It’s camping season, finally! I’m saying this merely to convince myself that summer is here, as the rain pounds down on the Fitzhugh office’s roof. 

With camping comes inevitable and generally hilarious mishaps, and my family has had its share of camping adventures. 

We used to spend any weekend we could at one of the provincial campgrounds around. My favourites were the ones around northern Ontario like Blue Lake or Rainy River. 

My Dad has a flair for the dramatic, and I remember him shocking a group of English tourists when we were fishing for crayfish one weekend. Dad told the tourists all about the scary, octopus-sized crustaceans lurking in the rocks, as he bravely plunged his hand into the rushing water. He had those tourists on the edge of their seats – well, rocks, anyway. Suddenly, Dad screamed at the top of his lungs, and thrashed in the water. The Brits gasped and went in to help – as Dad pulled out a tiny, four-inch long crayfish, or crawdad as we liked to call them. Don’t worry, we invited them over to try them later. 

Our wily beagle/basset hound Ziggy was always a pest on any camping trip. Ziggy’s favourite pastime was to find the stinkiest thing on the beach and roll in it. He particularly enjoyed fish guts that he would find along the shore after fishermen finished gutting their day’s catch. He would find a gut pile and immediately lay down in it and scratch his back against the fish bones. Afterwards he would happily trot back to the campsite and fully expect to be welcomed onto our laps and in front of our feet to beg for food. 

Dad would always have the unpleasant job of cleaning Ziggy off, the problem being that Ziggy hates water. He would pick up the struggling and very fat hound, wade out as deep as he could get him, and dump him into the lake. Ziggy was always just appalled that we couldn’t stand his eau de fish guts as he swam back to shore and shook off every last drop of water onto our belongings. Being a dog that hates water that much – he could take down Michael Phelps. 

Growing up meant many trips into the bush with my less than camping-savvy friends. We had a few key sites around Kimberley that we loved. Rock Lake was a great spot but the camp spot had a lot of standing water which meant a lot of mosquitoes. 

One weekend my girlfriends and I pitched a tent on the slope leaning into the shore. We put it up at night, of course, and did not pay much attention to the grade of the grassy area. 

I woke up in the middle of the night to let my faithful black Labrador Amos out, and struggled to find the door. My eyes groggy, and the sun just barely high enough for a bit of light, I glanced back at the tent as I walked away. 

It was upside down – and making its way slowly towards the lake. I burst out laughing and probably woke up every camper in the place. It was too early to re-pitch the tent so we slept in it anyway for the remainder of the night. 

I hope my camping adventures go a little better this year. I feel I have had some rather valuable experience. The first lesson being, keep track of the dogs; always camp near a body of water in case you do lose track of them – even if it’s just for a second – and put up your tent in daylight. 

Happy camping, Jasper.  

DISCLAIMER: The Last Word is an opinion column, it is meant to provoke thought and debate. As such, any opinions written here are the writer’s own and do not reflect the viewpoint of any other Fitzhugh staff member or the directors of the Jasper Media Group Inc.