I would like to read about any creepy, weird or unusual camping stories that I can re-tell around a campfire someday. True ones only please
I'll start with one:
I was camping with four other friends in NE.KY near a place called Kinnikinick, pretty far up the "river" from Vanceburg. We were WAAAAY out in the woods. four of us were survivalists. This was in the very late '70's. Our other friend was a "city slicker" from Saylor Park (Cincinnati). We told him SEVERAL times NOT to stick his hand anywhere he couldn't see. "There are Copperheads and Timber rattlers around here and we don't want to have to haul your lame a$$ out of here with a snake bite." we told him.
We were there for seven days. All went well..... Untill day three.
This dumba$$ is DEATHLY afraid of snakes so I think he thought we were just trying to mess with him. This was in late april. Nights are just a little chilly, and the days are warm. On the morning of day three it was fairly warm, we were up at sunrise, getting ready to go fishing, trapping and foraging for our daily meal as we brought no food or water save for salt, pepper and sugar. All of the sudden we heard a blood curdling scream. This wasn't a "man" scream, it was a nine year old girl type scream. "Kurt" had tried to lift an ancient piece of plywood off the ground in the weeds. He yelled, "DAMMITT, I just got STUNG! DAMM, that HURTS! We asked if he was OK, and he said "Yeah, I'm fine" and before he even got that sentance out, he started shaking his hand and sticking it between his legs and staretd moaning." SH!T, it feels like someone shoved my hand in a toaster!". I walked over to him rolling my eyes because I noticed he was wearing no gloves. I took a stick and lifted the old plywood and VIOLA! Two small coppersheads. My other friend, "Doug" popped him in the back of the head in the manner you would a child (not hard) and called him an idiot. I dropped the wood and took my idiot friend into the tent and took a look.
"Y'all got bit, I told you not to stick your hands under anything without looking first, dummy!". He had two, nice little pin holes in his pinky finger and it had already started to swell. Three things I always carried with me on outings were Epi pens, banamine and a sterile syringe. I had forgotten the epi-pen, but had the banamine and syringe. About the next five minutes, our other two friends showed up as they heard "Kurt" screaming. EVERYone was PI$$ED at him for being stupid. I kept him calm and kept track of the swelling. I took the other guys outside and told them that Copper bites, especially babies, are very painful but not lethal as long as there's no anaphylaxis. We decided to watch him and after an hour, he was still crying like a three year old, but no anaphylaxis. I washed his bite in 70% Iodine, gave him a cup of black coffee with 1cc of banamine in it, a good a$$ chewing for not following instructions and closed him up in the tent. We decided to let him "ride it out" as long as he didn't show any signs of necrosis around the bite (this usually happens). Afer a while, he managed to open up the tent flap and immediately started crying as the breeze blowing across his hand was apparently pretty intolerable. He kept saying "I'm gonna die here!" over and over again. I checked his vitals, they were fine. Checked the swelling, still getting worse, but no "oozing" or begining necrosis. Next day, the swelling had stopped, but still extremely painful. I felt sorry for him, but didn't let him know that. Once we realized he was going to be fine, just uncomfortable, we started telling him he was probably going to lose an arm, or die (We were pretty cruel that way, even for Hillbillies). We figured he needed some insult to injury for screwing up our camping trip. We were ten miles from our vehicles and 60 miles from any sort of civilization, so leaving wasn't an option.
I gave him another 1.5cc/banamine in his coffee before dinner (fish, frog leg and spring beauty stew). Next morning, the swelling started to receed and he started feeling a little better. He was REALLY upset that we told him he was going to die but we all got a good laugh out of it (he didn't!). He was so mad, he wouldn't eat the breakfast of duck egg "surprize" (fertile duck egg with the embrio in it sometimes). After a while, he started to realize how stupid he had been and started apologizing. I'm not sure what was worse, his constant apologizing, or screaming like a nine year old girl and the incessant crying.
None of us talk much anymore as we're pretty disbursed, but we do stil hack on him (in a joking manner) when we do talk.
__________________ Everytime someone sells a gun without buying another, a nice kitten is placed into a wood chipper.
I'm one the few people that gets a ear ache when cold wind is in one ear (LT) when bedding down camping I havent a mummy bag to cover my ears at nite, Ive tried knit hats and wearing a hood up on a sweatshirt, one winters night along the trail I used my pile ligned vest instead, It'd started wadded up as a pillow, as night progressed and stupid knit kept working up off my head, I wrapped the vest up over my face, the vests arm hole was just the place for my face and ears and back my neck was toasty warm, I think next will try a Balaclava hat, had the ear looked at and the local clinic said I could get it operated on (Big$$) or figure a way to cope.
We were camping with a group of friends--packed in, no road access camping, the kind you do before you get old--in an Area of Hoosier National Forest famed for it's large, intelligent, aggressive and resourceful 'coons.
We heard a crinkly rattling sound after turning in, and one of the Ladies tured on her flashlight to reveal a 'coon who had found a bag of food that was improperly stored for the evening. (There were a couple of terminal city kids on the trip!) She looked at the 'coon, the 'coon looked at her. They made eye contact. She told the 'coon: "OK, you can have that, but you and your little buddies better stay out of the rest, and don't make a mess, or I'll HEX YOU!"
The next morning we got up, and none of the other food was disturbed. Moreover, the bag Brother 'Coon had been into was more or less folded closed, and there were no scattered bits, crumbs or other detritus about our camp sight.
The other women looked at the Lady in question funny after that, and one couple refused to camp or socialize with us ever again, on the grounds she was some sort of witch.
Several decades ago a couple of friends of mine took off after work(3rd shift) and headed for the lower access of the Skunk river for some hardcore beer drinking, bank fishing. Too bad someone forgot to invite the fish to our party.
As we proceeded to get sloshed, I could tell this expedition was becoming a wash as none was getting as much as a bite. Whilst my buddies were protecting the beer cooler, I walked up the river a ways with my pole in hand to find a better spot to drop my line. When low and behold, I found this huge carp laying dead at the water's edge.
Anyway, I found a couple of nice long sticks and stuck one of them through the dead fish, then with the other stick and pole in hand, walked back to relieve the ice chest of another cold brew.
As I sat with my buddies, I dropped my line in the water then started whittling a sharp point on my stick. Randy asked what I was going to do with the pointy stick. I told him I was going to try a little spear fishing since my pole wasn't working this morning. Now both Mike and Randy were razzing me about being a caveman. I got up, took my beer and stick with me and went fish hunting caveman style, leaving their insults behind.
As my so called buddies made fun of me at a distance, I slowly worked my way back to the dead fish. Every once and a while I'd toss the spear into the water for effect, doing so only seemed to garner me disparaging comments from my buddies over in the peanut gallery. You can't hurt the feelings of a fishing warrior on a mission with petty words and comments. The hunt was on.
Pretty soon I was ready to reel in the fishes I had hooked 50 yards down river. I made some cave man racket to get Mike and Randy's attention, then threw my spear into the water, ran down the bank and came up with this huge fish impaled on my spear. I had to be careful not to wiggle the thing too much because it was kinda sliding around on the stick.
At 50 yards away we(the caveman and fishy) must've looked pretty impressive, 'cuz now my loudmouthed buddies were off their duffs, mouths, beers and fish poles all dropped in disbelief. I kept the war-hooping and fish shaking up till I could no longer contain my laughter and tossed the dead carp back into the river.
Once my beer dulled, dim witted buddies came up to speed, they switched gears into advanced name calling. But before it was all over we were friends again.
Before the day was over we managed to get vehicles buried axle deep in the sand, but that's another sad story.