Adaptive Curmudgeon

Among the best things in life (insert Conan quote here) is sitting around a campfire listening to stories. What a great evening.

Folks who build boats (no surprise here) “think outside the box”. They find unique solutions to life’s problems. While I’d been fretting over “operation old guy” everyone had their own thing going on.

One of the guys hadn’t even set up a tent! The sky was cloudy and “troubled”; hot and muggy air might very well resolve into a rainstorm. At first, I thought “this dude is totally hard-core” and felt oddly guilty about my “supertent”. I’ve often laid a sleeping bag on the ground tossed a tarp over my body and called it good… but I never liked that for rainy conditions. With the huge flashy tent had I betrayed the “toughness” of youthful times?

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! I was reading it all wrong! Eventually the tentless fellow wanders off towards “car jail” mentioning something about “sleeping in my Prius”. I was about to make a joke about it when I remembered the vehicle back at “car jail”. It was hitched to a trailer with a cool, long and narrow “sailing canoe-ish” craft. (I’m sure there’s a nautical term for that kind of boat but I don’t know it.) He’s probably getting a zillion miles an hour to tow his sleek narrow boat. The perfect fit of tow vehicle and trailer gives me new respect for Prii (that’s the plural right?).

My “solution” is crude by comparison. Running the biggest consumer diesel on the market to drag a 100 pound craft is hurling dollars out the window.

Then he mentioned he can run the AC all night long in a Prius. It’ll cycle the engine on and off silently as needed. I was in the presence of genius!

I went ape coming up with my tent / cot combo and it truly is the lap of luxury… but AC all night long? That’s leveling up!

A few other folks were already asleep in their boats; happily anchored off shore. That seems pretty cool. My little boat isn’t suitable for such shenanigans. (That said, there are lunatics on the ‘net who’ve slept in tiny PDRs like mine. My back aches even mentioning it.)

Another guy had neither a boat nor a car. How the heck did he get there? Apparently, he just met the Prius fellow and he tagged along. He’d brought a tent but no car or boat. Easy peasy. Carpooling all day in a car with a stranger is what will happen to me if I’ve sinned and go to hell. Yet these two hit it off great. People impress me. I mentioned I know jack shit about sailing but I have a boat. His ears perked up and soon I had a knowledgeable “first mate” for tomorrow’s sailing. How awesome is that?

I’d have liked to have sat by the fire forever but bourbon and the long drive had taxed me. I retired to my cot (in what was now forever cemented in my mind as the “supertent”). I collapsed on the soft mattress but slept uneasily in the heat. I dreamed of air conditioning.

Two camping successes merit mention. First, if you’re of the sort that defaults to overly heavy sleeping bags, bring a sheet when it’s hot. A $6 sheet from Walmart was a big help. Also, my “bug zapper flashlight lantern” really worked. I hung it from the “supertent” ceiling, set it on the blue “bug zap” setting, and ignored it. In a half hour the handful of mosquitoes that would’ve pissed me off all night were dead. Wow! The screened in tent was a perfect use for an “attract and kill” approach.

Later that night the wind picked up. I zipped up the windows and since I had room I pulled in my tote-o-gear and my chair. (Nobody likes a wet chair in the morning.) Perhaps this was unnecessary, a tiny hint of clear sky at the horizon hinted it would pass quickly.

WRONG! The tiny hint of clear sky was receding.

ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE! Lightning, thunder, torrential downpour, four horsemen of the apocalypse, etc… As with the windstorm on my first trip the tent walls bowed in. However, the wind on the last trip had been completely off the hook and this was just a normal thunderstorm. It seemed no big deal for the tent.

I couldn’t sleep in the racket so I clicked on my lantern, sat in my chair, put my feet on the tote, and read a book. I have never ever sat upright in a folding chair inside a tent… much less while riding out a serious thunderstorm. Nice!

Soon it passed and the temperature was 40 degrees cooler. I burrowed back in my bag (which was ideal for the cooler weather) and slept like a baby.

Eventually I’ll hit the water, stay tuned.

A.C.

P.S. The next morning I noted with embarrassment that my outlandish showy tent “shook a bit” in the storm. Folks had been asking me about its performance and I felt obligated to admit it was “a bit loud” during the worst of it. Everyone laughed. I was the only one in camp that didn’t get either wholly or partly soaked in the downpour. Another successful test of the “supertent”.

