LAND OF THE LOST

Magazine Mountain has a wide variety of living accommodations for state park tourists, ranging from bank-busting 3-bedrooms cabins ($390.00 a night, $450.00 “in season”), to lodge rooms (ranging from $95-$155; $112-$182 in season) all the way down to the $14.00 a night tent sites at the campground. No big guess here about which one the budget-stretching Bores selected. November or not. Out came the Coleman tent.

We weren’t concerned so much about the nighttime temps--in the upper 30s--we had plenty of blankets and could wear layers. But there are black bears in them thar hills, and Big Bore said we needed to protect ourselves by getting some pepper spray and keeping all our food in the car, as per park rules. How difficult is that? Before we left, we bought some pepper spray and I stashed the stylish pink container in my fanny pack.

Except by the time we got to the campground I’d forgotten where I’d put the damned pepper spray, tore apart the car looking for it, multiple times, tore apart my suitcase looking for it, multiple times, and finally gave up. "I must have left it at home on the dresser." We’d just have to do without it, keep the food in the car, and hope for the best. Which we did.

Our first night in the tent was not without incident, however. There just as well could have been a bear around, as much as the tent shook---outside from the wind and inside from all the snoring. It was blowing like a force-10 hurricane on the top of Mount Magazine, highest point in Arkansas, and the forest around us whipped the Coleman into near-submission at times. We finally got to sleep, but periodically during the night, Big Bore and I took turns elbowing each other during our snoring duets.

At last a new day arrived, and in spite of the sporadic sleep I awoke with a grand revelation. “I put the pepper spray in my fanny pack!” Hooray! Now we could go hiking armed for bear. Big Bore, usually one to rag me big time for being such a big ditz, decided not to give me any harassment about the misplaced pepper spray when he discovered that he’d forgotten to pack his overalls AND sweat pants, and all he had to wear were the khaki slacks he’d driven down in and his flannel pajama pants. What’s more, he kept forgetting where he’d put various items that we, indeed, truly remembered to bring. “Where’d I put the fire starter?” “Have you seen the paring knife?” “What’d you do with the rope?”

Somewhere along the line, that famous scouting motto: “Be Prepared” had gotten lost--gone with the wind that keeps blowing and blowing through the empty recesses of our addled campers' minds. But we sure had fun.