Don’t you love camping next to somebody who, for any number of reasons, can’t quite realize that A COUPLE OF MICRONS OF NYLON WON’T STOP A HUMAN VOICE. AT… ALLLLLL. Cub scouts, snorers, first time campers, drunks, people hopelessly distracted by leg cramps… all of ya- SHADDUP! We’re tryin’ to sleep about fourteen inches away from you on the other side of two tent walls thinner than a pair of fancy underwear. And if I gotta pick between your conversation and the amount of sleep I’m getting on the cold, hard ground, I’ll take the sleep, meager as it is.
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At least they’re not getting amorous yet…
I see the crew of ‘jackass’ made it out to the even with no problems..
…and at night voices carry farther.
A friend and I, both women, were in our tent as I blew up my air mattress. I realized that my arm was bumping against the side of the tent, so I started shouting, “Oh god, harder, more!” and my friend joined in. When we walked out fully clothed ten seconds later, we found a guy laughing his butt off.
Event I was at, a few hundred tents of us, and 6 am on Sunday morning the (batch of late teen frat partyiers in a big tent with leanto flys, about 8 of them) had some friends decide to give them a kazoo serenade to roll them out. In the pristine woodland mountain air where it was so still and calm, and first rays of light. Yep. ENTIRE campground was UP. The bubbleheads that did it apologized a lot but that didn’t change the fact that most of us were up between midnight and 2 and got rolled out….
Kazoo serenade is a lot better than the M-80 wake up.
Kayaking trip. One guy slept later than everyone else. Two women decide they’ll fix that, and they’ll drag him out of the back of his truck. They go off to do just that. “Hey.” say I to the guys standing next to me as we watch the women grab Joe and start to haul him out of his truck and sleeping bag, “Does Joe sleep nekkid?” Buddy Mike says, “They’re about to find out.”
Other memory from that 4 day event, the boy scouts had had the site just before us, and clogged most of the permanent stalls (guys and gals, six total, we had pretty much one for each) and a bunch of portopotties that were totally full and disgusting and cooked in the 95-100f heat for awhile. The local water was high mineral and this was days before you could get bottled water everywhere, and let’s just say you got CAMP PLAGUE from drinking the water. The line was at least a half an hour day and night. Or you got creative (5 gallon pail and lid!) The event organizers wore the phone lines out to the portojohn place from Thursday onwards. Sunday, about 8 am… we were camped up by the rim road, and down the ways we heard shouts of joy… then a few moments later, closer to us, shouts of joy… and about 4th round was our turn. Women had put silk flowers in their hair and were tossing confetti/fake rose petals and dancing, a few had drums and recorders, in front of a white pickup. On the back was portajohns, empty ones. And a trailer full of them behind. The herald was going down the road ahead of the truck and making the announcement that the PortaJohn People Were HERE! HUZZAH!!!!!!!!!! We cheered in our turn. The little things in life… ahhhh
zzzzzzzzzzz’g tentmates sure get up in a hurry when the coffees percolating and the bacons sizzling…been that way in my experience…and we camp far from porta potties and yes, we clean up after ourselves…