Backpacking Fiasco

May 18, 2008

It seemed like a good idea at the time. But then, they all do. To spend two days hiking from one end of the Boy Scout Trail to the other, an approximate 18-mile route through Grand Traverse County that began at Holiday Hills Road and wended its way through pine forests, alongside gravel roads, and past lakes, until reaching its terminus at the Michigan Shore-to-Shore Trail.
I did not go alone. Varmint and I concocted the idea together, for reasons now lost in the fog of time. Evidently there was nothing better for a pair of 16-year-olds to do on a holiday weekend prior to the closing of school for the summer than to make a trek such as this. For entertainment purposes we invited Trashcan and Dirtworm to accompany us, not because they had any superior woodcraft skills or backwoods lore, but because they hated each other. We amused easily, Varmint and I.
Our alleged plan had been to have my dad drop us off at the north trailhead on Saturday morning. We would then hike the trail until we reached a specific campground just beyond the trail’s midway point. I cannot give you the name of this campground, or the lake it bordered, not because I wish to keep its location a secret, but because I forgot its name. Although the ancient map I keep for reference displays a number of campgrounds within the confines of the Fife Lake State Forest, it does not reveal the existence of the Boy Scout Trail, though the Michigan Shore-to-Shore Trail appears as a thick green line.
Our plans for the second day are in retrospect more than a little hazy, though I think they had been vague to begin with. One of the ideas tossed around was to hike to the end of the trail, find a phone, and call for someone to pick us up. The fact that none of us ex-Boy Scouts had been prepared enough to carry a dime for a phone call (or where we could even find a pay phone in the middle of a state forest) had not even crossed our minds.
The other half-baked idea had been to somehow miraculoulsy reach Varmint’s grandmother’s house, though how we were expected to reach it from the far end of the trail had never been made clear, as it lay somewhere near the midpoint of the trail, had also been made entirely unclear.

SETTING OFF
We began our journey as planned, stepping from my dad’s car at the trailhead around 10 a.m., hoisting our packs onto our backs, and setting off without even the benefit of a photo-op. Everything looked grand that morning. The robin had returned from its winter sojourn, the air had a fresh tang, and the newly budded leaves gleamed a shiny green in the morning sun. It was perfectly idyllic. That should have been our first warning.
As we hiked deeper into the woods, Trash Can and Dirtworm began bickering, much to the delight of Varmint and myself. Not only did we not attempt to separate them; on the contrary we egged them on until it looked as though they might come to blows. Unfortunately, this aggression toward each other hindered one of our other schemes; the more they fought meant the likelihood of them sharing a tent decreased exponentially.
Despite the feelings of ill will, we made good progress for the first three hours. We noticed that the heat and humidity began to rise dramatically; something we did not anticipate. We adapted by changing into our shorts and replenishing fluids lost through sweat and evaporation.
About the time we ran out of water, we realized our plans had gone horribly wrong. The weather had grown much hotter and muggier than any day yet that spring, and we knew we would soon need to refill the canteens we had recently drained. The three of us who had been Boy Scouts remembered all the horrible things that could happen to a person without water: dehydration, heat stroke, heat exhaustion, insanity, and death. If we found some standing water we could boil it for hours to remove impurities, except that we hadn’t passed any bodies of water with which to provide the raw ingredients. We had learned that certain plants found in a temperate forest could, through various means, provide needed moisture, except none of us knew which plants those were. We hadn’t actually been prepared enough to have brought along a Boy Scout Manual.