P.S. A battery powered mosquito fryer seemed suspiciously like a dumb gadget when I got it. However, it has been surprisingly handy. It’s great as a lantern, battery life is fine, and the zapper really zaps. It not a magic wand in the forest but it’s quite efficient in the enclosed space of a tent (or Pruis?). You’ll do well to add a Nebo 6587 Z-Bug lantern to your multi-layered bug defense. Don’t let the toy like appearance dissuade you.

Sail/Camp Adventure #2 of 2019 got off to a rough start. Preparation and departure was a fiasco. My “boat rickshaw” was a complete cock up. It wasn’t fitting on the trailer. I had miles and miles to go to the rendezvous point but a lawnmower disaster that couldn’t be avoided busted my schedule. That, coupled with the loading disaster, meant that I left a solid four hours later than planned. Shit happens.

I drive a lot but I’m trying to take it easier on myself lately. I force myself to take breaks. Stop and smell the roses y’all. Long term it’s wise self-care.

But I had blown the departure phase and had to make up for it during the driving phase. I kept my ass glued to the truck seat and flogged the Dodge. We were to meet at a campsite that’s somewhat unique. This particular campsite has a gate that’s sometimes closed. I had to get there before deadline or I’d be stuck in a hotel somewhere.

I made it. I swooshed in just before sunset. I paid my fee at the gate (which was manned by kindly but very strict people). Secretly, I nicknamed the gate “Checkpoint Charlie”. They have a policy where you can drive your car to your campsite but then you must drop your crap at the campsite and drive your car back out to the parking lot. The car must stay in the parking lot, in vehicle jail. When it’s time for you to leave, they will open the gate… ONCE! They are very proud of their policy and appear to have no sense of humor about it. I’ll admit it probably cuts down on hoodlums, noise, and so forth but there’s a big mental difference between “park your car and chill out” and “you get one and only one chance to select the items from your car that you wish to retain a campsite”.

Addled from a very long drive, menaced by the gatekeepers, and mindful the sun had already set, I rolled into camp. I started grabbing shit off my truck in a hurry. I didn’t want to forget anything and I figured the easiest way to make sure I didn’t forget something was to set it up.

The whole point of this outing was human interaction and the other members of the group were politely saying “hi”. I was wigged out by the impending “closing of the gate” and only offered a perfunctory greeting. I was polite but distracted (also sore from the long drive). I figured I would be free to talk by the fire in due time. Folks offered to help me set up my tent but I was like “nah, I got this” and (shockingly) I did.

Proof! My Gazelle T4 tent practically sprung upright on its own (I don’t usually believe marketing hype but this thing really is super-fast to setup.) Eyeing a cloudy sky, I put on the tarp and staked the crap out of it. (A happy kid was with the group so I handed him a hammer and told him to check my work. I love giving kids hammers!) Elapsed time? Maybe 2 minutes.

Soon I was dragging my cot into the tent. It takes a bit longer to snap together my super overkill Teton Sports Outfitter XXL camp cot than it does to erect the monster 4 man tent where it lives. The cot takes ½ the tent. Being a fan of overkill, I tossed in a rolled up “floor protector” on the half of the tent where I’d be walking. (It’s a carpet runner.) Then I unrolled my glorious and back friendly Teton Outfitter XXL mattress. The cot and the mattress are huge overkill compared to an inflatable mattress on the ground but my God it’s comfortable. It’s also basically instant. I did it all in less than 5 minutes.

Without putting much thought into it I set down a couple big ass totes. They look neat and organized but they aren’t. Just that morning I’d hurled gear hurled inside as a big jumble. But it’s water resistant and looks orderly even when it’s not. The last step was a cheap fold out chair.

Total time to setup camp? Maybe 10 minutes; 15 at the outside. After years of lightweight wilderness camping it all seems so luxurious as to be decadent.

Then I drove away before the Checkpoint Charlie people could come and harass me. At the parking lot I abandoned my “big red security blanket”. Walking back in the dark, I realized I’d done something not unlike the old guy cooking his fish. Sure, my gear is newer so I lose some “cool points” but I’d grabbed stuff smoothly and set it up in a flash. Also, even though I sound like a salesman when I list off all the new stuff, it wasn’t overly expensive. I’d figured out a system where all the parts fit together well.

Sometimes I don’t look like a dumbass. Go figure!

Dinner went smooth. I’d been too rushed to stop at a grocery store to fill my cooler with human food. As a backup I’d grabbed a handful of Mountain House dinners. They’re pretty tasty and super-fast to cook. (“Chicken and rice”, delicious.) The kid that came with the group looked hungry and had never seen Mountain House. I gave him half the bag and he loved it. Soon he was pestering his dad to get more “stuff like that”. Yes, I’m probably going to hell for that. Finally relaxing, I switched my percolator from “boil water for Mountain House” to “make a pot of hot cocoa”. I like cocoa with a generous helping (about half) of bourbon.

