“Winter Campouts”
Boy Scouts love winter camping,
enduring freezing cold weather,
tromping through lots of snows,
and playing steal the flag for hours.
One winter campout,
typical of eastern Idaho winter days—
freezing cold, a touch of wind, and deep snow—
stands out as an event to remember.
We followed along the Snake River
to the Deer Parks and set up camp.
Standing around did not become us
because of the briskness of almost evening,
so we kept moving, playing games,
yelling and screaming through the woods,
returning often to the roaring fire
to warm up and eat tin foil dinners,
the meal de jour of camping.
We tried to time them perfectly,
watching carefully, until somehow
they burned anyway.
We still ate the half-cooked carrots
and potatoes and crispy meat.
We didn’t die, mostly
because of the licorice
stuffed in our sleeping bags.
Around 11:00 p.m. or so,
we gathered around the fire,
performed the Scout ritual
of staring into the fire,
absently stirring it with a stick
until sparks flew up into the brisk night,
disappearing somewhere out there.
The cracking and popping of the fire
were interrupted by shooting guns
somewhere in the distance.
We grabbed our flashlights
and headed to where we thought
the poachers were—a herd of Scouts,
bundled up in coats, running pell mell
across an open field, our flash lights
bouncing on the snow, looking
like a bunch of oversized fire flies
heading for the flame and possible death.
Luckily for us, we didn’t find anything
except for intestines, still steaming,
and fresh tracks hightailing it out of there.
Disappointed and relieved simultaneously,
we trudged back to camp, sipped hot chocolate,
stirred the fire a bit more,
climbed into our thick sleeping bags,
stuffed with blankets, and prayed
for morning to come quickly
and a hot fire to warm us.
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