess at what they'd call you."
I mean, really, with that hair what else would they call him?
