By Carl "Papa" Palmer
I’m beat up from a week in the boat, bouncing, banging, bumping on the Columbia River.
Stiff, sore, suffering from sleepingbagitis, cotulism, crouchie crawlie crusades of nightly knee walking pup tent potty runs, sunburned, windblown, chapped, peeling, itchy, unshaven, aching fingers, wrists, back, and arms from cranking reels, pulling anchors, completely stopped up from campfire food, vowing again to be my last annual fish camp.
Sand completely washed from all my crevices, good to be back in my bed, using a sink, toilet not needing to flush with a shovelful of sand, I’m missing being out there with the boys already.
All that have camped out for a few days can see themselves. Outstanding , All that can be said.
Nice nostalgic ending to a grinding, grimy outing…great imagery and alliteration.
Nice little story of how we love to return again and again to the “misery” of camping out.