MR NATURAL
by CiCi Lean, 1998
~~~~~~~~~
August 14
Scully and I, camping together in the lower Delaware for eight days. A vacation first.
I'm looking forward to this trip, for I believe that nature holds the key to spiritual conductivity, not to mention an excellent excuse to eat crap I would normally shun, if only for appearances' sake.
A four hour drive into state park grounds and we were there, ready to face anything, with one cooler, one tent, and two sleeping bags between us. (I lost my tent two months ago after a night of "snipe hunting" outside the local nuclear power plant.)
Upon arrival, I immediately noticed that the entrance sign had been vandalized, so that "Fitzwater Campground" now reads "Shitzwater Campground."
Note: I think this is a bad omen.
~~~~~~~~~
August 15th
Find it hard to believe that the things fluttering around our heads last night were, in Scully's words, "boozed-up birds."
Speaking of birds, I've noticed that our campsite is surrounded by blue jays which are both very colorful and very beautiful.
They are also the loudest, most miserable screeching little bastards that were ever envisioned by a malicious God, created only to torment human ears at five in the morning. Each and every damn one of them should be baked into a giant pie, and then tossed into a river where they will be devoured by piranhas or some other useful species of carnivorous fish.
Last night I also became fully acquainted with Scully's snoring problem. A real tent rattler she is, all night long, right up until the blue jays started *their* racket at precisely four a.m. She became surprisingly quiet then, as if seceding her right to keep me wretched and awake to that evil flock of birds.
Reminder to self to buy her special pillow...
And shove it down her throat.
~~~~~~~~~
August 16th
Lesson for the day: While camping, if something in your wine "crunches," just keep drinking.
Spent afternoon watching Scully yank innocent trout from their peaceful, water-filled homes. She seemed particularly happy when she hooked one right through the eye and it struggled vainly for its pathetic life.
Made mental note to remember this.
She also insisted that I clean these poor, dead creatures, a hideous operation which consisted of slitting them open, ripping their guts out and flaking off, what I assumed, was the "ich" from their skins. Since she is the trained pathologist, I was aghast at her refusal to perform this task, one which I believe she is infinitely more qualified for.
She also appeared confused by my lack of appetite for them after they were floured and fried, but eating something after you've just ripped out its bladder isn't exactly an attractive prospect. Stuck to cold, canned Spaghetti-o's, while she devoured the fish with gusto, gnawing the flesh off their tiny bones and picking the scraped skin out from between her molars after she was done.
Am thinking seriously about vegetarianism.
~~~~~~~~~
August 17th
Fed an unusual looking dog this afternoon while Scully was out supply shopping. He was quite large, and very furry, with the oddest set of teeth I've ever seen on a canine. He had no collar, and growled quite loudly when I ran out of potato chips to give him. Also noticed that he had a group of pals who hung around the edge of the campsite, drooling quite disgustingly. Shooed them away with some difficulty, and returned to studying the latest issue of "Highlights," a surprisingly subversive children's magazine, filled with hidden evil agendas galore.
Scully returned from the local store, looked down in the dirt and muttered something about "wolf prints."
Typically, I decided not to correct her mistake.
Later that night, after yet another delightful dinner of spongy "noodles" in ketchup, I went to bed only to be assaulted by a loud "snorting" noise coming from the direct vicinity of our campfire. It was even louder than Scully's snoring, so I immediately went on the alert, turned on my flashlight and peeked out of the tent.
It was a monstrous bear, the size of a Buick, with blood-covered incisors and ten-inch mandibles of death emanating from its tennis racket-sized paws. It was ripping open my meager canned supplies with a single snap of its trap-like jaws and devouring them greedily, exactly like a Scully with a mouthful of trout.
Luckily, I believe it -finally- heard Scully's snoring, and I think that might have scared it away. Upon awakening, Scully, of course, insists I'm exaggerating, but I think I'd know a *bit* more about what I saw than Little Miss Hibernation. She also insists that most bears are basically harmless herbivores, but, after the carnage I'd witnessed, I believe that I now know better.
Surveyed the damage, and discovered that the slavering beast not only ate my last can of "Rollercoasters," but my very last foil of strawberry Pop Tarts as well.
Have to do something about these bears.
~~~~~~~~~
August 18th
Went to ranger's station to ask about getting rid of bears. Was told by "Ranger Tim" to "jump up and down, yell and throw pine cones at it." Normally, I'd say this was bad advice, but I'll take it, as I'd assume a ranger should know about these sorts of things.
I'll gather pine cones for tonight and wait.
~~~~~~~~~
August 20
Spent night in tree hiding from furious bear.
Heard Scully snoring even from thirty feet up in the air. She must have purposely ignored my cries for help, until I was forced to descend by pecking blue jays at exactly 4:28 a.m. If I was expecting a tear-filled apology from my incompetent partner, I was assuredly disappointed. She not only -laughed- when I told her of my night of boundless terror, she positively HOWLED with glee at the recounting of each and every miserable detail, some of which she insisted I repeat twice.
She was still laughing when I went into the tent and finally got some much-needed sleep.
Saw "Ranger Tim" this afternoon, who tried to appease me with some idiocy about "forest ranger humor." I countered this with a story about a certain moron who was going to spend five to ten years in a state penitentiary for attempted murder. This, of course, is "FBI agent humor," but, surprise, surprise, he didn't laugh.
