For some unknown reason, I cannot start a campfire on my own. I have read magazines and my survival manual intently to learn the secrets of starting a fire. I have tried the steel wool battery technique as well as the old bow-n-stick method. The closest I actually come to getting a fire going through these techniques is usually two columns of smoke. One is a slow, lazy, gray, smelly smoke that always blows into my face. The other smoke is a dark blue, laced with a few obscenities of another failed fire attempt.
Just recently I went camping and I had to face my outdoor crisis of starting a fire. I came prepared this time. I had just bought the high priced bundles of wood from the camp host, and was sure that, due to their weight, they had been left out in the rain that was just starting to come down. The family was peeking out of the tent, squirming to release their energy into the wilderness. I had brought along a couple of old newspapers this time and my new weapon: lighter fluid.
I had glanced over the directions and had reassured my wife that it was completely okay to use the lighter fluid to start a fire. I read about the dangers of lighter fluid and how to apply it onto briquettes and how it would start any barbecue party. My wife had given me the look when I put it in the grocery cart when we went shopping for supplies. She had mentioned not getting burned and not setting the forest on fire, but in this rain that was starting to come down, how could I?
I built a teepee structure with the wood in the fire pit and had deposited half of the newspapers in the bottom of the structure. I casually looked around the campsite to see if there was anyone around to witness my next deed. Seeing no one around I pulled out my secret weapon and began to baptize the firewood. I wasnt sure how much to use so I kept putting it on, until I could see a little pool around the teepee. After a futile effort to find the box of matches, I found the clicker lighter instead.
I bent low next to the fire pit, trying to protect my little clicker lighter from the sprinkling of rain that was starting to come down with more consistency. I clicked the lighter at the newspapers and nothing happened. Again I tried the clicker.
How I managed to escape the fireball that engulfed the fire pit I do not know. I heard, in my effort to crawl backwards from the pit, a yell from my wife, a scream from the kids, and the dog was now barking. After I had done a quick once-over to see how much hair I still had left on me, I frantically yelled back at the tent to be quiet. I didnt want the rest of the campsites to see my mini-Armageddon occurring in the fire pit.
However, after a minute the fire went out. I couldnt believe it. My inferno that had seemed to engulf the campsite was now a pile of slightly charred wood with a plume of light gray smoke rising up. My son so astutely pointed out to me that he couldnt see any flames. My wife suggested I wait until the rain stopped, we could wait on dinner.
No. We were camping, and on the first night the kids were going to have a campfire. Wasnt this where memories were created, sitting around the campfire eating smores and maybe I would tell that ghost story I had been told so long ago. Yes, were going to have a campfire. It was that simple. It didnt matter how wet I was getting in the rain now we would sit by the light of the fire tonight.
This time I used a match. I had built the teepee into more of a pyramid of wet wood, soggy newspaper and not as much lighter fluid as before. I was getting ready to throw in the match when a raindrop put it out. Easing myself just a little closer, I lit two matches and tossed them towards the fire pit. Neither one made it into the fire pit. Trying to pull up my strength and assure my son, who asked if I was scared, I inched a little closer to the fire pit. I lit two more matches and tossed them towards the fire pit.
It took a moment but the fire actually kept going. Somehow, in what was now turning into a good afternoon mountain rain, my fire was still going. I couldnt believe it. I proudly turned around to see a totem pole line of heads peering out of the tent. I proudly sauntered towards the tent to get out of the rain and hopefully receive a few accolades for my effort. I knew that eventually the rain would stop, and now the camping trip would continue, with my fire as its focal point.
I had just reached the tent when a little hand eased out and pointed to the fire ring. I stopped, clinched my mouth and turned around. My fire was gone. In its place was a little column of smoke. As the little column of smoke was slowly dying out, my own column inside of me was growing with a speed to frighten any firefighter.
As my wife pointed out, the rain diminished and the sun started to peek through the clouds. The tent flap opened up and out poured the family. I was looking for more newspapers and my lighter fluid when I heard the laughing start. I was afraid to turn around but knew with young children anything could be happening. Standing next to the fire pit was our mutt of a dog. He was looking back at me with a funny little smile, one leg slanted into the air and the contents of his bladder covering what was left of a smoke-free fire pit.
Randy Davis is a member of the local Trout Unlimited Club. When not fishing, Randy enjoys spending time in the outdoors as well as writing about those experiences. Randy is currently working on finishing a degree in Creative Writing. He can be reached at mindfulnessincortez@yahoo.com.
