Camping at the end of October in northern Indiana can be a cold undertaking. But our Girl Scout troop needed just one more weekend in the great outdoors to finish both our Outdoor Cook and Troop Camper badges. So even with temperatures predicted in the teens, we packed up our gear to go.
The site we were assigned for the weekend was newly renovated. Since we had already completed the requirement demonstrating our ability to pitch and pack a pup tent, the appearance of brand new platform tents, meaning we could just toss our gear inside with no fussing with ground covers, tarps, or stakes, was a welcome sight.
Dory, Laurie, Debbie, and I were directed to Platform 3, which was beautifully situated among the many pine and oak trees. It was a Goldilocks-distance from the latrine—not too far for an evening visit; not too close to offend the senses.
Soon after our arrival, we each took claim to a generous area within the permanent tent affixed to Platform 3. We rolled out our sleeping bags and nested our clothes and toiletries nearby. Then it was off to the woods to collect firewood for building the evening’s campfire.
Our leaders, Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Connell, clipboards in hand, made sure each girl had been given the chance to meet the requirements of the badges we were trying to earn. Leslie was put in charge of getting the fire started; Cathy fetched the water to boil; and I stood by with the packages of spaghetti noodles awaiting the right moment to drop them in. Before long, our joint efforts resulted in a delicious dinner replete with Ragu sauce, garlic bread, and iceberg lettuce salad. We even had cold milk to drink.
After cleaning up all the pots, pans, bowls, plates, flatware, and mugs, it was time to roast marshmallows for S’mores, sing camp songs, and generally enjoy the still-hot coals of the diminishing fire. We huddled close around the embers as the temperature began to drop. The predicted cold front brought with it a brilliantly star-lit, clear, night sky, which then prompted us to start pointing overhead to identify constellations. And then it was time to head back to our platform tents for bed. The next whole day was to be a busy one of hiking while identifying trees, shrubs, and various plants along the trail. A good night’s sleep was in order.
Snuggled deep inside my sleeping bag, my head pulled in and completely covered, I was well into my first REM cycle dreaming that a child was crying when I awoke to the realization that the crying was real. I peeked out of my cocoon and was assailed first by the bitter cold of the air, and second by a sour and pungent odor. Just a few feet away, Dory was kneeling pathetically next to her bag and belongings, whimpering and hiccuping over a puddle of her half-digested dinner of spaghetti, salad, milk, and S’mores. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I did not want to get out of my sleeping bag. I wanted to cover my head back up and pretend ignorance. And then she convulsed again. At that, Laurie, too, awoke and groaned, “Oh, God, gross.” Dory continued to cry and shiver at which point I got scared that she’d freeze to death there in that mess.
I reluctantly got out of my bag, put my jacket and shoes on, and stumbled out of the tent into the now 19 degree frosty air. Just across the path to the latrine was Platform 1 where our leaders were fast asleep. I zipped open their canvas closure and saw two humps covered with rubber tarps. “Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Connell,” I hissed. No movement. In my regular voice, I tried again. Mrs. Smith’s head popped up from under the tarp with a suddenly alert expression on her face. “Dory got sick,” I said. “It’s bad. Really bad.” With hardly a moment’s hesitation, both leaders were up. After assessing the situation, Mrs. Connell got in her car to drive to the pay phone up at the entrance to the campground to call Dory’s parents. By the light of a lantern, Laurie, Debbie, and I did as Mrs. Smith directed. We helped get Dory dressed in something cleaner and warmer, wrapped her in a tarp, and walked her to the shelter up near the road to await her parents with both leaders.
Thinking the ordeal was over, Laurie, Debbie, and I headed back to Platform 3 to get back into our sleeping bags as quickly as possible. But the smell inside was overwhelming and we all reeled back hoping not to be sick ourselves. I chanced it and ran in to grab my flashlight. I shone it over the wreckage to see that the mess had splattered quite far afield. This was no harbor.
We headed next door to Platform 2, and woke the girls in there. After a few minutes, we each had a sleeping bag partner. Laurie and I spooned together hoping for warmth to return, but we shivered and chattered the whole rest of the night, only just managing to stay warm enough to see the light of a new day.
I was never so happy for a night to be over. After several hours of hiking, and with the help of hot cocoa and oatmeal, I could again feel the tip of my nose, my hands, and feet. But since that night, I have forever been sensitized to cold and prefer to be in sweltering heat no matter how hot and humid.
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2017