On the way back to the site, I saw a very fat, very content-looking snake, with a ranger's hat lying next to it. I'll assume I'm reading too much into it, but that snake probably deserves an award of -some- kind.
Or, at the very least, some Pepto Bismol.
~~~~~~~~~
August 21st
Discovered that raccoons have amazing hands, with eight fully flexible digits, excellent for snatching entire boxes full of scarce nourishment, such as Pop Tarts and Twinkies. Tried to give chase to a particularly dexterous one, when I discovered that these disgusting animals can also give you "the finger."
Scully was not impressed with this previously unknown bit of wildlife trivia, and offered me some fresh trout for breakfast, no doubt as some sort of punishment, but I declined to give her the satisfaction of seeing me so humbled.
Later, I went on hike with Scully through dark and uncharted wilderness. She pointed to signs that proclaimed it to be some sort of well-traveled "trail," but I believe she snuck out at some point and hammered those in herself while I was trying to make up for four days of sleep deprivation. Looked around carefully for the remains of other foolish humans who may have stumbled this way years previously, but realized that they must have been devoured, bones and all, by bloodthirsty bears.
I tried to explain this to Scully, who simply continued forward, refusing to listen. The hordes of malaria-infested mosquitoes didn't deter her either and I was just about to turn around before it was too late, when I noticed a lovely and brightly colored snake who made a fascinating "rattling" sound when stepped on. Of course, the minute -I- become interested in a bit of wildlife, is just the moment when Scully -finally- decides to scream and run. I followed reluctantly, listening to the fading, yet still melodious "hiss" and spit of this intriguing creature.
Women. Who can understand them?
~~~~~~~~
August 22nd
Woke up and opened cooler only to discover FOOTPRINTS in the butter.
I was intensely depressed by this turn of events, which I saw as the epitome of the hubris of man falling victim to the chaos of nature, but Scully refused to recognize the spiritual side of this disaster, conceding only to blame ME for forgetting to lock our dwindling food rations in the trunk the night before. I was highly insulted to say the least. Now, the entire contents of our cooler are inedible, and Scully refuses to even *contemplate* driving the few hundred miles to the store to get more.
She claims that I'll have to eat trout or starve, which, in my humble opinion, is not a difficult choice.
Off she went to slaughter some more helpless fish, while I fed a very cute chipmunk a few Cheerios, from a supply I'd kept hidden in my sleeve in case of emergency. He sat in the most charming "begging" posture, and stuffed his cheeks to bursting with the cereal. Felt a real connection with him, until greed overtook his gentle woodland demeanor, and he began clamoring for the entire portion of my meager rations. Luckily, he was the size of a rather puny mouse, so a quick swipe of my backhand soon convinced him who was, in reality, The Boss.
However, I had no idea that these miserable creatures traveled in HERDS, and soon I was surrounded by the entire troop of cowardly, chattering beasts, who took it upon themselves to hold me hostage until I was cleaned out of my very last Cheerio. They made sure to administer a few nips at my ankles before finally leaving the campsite, and I learned yet another lesson about man's -true- place in nature.
At the very bottom of the feeder.
~~~~~~~~
August 23rd
Note: The skunk always wins.
~~~~~~~~
August 24th
Have been banished to other side of campsite, while Scully continuously sprays me with hose water and tomato juice from a distance of at least twenty yards. I tried to explain that skunk is a perfectly natural scent, no better nor worse than most of the perfumes I've sniffed on her from time to time, but, as usual, she refuses to acknowledge my logic.
I've also been banned from the tent, which, to be completely honest, isn't the tragedy one might imagine it is. The skunk smell is an excellent bear deterrent, something that cannot be taken for granted in this veritable Circus of Bloodthirsty Bruins.
With no bears, blue jays, wolves, snakes, chipmunks, nor Snoring Wonders daring to bother me, I've found freedom at last. Freedom to roam, to explore, to commune -- to urinate wherever and whenever I damn well please. And tonight, after my triumph over these woods...
I sleep.
~~~~~~~~~
August 26th
Am now writing from Georgetown Hospital.
Reading over my last fateful entry, I once again see how I was felled by human hubris in the face of a natural world so cruel, so illogical, it makes one shudder to contemplate it.
There I was, as free as a skunk, when I felt the need to mark my territory in the time honored fashion. Stepping through the bushes, naked as the day I was born, I decided not only to relieve myself, but to do an improvised dance of masculine emancipation throughout the fauna -- a war dance, so to speak.
Little did I know that I was standing right in the middle of a large flowering of Rhus toxicodendron, more commonly known by the dull and obvious name of poison ivy.
Wearing a laurel wreath and loin cloth woven from the vine didn't help the situation much, and by morning I found myself covered in some -very- sensitive areas with small white blisters along with an itching sensation that has to be felt to be believed. It wasn't long before I was screaming for help, and Scully -eventually- arrived with a team of airborne paramedics who immediately flew me to the emergency room, where I was admitted for "severe external toxicosis."
My grumbling partner didn't even visit me last night, as she claimed some nonsense about having to break camp and drive home, even making snide cracks about getting herself a helicopter ride out of the park.
She -did- drop by this morning, however, with a bunch of flowers in hand. I've been examining them carefully for the past hour, and have been wondering as to the contents of the bouquet. Some of it looks rather on the "wild" side, and one small leafy green plant looks awfully familiar.
Terribly, -terribly- familiar. But, she wouldn't do that to -me- ....
Would she?
~~~~~~~~~
The End