THE JOYS OF CAMP LIFE 



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low places, until wc came to where it 

 bent sharply to the right. Nearly ex- 

 hausted and staggering- under our 

 heavy burdens, we turned to the left, 

 climbed a densely wooded slope and 

 stumbled along its summit. John, who 

 was several yards in advance of me, 

 called back that he had reached the 

 burnt woods. That proved we were 

 going in the right direction and that 

 the lake was not far away. 



When I joined him, .we decided to 

 leave our packs where they were, until 

 we had located the lake. The sun was 

 setting when we started. We had ad- 

 vanced but a short distance when we 

 came to where the ground sloped grad- 

 ually to the valley below. I laid on the 

 ground and peered intently through the 

 fast darkening woods, and there, not 

 five hundred feet below us, I saw Dis- 

 mal Lake. 



With an energy born of hope, we 

 hurried back to our outfit, slung it on 

 our tired shoulders and twenty minutes 

 later were at our destination. 



A few feet back from the water's 

 edge, we tried to start a fire. The 

 wood was wet and the ground was 

 soggy. Gathering our few possessions 

 in our blankets, we carried them back 

 to the shelter of the trees, deposited 

 them at the foot of an oak and went in 

 search of dry wood. Whenever we 

 stumbled over anything, we'd stop and 

 examine it ; if it was burnable, we'd 

 carry it back to where we intended to 

 start our fire. 



While I fried, or rather, "burned" 

 the bacon, made a pot of what was sup- 

 posed to be coffee and opened a can of 

 beans, John set about erecting a log 

 and brush shelter, from ideas which he 

 had obtained from some book. Need- 

 less to say, my culinary duties were 

 performed under great difficulty. 

 Whenever I tried to turn the bacon, I 

 either burned my hands or got my eyes 

 filled with smoke; sometimes both. 

 Then, the moment I left the fire, the 

 coffee would boil over, sending a cloud 

 of steam and ashes skyward. Where 



the steam went, I don't know, bui the 

 ashes invariably found their way into 

 the frying-pan. 



When the bacon was done, I re- 

 moved it from the pan, into a tin plate, 

 which I set on a log near the fire. The 

 moment I let go of it, it toppled over. 

 I picked up all I could find, brushed 

 the dirt from it and returned it to the 

 plate, which I placed on a more solid 

 foundation. " When I emptied the can 

 of beans into the frying pan, the hot 

 grease spattered on my face and hands, 

 nearly causing me to lose my grasp on 

 the handle. I held on, however, and 

 placed the mess on the fire. As soon 

 as it was warm, I set it to one side and 

 began to lay the supper things. 



Meanwhile, John was building his 

 shelter ; from the inky blackness of 

 the woods came the sound of his axe— 

 chop — chop — chop — a crash ; then the 

 struggle through the underbrush with 

 his victim, followed by the cry, "Is 

 supper ready?" When at last I sum- 

 moned him, his first act, on emerging 

 from the darkness, was to step in the 

 pan of beans ; his second, to show me 

 a pair of hands, beautifully decorated 

 with blisters. 



We decided to open another can of 

 beans and eat them cold. As we were 

 about to begin our meal, the stillness of 

 the night was broken by a loud bel- 

 low. We seized our rifles and sprang 

 to our feet. Less than twenty feet 

 away, and coming toward us, was the 

 finest specimen of the bull family I 

 have ever seen. Behind him, we 

 counted nine others. At the circle of 

 light from our fire, he stopped, pawed 

 the ground, bellowed and shook his 

 head angrily in our direction. 



John and I immediately dropped our 

 rifles and sought safety among the top- 

 most branches of nearby trees. Our 

 unwelcome guest circled our roost sev- 

 eral times, stopping frequently to gaze 

 up at us, and show his displeasure. 

 The others kept at a respectful distance. 

 When he seemed satisfied that we were 

 out of his reach for the present, he 



