Woman on the Edge
It was the adventure of a lifetime. With a crystal-blue sky, clear lake, glistening snow and crackling fire, one may have thought they’d stepped into an idyllic scene from Wonderland. The scents of wood smoke, hot chocolate and home-made beef stew co-mingled in the air. Children’s laughter cascaded upward, greeting the December sky with pure, untarnished joy. Only two out of the fifteen people who were in attendance truly noticed the cold. Only one of those two recognized the sheer insanity of the whole situation.
Before I go any further, let me utter a brief disclaimer. I do not now, nor have I ever, actually believed that the people in the Northwest are insane. Some of the things they do, however… well, I wouldn’t summon those nice, young men in their clean, white coats just yet, but there is the possibility that I could find myself in one of those padded rooms before the winter is over.
I knew a December bonfire at the lake was not one of the Carpenter’s best ideas the second he mentioned it. (The Carpenter is Mr. Fixer’s best friend and was the Best Man at our wedding.) Much as I teasingly complained about the venture, the excitement in Mr. Fixer’s eyes was more than enough to gain my agreement. I just can’t deny the greatest man I’ve ever known. Additionally, it did sound like there was plenty of potential fun to be had.
It began with the intention of leaving our respective homes around eleven on Sunday morning. The Carpenter’s girlfriend was going to make a big pot of chili while I made beef stew. Collectively, we were going to arrive at the site around noon, set up, get the fire going and spend the majority of the afternoon socializing, eating, fishing and watching the kids and dogs play in the snow.
Each of the three couples/families that attended got a late start. Upon reaching Lucky Peak, we discovered that the boat ramp – down which we were going to drive in order to get to the perfect site – was so iced over that any vehicle without good traction tires and four-wheel drive would have slid straight into the lake. What’s more, after getting down the boat ramp, one had to traverse a bit of rough, leaning-a-little-too-close-to-the-lake land that at any other time of the year was actually underwater. Thus, the Jeep Eater was the transfer vehicle; the beast that climbed over the lake bed to drop off passengers and gear before heading back up the boat ramp for the next load.
The Carpenter’s girlfriend didn’t have enough time to make chili so they brought canned and also got hot dogs to roast over the fire. My two-day, crock-pot stew survived the journey but, um, sorta burned a little as we were heating it up on the camp stove. (Those things actually get rather hot.) The skewers for roasting the hot dogs were a little on the short side, thus making it impossible to actually roast hot dogs without also roasting fingers. Mr. Fixer, true to his name, rigged up a skewer extension… in the form two skewers wired to a bow saw.
He’s my hero!
Children laughed and sledded down the hill. Teenagers sledded down the boat ramp. Adults watched over children and the fire and the dogs while talking and laughing and having a great time. I huddled under a blanket and a sleeping bag with a scarf wrapped around my head and mouth, holding a cup of tea to warm my hands.
Other people – the natives of Southwestern Idaho – were wearing thermal underwear, ski clothes, Carhartts and other heavy, winter clothing. I was wearing two pair of pants, two pair of socks, four shirts, a sweater and a coat. Other people were wearing insulated ski gloves. I was wearing knit gloves. Other people were laughing and playing and standing close to the fire – which put off surprisingly little heat unless you were standing within a foot of it – while I sat in my chair, trying really hard to not let my teeth click together.
Anyway, though the stew tasted a little “smoky”, we still had hot dogs, hot chocolate and tea for warmth. There were chips and soda and candy for eats. The kids and dogs loved playing in the snow. My dog, the insane one, actually played in the water. I don’t try to understand him; it’s beyond my pay-grade.
The big question is; would I do it again? Yes, with some changes. Next time, I would require that there be some sort of shelter as a wind-break. I would require a portable table so that the other half of my chair wasn’t used as such, thus making it a tremendous hassle to move closer to the fire. I would require that I have actual avalanche-worthy clothing. It doesn’t matter how many layers of clothes you put on if none of them are really warm enough to ward off 10 degree temperatures.
Additionally, I would require that there be bathroom facilities which didn’t require removing gear from the tail-gate-come-table in order to take the bumpy, scary trek over the lake bed and an additional fifteen minute drive to the nearest, unlocked outhouse. Guys, and more limber girls, can easily find areas from which to release bladder tension. The old, fat chick, on the other hand, needs at least the idea of an outhouse or port-a-potty. There’s a reason the parks department locks the bathrooms during the winter.
Oh, and the other person who noticed the cold? He was the Carpenter’s oldest son, who, for some insane reason, decided that 10 degree weather was NOT a reason to pull his pants up to his waist OR wear a coat. I don’t try to understand him either. That’s WAY beyond my pay-grade.
Until next time…
D. S. Vic
© D. S. Vic. All rights reserved.
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