Camping is Fun?

When working with the cub scouts, you never know quite what to expect, so you just plunge head-long into the process. The more you think about it the less you focus on the joy of the moments. The following story is just one of the parenting experiences that you tend to remember for a long time. It’s a true story, and the names have not been changed to protect the innocent. Hope you enjoy it, and that you can, perhaps identify with some of the experiences based on those of your family.

THE BEAN FROG:


It was in the late Fall of the year when days are nice and nights suddenly turn cold. The Due West Cub Scout Pack No. 535 had scheduled its annual campout at the foot of Kennesaw Mountain. We were scurrying around trying to pack everything we needed and some things we didn't need. My youngest son, Blake, was the Cub Scout in the family, and I wanted this to be a good experience for him. It was his first camping trip, and I had been able to convince his older brother, Scott to join us. My middle son, Mark, was smart enough to opt out of this adventure, and decided to stay at home.

The boys and I had packed our bags with everything we could imagine needing, but I had insisted that a true camper knows how to pack lightly. When you're on the trail, I emphasized, a light traveler has the advantage. As usual, however, there's the mother factor to deal with, and my wife, Joyce, lost no time in critiquing our efforts.

"Hey guys," she said. "This will never do! I don't see any blankets in here."

"Oh Mom!" Blake complained. "I don't want to have to lug around a heavy blanket. It's not winter time you know."

"I don't care," She said. "I just heard the weather report, and they said it could get down to the freezing point tonight. Your Dad can do as he wishes, but you two boys are going to take a blanket."

It was around fifty-seven degrees Fahrenheit at the time, and I didn't really think a blanket would be needed. We each had a sleeping bag in our bed rolls. But rather than argue the point, we all reluctantly agreed to stow away an extra blanket in our pack. The things we do to please mothers!

We left the house about 2:00 p.m. and drove to the entrance of Kennesaw Park where other cub scouts and their parents were already gathering. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the temperatures seemed to be holding. It was only a half-mile hike from our cars to the campsite. We selected a nice flat spot and erected our Sears two-man tent. All three of us planned to squeeze into the same tent.

We tossed Frisbees and played softball until it was time to eat our evening meal. At around 6:30 p.m., everyone loaded up on beans and hotdogs, and we all sat around a big fire and sang songs from the Cub Scout Song Book. As long as we stayed near the fire it was fairly comfortable, but you could tell it was getting colder by the minute. Everyone was wearing light jackets or sweaters.

At somewhere around 10:00 p.m., the pack leader, Alan Cook, announced that a hike up to the very top of Kennesaw Mountain was planned. All who wished to go, would need to wear coats if they had them since it was already approaching freezing temperatures. Scott, Blake, and I each had only light jackets, but we definitely were not going to miss the hike up the mountain. The night was very dark, but the skies were as clear as I had ever seen them. The prospects of looking down on the country side from that lofty viewpoint was exciting, and I knew it would be a memorable trip for Blake.

The trip up the narrow trail to the top of Kennesaw Mountain was a struggle, but except for chasing after a couple of stray cubbies, it was fairly uneventful. At the top, there was a large paved pavilion from which you could see for miles in almost any direction. As soon as all hikers were accounted for, the Cubmaster directed everyone to sit in a large circle with the leaders in the middle. Every person had some kind of flashlight, and it was interesting to follow all the little lights as the circle was forming. Eventually, they all settled down, and the Cubmaster began to speak.

"OK, fellow scouts, lets all get very quite. No talking for a least a few minutes. We want you to cut out all the lights. Turn off your flash lights and be very still. We are going to see and hear nature in its rawest form."

We remained silent in the black darkness and I marveled at how truly dark it was. You could see thousands of stars in the sky and we heard the loud serenades of crickets and frogs from the mountain woods and from the valley below.

"Listen," the Cubmaster said. "I want you to see if you can pick out the sounds of the frogs from those of the crickets. Be very quite, and listen. Don't say a word."


We were all very silent, and suddenly without warning, there came a loud "Phhfft . . . phhftt" from somewhere in our group. Apparently one of the cub scouts had eaten too many beans. Everyone, except maybe for one person, broke up into fits of laughter.

"Mr. Cook," said one Cub Scout. "Just what kind of frog was that!"

"Son," he replied. "In these parts, that is what is known as a bean frog. To my knowledge, though, no one has ever caught one."

We made it back down the mountain, and spent a very cold night thanking Joyce for forcing us to pack a badly needed blanket. Fortunately, we heard no more from the bean frog. Nor did we ever locate its source.