If you’re going to go camping, my recommendation is that you get to be friends with my buddy Rodney before you do.
Rodney and I paddle down rivers together frequently, but we’ve never done an overnight trip before. We had planned a grand 3-day adventure for this past weekend, paddling down the Ohoopee with a crowd of friends. But life started acting up last week for both of us, and by Wednesday evening we knew we’d have to cancel our plans.
So instead, Rodney and I did a 1-night, 1-day trip down a section of the Oconee neither of us had ever paddled.
As I told Rodney, most all of the camping I’ve ever done was a minimalist sort of journey into the wilderness. I pack in on my back everything I’m going to need, and before I put anything into my pack I weigh it carefully in my hands and then in my mind. How heavy is this? I’m thinking. Will I really need this?
My goal when I go camping is that everything is lightweight, easy to set up and take down, and easy to carry out of the woods. As a result, I have a couple of little camp pots that I cook in, and I cook on an open fire. I have lightweight insulated bags that I typically use for coolers, and I’ll freeze a bottle of water or two to stick in the insulated bags with whatever I’m trying to keep chilled.
Mostly, I think about the things I will need to have with me to survive and what I might need in an emergency. I always take a length of rope, even though it’s always been unnecessary. I always take a little first-aid bag. Anything that might provide comfort is set aside for an extra bottle of water. Packing Friday afternoon, I almost grabbed a long-sleeved shirt – which weighs nothing – but chose not to bring it even though my pack was already pretty light.
Even if I’m not hiking – Rodney and I planned to camp and then paddle seven miles down the Oconee – I keep everything easy and lightweight because at some point the stuff is going to have to be picked up and toted away.
Friday night Rodney and I met out in the wilderness with our canoes. Rodney was there hours ahead of me, and he’d already paddled his canoe up the Oconee River and found a spot to camp. He’d already cleared the campsite of underbrush – using clippers, of all things – and put up the tent. I’ve never taken clippers into the woods in all my life.
While Jean and I drove Rodney’s truck down river to the spot where we planned to take out on Saturday, Rodney paddled all our gear back down to the campsite, so when I finally arrived at the camp, everything was set up.
In addition to the clippers, there were other things I’d never seen at a campsite before. When I go hiking or camping, I find a nice big rock or a fallen tree to sit on. Rodney had two little camp chairs set up beside the tent. Rodney had two enormous plastic coolers and a very big, portable gas-fired griddle.
“This isn’t camping like I camp,” I told him. “I’m not saying my way is better. It’s just different.”
I would never admit it publicly, but Rodney’s way of camping is probably better.
What you have to understand about Rodney is that he didn’t do any of this for himself. He did it all for me. Rodney is one of these unique people whose only goal in life is to make other people happy.
He wanted this to be an experience for me, not just a camping trip.
When he started cooking dinner – steak tacos – he was busy cutting onions and searching for seasoning and getting out everything else he needed.
“What can I do to help you?” I asked him a thousand times. Finally he got tired of me asking.
“You want to help?” he asked. “Hold this.” He handed me a bag of tortilla chips. Then he poured a bottle of salsa into a bowl. “Eat that.”
He finally let me cut up a lime.
The steak tacos were unreal. Honestly, you pick your favorite Mexican restaurant, and I’ll gladly put Rodney’s camp tacos up against your favorite restaurant’s tacos any day.
We sat around in chairs eating steak tacos and telling stories the way people do on camping trips, and I teased Rodney about his style of camping. I promised him my eggs and sausage breakfast was going to be good, but I didn’t guarantee the eggs and sausage would be as good as the steak tacos. He teased me that my eggs and sausage would have ashes in them, and I agreed that they would.
Some dude on a bass boat with the whiniest, loudest motor you’ve ever heard came zooming up the Oconee River at 6:30 Saturday morning, and with that we were awake.
I got up and restarted the fire, grabbed my lightweight camp pots and threw the sausage into one and set it down on the fire. I let the sausage burn to make certain it was cooked through. I pulled the sausage out of the pot and then dumped the eggs into the sausage grease. I broke up a couple of pieces of the sausage and left it in with the eggs.
Rodney cuts up limes and onions. I cook in sausage grease.
He didn’t eat any of the eggs, but I ate all the eggs and a fair portion the sausage, and I was satisfied with my breakfast cooked on an open fire, even if it was full of ashes and dirt.
When we were finally ready to leave, our canoes were loaded with enough gear to support an army. Chairs and portable gas griddle and enormous plastic coolers and everything else. But I wasn’t complaining. We’d had a spectacular time camping and paddling down the river, and one of the biggest reasons was because Rodney’s style of hospitality is to make it an experience for his guests.
We have different ideas about camping, and the next time I pack my backpack and hit a trail or river for an overnight trip, I’m still going to be as lightweight as possible. However, the next time Rodney wants to go on an overnight trip down the river, I’m not going to argue if he wants to put a gas griddle in my canoe.
Rob Peecher is author of the book Four Things My Wife Hates About Mornings.
