The Not-So-Happy Romp in the Woods

     The acrid odor of burning wood made it impossible for John to inhale the freshly sprouting greenery in the spring pasture.

      His dried out taste buds made his tongue stick like glue to the roof of his mouth.

      Thus began another chapter in a dreamed-about fairytale that eventually turned into a nightmare.

     John and his friends had looked forward to the camping trip at Emerson’s Lake for their entire final semester at Franklin High School.  The boys at first believed the months of begging and pleading to their parents and slaving away at extra chores would prove well worth the 10 times their usual effort put into it.

     Sam Johnson, John’s father, had dropped the trio boys  at the entrance to the state park on Saturday morning.  In return for the transportation they had to endure days of lectures and demonstrations in John’s backyard and in the local city park from the former Boy Scout on safe camping and fire-making techniques.    

      Of course, the teenagers, true to form, absorbed only about half of what they heard and about a quarter of what they saw.

      On the morning of their great adventure they arrived at the starting point and unpacked the overstuffed SUV and loaded themselves up like pack mules. They felt fully equipped for the 25-mile forced march through the woods to the fireside site at the summit of Mount Fortenblau.

       The crunch of breaking twigs gave way under their feet as branches scratched at their faces and the rising sun began to turn their virgin arms a bright crimson.

     Despite parental warnings, the members of the youth adventure party had deemed the high SPF lotion and extra helpings of insect repellent too greasy and too much of a bother to slather on.

     Nature paid them back during the week as the explorers began to feel like patients in the local hospital emergency ward after mosquitoes dive-bombed them and their knapsacks continued to cut into their scorched flesh.

     “We knew this trip would be a challenge,” John told his buddies in an effort to keep their spirits up, “but the adventure will be well worth it. We don’t know what cool new surprises will spring on us around every bend.” 

       They soon discovered a very angry bear that chased them into a dark cave and held them prisoner for an hour as they feared for their lives.

      Luckily, the loud racket they made with their aluminum camping utensils and their desperate cries for help in the deserted forest caused their attacker to abandon the fight and flee back into the far end of the woods.

      As the black curtain of nighttime began to overtake the forest they emerged from the cave and continued to look for a safe place to make a campfire and settle in for dinner.

     Another hour of twisting and turning through overgrown trails brought them to a clearing where they began to set up their outdoor homesite for the night. They planned to cook a feast of burgers and franks to be topped off with toasted marshmallows. 

     Something on the menu had not come included with dad’s pre-hike safety instructions.  John’s pal Fred soon produced three six packs of beer from the local brewery he had carefully hidden in his supplies.

     While John and Tom, the third Musketeer, hesitated Fred persuaded them a little alcohol would add to the thrill of their little expedition.

     The combination of the beer, the humidity and the dark tranquility of the forest soon worked their melatonin effect as the campers found themselves slipping heavily into the dreamstate.

     About two hours into their snoozefest John smelled the acrid odor of burning wood and awakened to a blazing inferno enveloping the campsite. Luckily, the other campers joined him in time to extinguish the flames by dousing them with water from their canteens and beating them back with their sleeping blankets.

     They found a new clearing and settled down to a second round of slumber where their dreams shortly began to walk them through a much more pleasant alternative reality.

     The three boys woke up three hours later with violent throbbing in their brains resulting from delayed hangovers from their previous night of drinking. Although glad for their camping experience, they now hungered for a return to the civilization of their hometown.

     Their little adventure had not yet come to a close by a longshot.  As they hiked down the mountain they took a wrong turn and wound up in a heavily-wooded section of the park with few cleared trails.

      Another black, furry figure charged at them from behind a group of trees. They ran for their lives into another darkened cave partially hidden by the trees. 

    Luckily, a few coyotes had just killed a wounded wild turkey near the entrance to the cave and did not like having their feast interrupted.  After a roaring and clawing standoff the coyotes managed to send the bear back into the woods.

      As soon as their animal rescuers left to find other prey the three musketeers left the cave and continued on their way.

      After a half hour of hacking their way through the dense brush they found a trail that seemed to lead down the mountain.

       Halfway along the road to the park entrance they found their nostrils assaulted by a familiar acrid odor.

      They looked ahead to see three men running at full speed from a stand of blazing trees. 

     One of the men shouted, “Please help our friend Sam. We left our campfire burning overnight and the flames leaped into the forest. We just escaped with our lives. We couldn’t get Sam to wake up. He’s still there.”

     John and his friends rushed in and beat back the flames with their camping blankets. They dragged Sam out just before the propane camping stove belonging to the men exploded.

      They then called the local fire department on their cellphones and the volunteers brought the blaze under control before delivering the mountaineers into the anxious arms of their families and girlfriends.