Kevin's Watch

Hiking, camping and rockhounding for even a short time brings around some really great spots, stories and finds to share with each other.

Bring 'em to the table!



Around my house there is a lot of mostly empty wooded areas, a lot of this area is just grown up over abandoned houses and old car dumps, so my brother and I spend a lot of time just exploreing all these old dumps and scrounging for any cool little trinkets of things that have been abandoned for ahwile.

We walked farther than normally and came to this decrpit house sitting so low in bushes and trees and weeds you could barely see the house itself. We took and spin around the outside to see what condition it was in, mostly to try to make sure that the roof wouldn't cave in when we were in there (a very scary thing to have happen to you) and see if it was worht exploring. We crept over a rotting porch, and almost went through doing it, and reached a back door. It seemed to be jammed, not locked, but wedged or something.

We really put or shoulder into it, and right as we were about to apply a little more force or look for another way in, when this guy opened the door right in front of us. I almost shit myself.

This dude looked to have not left the house in years. His skin was as white as his hair, the only wat to describe him was as a living fossil. Well, he wasn't pissed or anything (thank god) but he said one of the funniest things I've ever heard. Keep in mind that my brother and I had just tried to break into his house (though we thought it was abandoned) and all he has to say was "Normally they try to come in through the front door."

Seriously.

One of the more crazy experiences I've had around my house, and it really taught me to knock first and make sure the place really is abandoned.


What have you guys got?

I camped out with an ex-bf & a couple of mates way back when in a remote area in north-west Australia (somewhere halfway between Kununurra and the Ord River Dam) and a bunch of peeps frocked up to the campsite one night on canoes & we had an impromptu party. I wrote a short story in my trip journal about it...it was quite an international night, and we had the inaugural "Marshmallow Olympics"...

I could post the story up here if anyone is interested.

I'd like to read it!

Hey LuciMay has a good fiction story about a "camping trip."

--A

Avatar wrote:Hey LuciMay has a good fiction story about a "camping trip."

Yeah, that's a brilliant story HOWEVER I'm kinda hoping that Elfy's real life story is a tad bit...um...different!!!

I'll hunt it down tonight (discovered it's NOT on my work computer, only my home one!!) duh..

Balon is lucky he did not end up squealing like a pig that day.

Sunbaneglasses wrote:Balon is lucky he did not end up squealing like a pig that day.

Don't even JOKE like that!

Went winter camping once on the AT (Appalachian Trail) with my mom and a couple of friends. We hiked in only 4 miles (we're lazy like that) and camped at a shelter over New Year's. Cold. ColdcoldCOLD! Didn't help that the shelter bottom wasn't closed off by rock or wood or anything, so when the wind came down the hill, it blew right under the shelter and seeped off all our body heat. Put up a tent inside the shelter the second night, and had ice inside the next morning from our breath condensing and freezing.

This is not the funny part of the story. The funny part is the "through-hiker" who came by the second night. I put it in quotes because I think he was full of hot air. January 1, in the Shenandoah Mountains, and a day hiker who swung by the morning before had said it was a toasty 20 degrees Farenheit. So at night it was somewhere around 10, I guess. Not the Arctic, but COLD.

Anyway, Mr. Through-Hiker shows up in the evening with nothing but his pack, a sweater and a pair of jeans on. Jeans. On the trail. In winter. And he says he's hiked all over the place. Hello?? (I don't know if you've ever spent any time in cotton clothes in the winter, but they don't retain heat well, especially when wet. I've heard of SAR workers calling cotton "death cloth.") So we share our fire, and then off to bed. He doesn't want to put his tent up in the shelter. Too much trouble, he says. He'll just roll up in his sleeping bag (still in those jeans) and it'll be okay. I think we offered to share the tent when my mom realized what a moron he was being, but no dice.

Couple hours went by, and the guy tossed and turned and kept some of us awake. Couple more hours went by... I fell asleep, but my mom says he stayed up all night, then packed up about 3 or 4 am and started walking just so he wouldn't freeze. Idiot could have caught hypothermia and died, right next to a warm tent full of people.

I LOVE people like that. It makes trips for people who know what's going on, SO much more enojoyable.