Then and only then could I let go. It’d been a heck of a trip to get there but I was pleased with myself. I’d setup camp and made dinner with a surface ease that equaled my “river runs through it” imagination.

Tongue loosened by bourbon and enjoying the night sky, I even enjoyed chatting by the fire. Who says a stray dog has to always be a stray? Things were going my way and it was going to be a great weekend.

More to the story soon.

Years ago, I interrupted a harried road trip. I stopped by a beautiful river, grabbed my lunch, and boulder hopped out into the stream. I perched on a rock beneath the shade of a pine and basked in the scenery. The air was clear, the temperature was perfect, the birds were singing; it was one of those times when the world is heartrendingly gorgeous.

I live as well as I can. I did well stopping to rest on that rock. I rarely have regrets. I regret cutting my time on that rock short.

As I was enjoying my sandwich, a fairly old, but well-maintained, truck stopped. It had a fairly old, but well-maintained, slide in camper. The driver backed between some trees; driving as only an experienced driver can. He shifted forward and backward a few seconds to get level and shut down.

A guy hopped out of the truck. He was fairly old, but well-maintained; just like his truck. He gave me a pleasant nod and disappeared into his camper. A minute later he emerged completely outfitted for fly-fishing. He’d changed faster than Superman in a phone booth!

Without the slightest hesitation he strode from the truck and splashed into the river. He started casting. I have a fly rod but never use it. My “go to” fishing method is a cheap open face spinner reel on whatever rod was on sale last winter.

Despite our different approaches, it’s always a delight to watch a fly fisherman casting. He was graceful and unhurried. He looked nothing like Brad Pitt but was definitely channeling that damn movie from the same river. (I haven’t watched it. The only movie about fishing I’ll tolerate is Jaws.) On reflection, I think I misspoke. He wasn’t channeling anything. He was the spirit that fiction wanted to capture.

In no time he landed a trout. I expected him to release it or keep it in his creel bag for dinner. Instead, he assessed the fish, nodded to himself and waded straight back to his truck.

Then he performed another miracle. In less time than it takes me to make a bologna sandwich he’d hung his waders from a tree, setup a little table in the shade, fired up a camp stove, filleted the fish, cracked a beer, and was halfway through cooking.

I can do everything he’d done, but I can’t do anything so smoothly. I’d trounce around dropping shit on the dirt, misplacing things, and generally looking clueless. I’m always a little chaotic. I’d take more time checking six pockets to remember where I left my matches than he did to setup a whole kitchen. If I had a little table it would invariably wind up stashed in the camper somewhere inconvenient and blocked by a half ton of other stuff. For that matter, I don’t own a camper.

Awestruck, I thought “this old guy has it together. I dearly wish that someday I’ll be as cool as him.

Soon I’d finished my sandwich. Time to go. I would’ve loved to strike up a conversation but it was not to be. Presumably he was retired and had time to kill but I’m not and I don’t. I was behind schedule just from eating a sandwich. He was of the river and I was just visiting. It was a moment in time I didn’t seize. My loss.

…

Continuing reluctantly down the road I observed several more pull off at various points on the river. Some were empty, others had people like me taking brief breaks, a few had millennials with mountain bikes, and so forth. However, several spots had fairly old, but well-maintained, truck and camper combos. Now that I was paying attention, I’d discovered a secret society!

I’d seen the heretofore unknown world of supercool retired dudes who camp and fish like a boss! I was jealous. I want to be like them when I grow up.

…

Back home, I explained my discovery to Mrs. Curmudgeon. Awesomely (as always), she didn’t laugh at my blissful vision. She let me ramble about the difference between “cool” and “workin’ on it”. She smiled as I enthused about the magic old dude who set up camp in less time than it takes me to dig my backpack from the jumble in the backseat of my truck. I think anyone who is “doing their own thing” is cool and I do plenty of nifty things myself, but now I had a vision of style. I’d been in the presence of a master. I was determined to learn from it.

This spring I made a first step. I treated myself to new camping gear. I’m adapting from my usual setup (small light gear hauled ounce by ounce in a canoe) to the more domestic world of camping near my truck. I leaned on my imagination about the retired fellow. He seemed to have his shit together. I’d be like that! None of his stuff was expensive, it was just ideally suited to his environment and not stored in disarray.