RESCUED...
We soon discovered that water could also be obtained from the guy grilling steaks in his driveway, via a garden hose hooked to an outside faucet. Like contrite peasants begging for a boon from the king, we asked if we could borrow the hose. With spatula raised high in the air and stern countenence, he looked down upon us and laughed.
Utilizing an old Boy Scout trick of reading the giant thermometer attached to the side of the garage, we learned that it was 89 degrees in the shade. With the kind of humidity that can be found in a state surrounded on three sides by
water, we didn’t wonder why we had already soaked our shirts. And it was barely past noon.
After drinking, filling canteens, and spraying each other, we thanked the wily grill guy and continued on our trek. It took only a few hours before we reached the campground. Here we ran into another problem. The campground was full. In our total lack of planning we had never considered that other people might want to spend Memorial Day Weekend in the great outdoors.
When we told the forest ranger we were looking for a campsite, she too laughed at us. “The campground is full. You might be able to find a place on the lake where you can camp for free,” she said upon seeing our dejected faces. This was good advice from a trained professional, as we had neglected to bring money with which to pay for a site anyway.
We looked for a place near the lake to pitch our tents. Against my better judgment we found a flat space between the water and an embankment. My knowledge of the Boy Scout Handbook told me that this was not a good site. To begin with, it sat directly underneath some cedars, where falling branches could cause death or discomfort. The book also warned against camping in a depression where water could pool, and our chosen patch of dirt sat lower than the surrounding ground and right next to a hill.
I tried to point this out to the others. “What if it rains?” I said.
“It’s not going to rain,” they told me.
“It looks like it’s going to rain.”
“It’s not going to rain. Besides, if it does, we can wait it out underneath the tree.”

DRENCHED
Our tents had been nearly pitched when the clouds positioned themselves directly over our heads and opened the bomb bay doors. A torrent fell from the sky and drenched us before we could even find our rain gear, much less put it on. Wave upon wave of white water plunged over the embankment and filled our campsite, turning the dirt into mud, loosening the tent stakes, and flattening our tents. The cedars did a poor job of keeping us dry, for within minutes we were soaked. The good news was, no branches crashed down upon our heads.
Within a few minutes the rain had passed and the day grew sunny again, this time even more humid than before. We tempted fate by repitching our tents on the very same spot. The rest of the day passed uneventfully until it was time for bed. Despite my best efforts, I ended up sharing a tent with Dirtworm.
During the night the sound of the forest was broken only by the sound of insults being hurled between tents. Sometime after midnight it quieted down and soon after Dirtworm and I discovered our tent stakes magically pulled from the ground, the effect of which caused the tent to gently flutter to rest upon our bodies. Naturally this infuriated Dirtworm, who swore revenge and exited the tent cussing as he pulled their stakes in order that their tent might maintain a synchronous appearance as ours. I didn’t want to spend my night fighting so I told him I was comfortable just as I was. After grousing a bit he put the stakes back in.
“Don’t do that,” I said. “They’ll just pull them out again.” Which is exactly what happened.
This time he stayed in the tent, muttering like Yosemite Sam after yet another unsuccessful encounter with Bugs Bunny. I eventually fell asleep; I can’t vouch for the others.
When morning came, none of us felt exactly chipper, thanks to the shenanigans of the night before, and as we had not yet discovered the positive effects of large quantities of caffeinated beverages, it took us a while to get breakfast going and break down the campsite. Thanks to our Boy Scout training, we managed to leave the campsite cleaner than how we found it. Soon we were on the trail again.

LOST...
We got lost almost immediately. Either the trail hadn’t been marked well or the constant bickering kept us from noticing the arrows. We ended up heading in the wrong direction on yet another unpaved road. When we inquired how to get to the next crossroad, a guy with a Southern accent told us that it was only about a half mile further. As he talked, we gaped at each other. Surely we hadn’t gotten that lost.
Two hours later, with Varmint repeating the phrase “f***ing Texans” every half dozen steps, we found the paved road alleged to be only a half mile away. We struck out in the direction of Arbutus Lake, where Varmint’s relatives lived. This time, hiking along the side of a paved road, with the sun beating down upon us, sapped us of our strength, and we soon accepted a ride from a woman driving a Vega wagon. It was already full of stuff, but we packed it even more tightly with our bodies and backpacks. We even managed to get Trash Can to sit next to Dirtworm in the back seat, a
rare victory.
Once we reached our destination, our youth and inexperience failed us again. We were not even smart enough to have the lady drop us off out of sight from the house and let us pretend we had arrived by hiking. Varmint’s grandma saw us get out of the car. We were busted. His relatives began mocking us.
If it hadn’t been for the pitcher of lemonade Varmint’s Grandma offered us, I don’t know if we could have lived it down.

Postscript. Many years later I decided to embark on an ill-advised spiritual journey and hike the Michigan Shore-to-Shore Trail. I figured that it would be best to go alone, but I soon discovered that the lack of company produced not solitude, but boredom. I gave up after three days. It was during that time I learned a valuable lesson. When you’re alone, you have nobody to blame but yourself. But with friends, it is always their fault.