Aaaaah camping�

So this weekend was the big getaway weekend with Jen�s family to the north of the north where the bears roam free and the wolves poop in the night. It�s only when I go to remote destinations such as La R�serve faunique Rouge-Matawin that I realize how city-fied I�ve become. Which is funny because I grew up in the country just outside of Edinburgh amongst the free range Haggis and untamed clansmen of the Lothians.

Anyhoo, the first thing I see when I get to the campsite is a sign warning of black bears. And how they might rip you limb from limb for calling their pint a �poof�. OK no � but how they may make a really big mess with your garbage if you don�t seal it up and put in a locked bin. And with my intentions of rising in the morning at sunrise to go catch the behemoth that lay waiting in the lake for me, the mere fact that there would be bears awaiting me disturbed me a little� I would be a key enforcer of the �lock down your consumables� rule.

Result = no visible bears. Happy Procrasto

Next sign was the one about the grey wolves. You know � the type that survive global freezing by eating the flesh of frozen humans? Yeah � them. So what I know about them is that they tend to hunt in packs. A little like those damn Veloceraptors from Jurassic Park. Only less sneaky. And there are approximately 10,000 of them through Ontario and Qu�bec. Which, forgive me for my sensationalism, seems like a large number of bloodthirsty hounds. Probably all close to where I was. Consumable rule was in force. That was a good start�

I heard them though. At night. The howling. The blood curdling howling. At that point I re-evaluated my early rise to catch the Kracken.

Result = Audible, but no visible wolves. Content Procrasto.

And yeah, there were other signs warning of the horror of other woodland dwellers. The eye-gouging hawks�um�.the�um�toe nibbling northern pike� but they were manageable and have no evil stereotypes to battle.

So I did start with the word �camping�. Which isn�t entirely true � we had a hired a log cabin in the woods. Which is never a good thing, right? I mean I�ve seen this, and this and nothing ever goes right in these scenarios. So I decided to search for the Book of the Dead and not drink the water. That�ll keep me safe.

Result = No demonic possessions and no flesh eating diseases. Happy Procrasto.

And so you�d think that after all this preparation and the painstaking precautions that we�d be safe!

No so.

Not so at all.

For nothing could prepare me for the sheer HORROR of what was to come�

I can only hope that you are seated as you read this, as the sheer SHOCK and MADNESS of what is to come may well just PARALYZE you and KEEP YOU AWAKE AT NIGHT.

Yessir. After a paddle on the lake (the one which would hold the BEAST BELOW) I safely moored the kayak and called up to the camp to see if anyone wanted to come. I looked up, but the wharf was swaying so badly on the choppy seas that it was hard to see if anyone was there or not. I stumbled blindly up the short hill, still struggling to find my land legs � there were figures up ahead, I couldn�t make them out. The glare on the water had made my eyes sensitive�

But that�s when it hit � at the knee, knocking me down. I tried to wrestle with it, but it was too nimble and got away. Leaving Procrasto a lame and broken man, pain searing through my body. Screaming into the lonely country air� Pictures of grey wolves and bears, coming to pick at the weakened animal filled my mind� I was almost sure that my time had come. Yet there was something, telling me to be strong. Telling me that I had to live. To take hold of my destiny. With the animals of the forest surely converging upon me I clung to my poor, bloody and broken knee and pulled myself up the stairs and into the cabin where I collapsed on the floor and inspected my injury.

Bastard wasp never gave me a chance. I was about 10 years old when I was last stung and had forgotten how much it stings! Like a sting bastard stingy thing! That doesn�t go away! At least not for an obscenely long time! Even with Benedrol or whatever the hell was administered to kill the pain.

I could only numb it. Slowly kill it with the aid of �Bleue Dry�, an ancient and efficient numbing agent� only truly effective after copious amounts.

And so it stands � I am walking again, with minimum physiotherapy, but with the mental scars as to what might have been.

THANK YOU, BLEUE DRY

Oh, and then the next day, and with enormous hangover � I spent the entire day on the lake catching nothing but weed�until the evening when I lazily cast out a line in between dinner courses from the wharf, only to have a 3lb pike (or �brochet�) latch onto it. Stupid fish.

�and for the record. I love camping. I was just being overly dramatic above. But the fucking bee sting was really sore. OK?

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