Doofus. Elfie. We are living vicariously through you and your to be told story! Pony up!

Damnitall!! I've been soooo busy at work this week, that I have been too tired to fire up my home poota at all!! Promise I'll hunt it down this weekend -yay!! we got a LONG WEEKEND (go Labour Day!)...so I should have it with me on Tuesday (monday in the US)

A Gunslinger wrote:Doofus. Elfie. We are living vicariously through you and your to be told story! Pony up!

Yeehar...giddup...here it is! (remember, this is technically a verbatim journal entry, so don't get snitty about my grammar!!)

LEGENDS IN THE MAKING - THE MARSHMALLOW OLYMPICS

(based on actual events while camping in the middle of nowhere, near Kununurra, north-Western Australia a few years ago- I kept a diary of the whole trip)

DIARY ENTRY EXCERPT:
The canoe horde had descended on the campsite as predicted, and we decided tonight was going to be the marshmallow competition to end all marshmallow competitions - the inaugural MARSHMALLOW OLYMPICS.

Competition was expected to be fierce, with a very strong contingent from Great Britain. The Australian, New Zealand, Italian and Canadian teams had but one representative to carry the hopes and aspirations of their respective countries.

Simon elected to be the adjudicator; considering he made the chocolate fondue, he would have had an unfair advantage had he competed. We took turns creating the ultimate marshmallow treat, with the competitive edge so sharp that people started to crack under the pressure. Many a marshmallow was ignominiously lost to the fire, the ash or the sand, and many an Olympian howled with anguish as their gold medal hope slithered off the stick. The judges were fellow marshmallians, trying hard not to be biased towards their teammates or lovers, but blissfully accepting the proffered delicacy and giving it a mark worthy of the sensations it aroused. The Italian competitor considered herself a good judge of marshmallow (as Italians have impeccable taste!) and found the Canadian entry positively orgasmic (which amused her fellow judges no end as they intently studied her reactions to the taste treats).

So, as the competition hotted up (?) the mediocre fell by the wayside as they deemed their opposition to be superior. The Italian just gave herself to the sensual pleasure of it all and willingly offered herself to judge the roast-offs. The majority of the English team staked their reputation on their best competitor. Australia and Canada also made the finals, while New Zealand opted to do media coverage.

The roast-offs began well for Canada, the UK and Australia; all successfully completed their event and were judged and scored. England bombed out after pushing too hard for a triple in the second round - she lost her marshmallow, but was allowed a new one to try again. She had to retire after dropping it again - no third chance (the marshmallow stock was too low). That left the competition wide open for Canada and Australia. The stage set for a die-hard effort, the Canadian went for the triple. Everyone held their breath as the marshmallow came dangerously close to sliding off, but a deft twirl of the stick ensured it did not dislodge itself. After the third roast, it was hurriedly shuttled into the mouth of the judge, who gave it the score - result, Canada won the gold!

In this most prestigious event, the Canadian reaped the reward for a champion effort - a triple dip, triple roast marshmallow. Everyone else, gracious in defeat, heartily congratulated the victor, and then did the grand adjudicator and his accomplice organise the presentation ceremony. As the gold medallist held aloft the Olympic Bamboo torch, and triumphantly brandished the marshmallow stick that had sealed his success, the adjudicator escorted him to the dais (an esky). The Canadian proudly stood on the dais, flanked by the silver and bronze medallists, and the adjudicator presented him with his trophy - not Gold, but Emu Export, and a Kool Mint. The Olympian triumphantly faced the press (the Italian had, by this stage, also found a new vocation and defected to the media team and joined the Kiwi in capturing the momentous occasion on film for posterity).

Then it was all over; the Marshmallians retired to their respective camps, with a few diehards staying on to party on into the night after the closing ceremony. As the Olympic campfire flames died out, we all knew that a tradition had been born this night. In four years' time, the Olympic Marshmallow flag would fly again, not perhaps in the Kimberley, but most assuredly in the spirit in which it was begun.

All hail to the Marshmallow Olympians - may the roast be with you!!
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ps if any of you need clarification on any 'colloquialisms', lemme know!

"May the Rost be with you"

Great story!