Mrs. Curmudgeon coined the term “operation old guy” for my vague notions. She’s quite supportive. My first step was a tent swap. My old and trusted (but finicky and unforgiving) 4 season backpacking tent has been retired. Using a hard-core expedition tent had been forcing me to make concessions to the gear instead of the gear serving me. Who wants to burn 20 minutes to setup a small rugged tent suitable for summiting Everest when you’re on flat level ground and the load had been carried there by diesel instead of the sweat of your brow? Fortunately, a new tent is pocket change compared to buying a slide in camper. It has already earned it’s keep dissuading me from the hotels I was starting to default to.

For my second “walkabout” of 2019 would “operation old guy” thought experiments continue tobear fruit?

More to come…

[Note: Some of these links go to Duckworks Boat Builder’s Supply and various designers. I don’t get a red cent from any of them. However, both Michael Storer and Duckworks Supply were so awesome that you should immediately throw bucket-loads of cash at them. It was customer service of the most awe inspiring levels! Also, there is oodles of information at PDRacer.com. If you’re confident (or laid back) PDRacer.com has everything you need to build and it’s all available for free. I probably read every word on  PDRacer.com and it helped. I tossed a small donation their way to thank them for their troubles. If you want to build a boat, do it now. You’re not getting any younger… just do it. You’ll be glad.]

Just for fun I’m linking a few design plans for variants of the little sailboat I made. At it’s most basic it’s called a Puddle Duck Racer (PDR) and they’re specifically meant to be easy to build yet perform pretty well for their size. (I’m impressed that it doesn’t sail or feel like a toy. Small? Yes. Dumb little toy? Nope!)

Everyone who wants to make a boat should make the leap. Don’t let people talk you out of it! If I can make a boat it’s pretty much within any monkey’s grasp. Though I do suggest cheap simple squarish boats are the perfect way over the hump for a novice builder.

Various boats have digressions from the same basics and every builder makes things as they wish (which is pretty cool if you think about it!). If you want to “get your feet wet” don’t overlook the smallish boats of the odd Puddle Duck Racer style.

These are part of a set of free plans for a variant of the Puddle Duck Racer sailboat design called Simple 18 or BucketEars. I didn’t follow these plans but they’re a good option and free is a damn fine price. The image is linked to the source. You’ll find them at http://pdracer.com/free-plans/bucket-ears/

This is the image from Jim Michalak’s plans ($27.50) for a PDR variant he calls Catbox. Image is linked and you can find it at https://www.duckworks.com/product-p/jm-catbox.htm.

This is an image of one of the earliest builds of a Michael Storer variant of the PDR called OZ Racer RV. The image is linked to the plans (which cost $30). You can also find the plans at https://www.duckworks.com/product-p/oz-ozracer-rv-id.htm. I bought his plans and (since I knew nothing about anything) I followed them with the care a person might use to defuse a bomb. Shockingly, Michael Storer personally responded to e-mail queries with my dipshit newbie questions. How cool is that? As far as I can tell, boat design people try very hard to be super nice to even the most incompetent boat builder. It was customer service the likes of which I haven’t seen in ages!

Honorable mention for the OZ Goose: I made Michael Storer’s variant of the PDR and I’m delighted with it. The story behind all of these PDR-like critters is they’re humble 8′ beasts that are constrained by the “single sheet of plywood” limit. It’s almost like it was a game for various boat designers who got sick of 40′ cabin cruiser for millionaires? (I’m new to this shit, I’ve got no idea. I’m just glad they started slumming in my price range!)

Storer ignored the “single sheet” limit and made 1 1/2 sheet thing that looks like a stretch limo version of a PDR. The 12′ variant is a whole new animal he calls the OZ Goose. His internet posts sound like he’s on a one man crusade to to generate armadas of happy boat builders/owners/sailors. I just made one in my lonely garage. Storer is helping groups make them in batch lots; think dozens and dozens of ’em.  He’s active in the Philippines and elsewhere and I can’t believe he took time to answer my dumb e-mail questions.

With the 12′ OZ Goose it seems like he’s hit on something very cool. The OZ Goose purportedly has hydrodynamic performance that vastly exceeds it’s near twin of an 8′ OZ Racer RV. I’m not sure what kind of parabolic math physics crap is going down in that extra 4′ but it’s a thing. I’ve personally seen an OZ Goose on the water and it was sailed by a dude who knew what he was doing. That bad boy was impressive! If you’re thinking of a PDR but aren’t afraid of joining two sheets of ply (which, now that I’ve made my boat, seems pretty piddling easy) take a good look at the OZ Goose:

I told ya’ he was creating armadas! These are all 12′ OZ Goose sailboats. Unlike me, who wants to chug along with a bunch of camping gear these folks wring them out! There are tons of people racing these plywood boxes with all the glorious abandon that only people who are sailing something so cheap that they can replace/repair for pocket change can muster. The plans are $36 and the image is linked. Or you can go to https://www.duckworks.com/product-p/oz-goose-id.htm.

