Putting the "DysFUNctional" in Camping

Camping is a great American pasttime. There are very few people who can say they don't have some sort of camping memory. I however, being an Anderson, have the Murphy's Law of camping memories. When I was about 12 my father bought our very first camper. He bought a Starcraft popup used from a friend, installed a trailer hitch on the back of our station wagon, and booked a campsite at Camp Overflow on the Otis Reservoir in Massachusetts. We packed my mother's big blue van full of food, clothing, and toys. We stuffed the dog into the backseat of the station wagon, hooked up the camper, and away we went.

Halfway up the mountain we noticed some fairly ominous clouds beginning to gather, tiny raindrops splashing ever so lightly onto the windshield of the van. From the backseat of the van I could almost see the dog prancing back and forth in the wagon, my dad occasionally sticking his head out the driver's side window for fresh air (excitement tended to produce a mighty large amount of gas for Shadley, our black lab). We soldiered on up the winding roads, past all signs of civilization, until we reached the main gate of the campgrounds. My father had just finished checking us in when the skies opened up. I could see my father shaking his head and muttering under his breath as he got back in the station wagon and headed off in the direction of our campsite.

Now my father is a smart man who knows how to prepare for every situation. He was a Marine after all. He had taken the time to make sure he had the hang of setting up the camper with little trouble. However, he had always practiced setting it up in our driveway. In the sunshine. When it was dry. Of course by the time we pulled up to site 4A, the whole place was a veritable mud bog and the rain was coming down so hard my mother wondered aloud if we would need an ark to get back down the mountain. My father successfully backed the camper onto the site and parked the station wagon alongside it but that was where the good luck ended.

The moment my father began to crank up the camper it was obvious there was something wrong. One end of the camper was listing slightly despite the camper itself being on completely level ground. He would crank it down, then crank it slowly back up, waiting to see if it would level out. Down, up. Down, up. All the while getting completely soaked. Finally it looked as though the camper would level out and he began cranking a little harder. The camper finally rose open, completely level. Then came crashing down like an accordian. One of the cables had snapped and the camper now looked like a loaf of bread that had refused to rise properly. Soaked, swearing, and aggravated, my father started to crank the camper back down. Until the other side collapsed.

By this point the dog is in hysterics because she has to tinkle, my mother's right eye is twitching, and I'm falling asleep in the van. There was no way I was going out there and getting soaked as well. I was going to enjoy my ringside seat to the Anderson Family Crazy Show the Camping Edition from inside the nice, dry van. For two hours my father struggled with pieces of wood, duck tape, and good old fashioned elbow grease until he finally got the popup to...well...pop up. The rain of course began to let up at that point and we rolled out the awning, set up the screen tent, and started taking the essentials out of the van, including the large bucket of dog food.

After drying off and finally settling in, the rain stopped and everyone started to snooze, including the dog. Unfortunately, the rest of the woodland creatures were far from tired, and some were particularly hungry. Being that it was our first camping trip, we were unaware of the necessity of weighting down the cover on the dog food bucket. Two exceptionally rotund raccoons discovered the bucket and proceeded to raid the kibble. Shadley heard them and started to go ballistic barking, snarling, howling, and running back and forth like a maniac. As soon as they heard the dog the raccoons fled to the top of the camper where they proceeded to roll around and fight over the hunks of kibble they had dragged up with them. For a full hour they chattered and thumped around above our heads, making it impossible to sleep.

By the time morning came, everyone was exhausted, even the dog. Our first full day of camping was spent sleeping off the calamity of the night before, proving that yes, Anderson luck WILL follow you out into the woods!