[Note: Hanging out with me IRL (in real life) shouldn’t mean entanglement in the script of a Curmudgeonly Saga. Thus, I’ve changed names, dates, locations, and details. This is to preserve anonymity of anyone involved with my travels (including me). It’s not intended to let me author inaccurate fish tales. Everything I write, including stories about talking trees, hopes to capture the moment. Even when masked for privacy, I’m truer than CNN.]

My first outing of the year proved the concept. (See: Walkabout) My little boat floats, my new tent is awesome, and my soul flourishes with the outdoor time. The second outing added a twist. It involved the incalculable variable of human interaction. (I’m not completely antisocial, but I do prefer to be alone. I’m among the small part of the human population that just can’t grok the urge to be around other people. It’s a PITA; but that’s another story.)

This outing was with a group. Of people. Who I didn’t really know. Paging Dr. Gregarious, your ride is here! I was jumpy camping as a stranger amid a group of friends engaged in (and experienced with) the activity of sailing (about which I know nothing). I had flashbacks to every “group project” I’ve ever faced.

My motivation was companionship and learning. These folks had all (or mostly) built their own boats (and they’re all really nice people to boot!). Experientially, there’s a huge, vast, epic gulf between the mind of a sailor who built his craft (no matter how humble) and one who financed it. Also, they sail while camping next to freshwater lakes. This is precisely the skillset I want to gain! I’d be a fool not to avail myself of such an incredibly specific learning experience. (I’d been skating on thin ice sailing solo and stupid on a huge lake the month before. I was well aware of the risks I was taking but that doesn’t change the fact that I was taking them.)

I dithered. I’m often outside of my comfort zone but I was about to be outside of my comfort planet. Mrs. Curmudgeon helpfully told me to get my head out of my ass and get on with it. Which I did. She’s a keeper.

Uncharacteristically, (and because I’m not totally immune to vanity) I decided to spiff up my boat. (I wanted the best first impression. I was going to be around other people who knew what they were doing when they built their boats.)

There wasn’t much to do. I only finished my craft last fall. However, it had a few scratches and such. I’ve sailed into rocks and it’s been trailered all over creation. For no other reason than aesthetics I slapped a new coat of paint on the already overengineered hull. I also fretted over how to stencil the name on the hull. Without it, the poor boat felt “unfinished”. I discovered stencils are apparently a lost technology. The local stores didn’t carry much; everyone uses stickers now. I grumbled about “self-driving cars” and “people are pussies” but when I slapped on stickers it actually looked OK. (I’m not announcing the boat’s name as my dog says that’s an OPSEC violation.)

Then, I retreated to my shop and got creative! As the pièce de résistance I designed and fabricated a unique and very cool little boat cart. My idea was to wean myself off needing a boat ramp and a trailer. I could slide the boat off the trailer onto the little cart and then wheel the cart down any hiking path, bike trail, or even ATV trail that’s 4’ wide. I built it easy rolling and was pretty stoked with my creation. I nicknamed it “boat rickshaw” and I loved it. I’m pretty sure I could roll it down a country path for a mile or so without trouble or undue labor. I’d just opened up new vistas to explore!

The proposed campsite had a nice little beach and a walking path to the beach. Instead of putting the boat in at a boat ramp a half mile away, I’d roll my boat right to the water and dump it from the cart!

I gloated over this cool idea and even varnished the crude 2×4” structure. Then I got word that spring flooding had immersed the beach and erosion had made the walking path unusable. Dammit!

I decided to take the boat rickshaw anyway. Where better to test it than a campsite full of small boat builders? I’d surely get some valuable constructive criticism. Unfortunately, on departure day it didn’t fit on the trailer. The idea was that the boat rides on the trailer (which is just a utility trailer I use to haul firewood) and the boat rickshaw rides on top of the boat. A few key measurements were at odds and the thing was roughly ¾” too wide to “nest” properly. I tried to stuff it in my truck bed but all I did was scratch the hell out of the truck bed while determining the device wouldn’t fit under my toolbox.

Such are the vagaries of building your own shit.

Stay tuned for more.