ardly second in importance to a warm, dry camp, is the camp-fire. In point of fact, the warmth, dryness, and healthfulness of a forest camp are mainly dependent on the way the fire is managed and kept up. No asthmatic or consumptive patient ever regained3 health by dwelling4 in a close, damp tent. I once camped for a week in a wall tent, with a Philadelphia party, and in cold weather. We had a little sheet iron fiend, called a camp-stove. When well fed with bark, knots and chips, it would get red hot, and, heaven knows, give out heat enough. By the time we were sound asleep, it would subside5; and we would presently awake with chattering6 teeth to kindle7 her up again, take a smoke and a nip, turn in for another nap—to awaken8 again half frozen. It was a poor substitute for the open camp and bright fire. An experience of fifty years convinces me that a large percentage of the benefit obtained by invalids9 from camp life is attributable to the open camp and well-managed camp-fire. And the latter is usually handled in a way that is too sad, too wasteful; in short, badly botched. For instance.
The "Guides' Camp"
It happened in the summer of '81 that I was making a canoe trip in the Northern Wilderness10, and as Raquette Lake is the largest and about the most interesting lake in the North Woods, I spent about a week paddling, fishing, etc. I made my headquarters at Ed. Bennett's woodland hostelry, "Under the Hemlocks11." As the hotel was filled with men, women and [Pg 29] crying children, bitten to agony by punkies and mosquitoes, I chose to spread my blanket in a well-made bark shanty13, which a sign-board in black and white said was the "Guides' Camp."
And this camp was a very popular institution. Here it was that every evening, when night had settled down on forest and lake, the guests of the hotel would gather to lounge on the bed of fresh balsam browse14, chat, sing and enjoy the huge camp-fire.
No woodland hotel will long remain popular that does not keep up a bright, cheery, out-o'-door fire. And the fun of it—to an old woodsman—is in noting how like a lot of school children they all act about the fire. Ed. Bennett had a man, a North Woods trapper, in his employ, whose chief business was to furnish plenty of wood for the guides' camp, and start a good fire every evening by sundown. As it grew dark and the blaze shone high and bright, the guests would begin to straggle in; and every man, woman and child seemed to view it as a religious duty to pause by the fire, and add a stick or two, before passing into camp. The wood was thrown on endwise, crosswise, or any way, so that it would burn, precisely15 as a crowd of boys make a bonfire on the village green. The object being, apparently16, to get rid of the wood in the shortest possible time.
When the fire burnt low, toward mid-night, the guests would saunter off to the hotel; and the guides, who had been waiting impatiently, would organize what was left of the fire, roll themselves in their blankets, and turn in. I suggested to the trapper that he and I make one fire as it should be, and maybe they would follow suit—which would save half the fuel, with a better fire. But he said, "No; they like to build bonfires, and 'Ed.' can stand the wood, because it is best to let them have their own way. Time seems to hang heavy on their hands—and they pay well." Summer boarders, tourists and sportsmen, are not the only men who know how to build a camp-fire all wrong.
When I first came to Northern Pennsylvania, thirty-five years ago, I found game fairly abundant; and, as I wanted to learn the country where deer most abounded17, I naturally cottoned to the local hunters. Good fellows enough, and conceited18, as all local hunters and anglers are apt to be. Strong, good hunters and axe19-men, to the manner born, and prone20 [Pg 30] to look on any outsider as a tenderfoot. Their mode of building camp-fires was a constant vexation to me. They made it a point to always have a heavy sharp axe in camp, and toward night some sturdy chopper would cut eight or ten logs as heavy as the whole party could lug21 to camp with hand-spikes. The size of the logs was proportioned to the muscular force in camp. If there was a party of six or eight, the logs would be twice as heavy as when we were three or four. Just at dark, there would be a log heap built in front of the camp, well chinked with bark, knots and small sticks; and, for the next two hours, one could hardly get at the fire to light a pipe. But the fire was sure though slow. By 10 or 11 P.M. it would work its way to the front, and the camp would be warm and light. The party would turn in, and deep sleep would fall on a lot of tired hunters—for two or three hours. By which time some fellow near the middle was sure to throw his blanket off with a spiteful jerk, and dash out of camp with, "Holy Moses! I can't stand this; it's an oven."
Another Snorer (partially waking).—"N-r-r-rm, gu-r-r, ugh. Can't you—deaden—fire—a little?"
First Speaker.—"Deaden h——. If you want the fire deadened, get up and help throw off some of these logs."
Another (in coldest corner of shanty)—"What's 'er matter—with a-you fellows? Better dig out—an' cool off in the snow. Shanty's comfor'ble enough."
His minority report goes unheeded. The camp is roasted out. Strong hands and hand-spikes pry22 a couple of glowing logs from the front and replace them with two cold, green logs; the camp cools off, and the party takes to blankets once more—to turn out again at 5 A.M., and inaugurate breakfast. The fire is not in favorable shape for culinary operations, the heat is mainly on the back side, just where it isn't wanted. The few places level enough to set a pot or pan are too hot; and, in short, where there is any fire, there is too much. One man sees, with intense disgust, the nozzle of his coffee-pot drop into the fire. He makes a rash grab to save his coffee, and gets away—with the handle, which hangs on just enough to upset the pot.
"Old Al.," who is frying a slice of pork over a bed of coals that would melt a gun barrel, starts a horse laugh, that is cut short by a blue [Pg 31] flash and an explosion of pork fat, which nearly blinds him. And the writer, taking in these mishaps23 in the very spirit of fun and frolic, is suddenly sobered and silenced by seeing his venison steak drop from the end of the "frizzling stick," and disappear between two glowing logs. The party manages, however, to get off on the hunt at daylight, with full stomachs; and perhaps the hearty24 fun and laughter more than compensate25 for these little mishaps.
This is a digression. But I am led to it by the recollection of many nights spent in camps and around camp-fires, pretty much as described above. I can smile today at the remembrance of the calm, superior way in which the old hunters of that day would look down on me, as from the upper branches of a tall hemlock12, when I ventured to suggest that a better fire could be made with half the fuel and less than half the labor26. They would kindly27 remark, "Oh, you are a Boston boy. You are used to paying $8.00 a cord for wood. We have no call to save wood here. We can afford to burn it by the acre." Which was more true than logical. Most of these men had commenced life with a stern declaration of war against the forest; and, although the men usually won at last, the battle was a long and hard one. Small wonder that they came to look upon a forest tree as a natural enemy. The camp-fire question came to a crisis, however, with two or three of these old settlers. And, as the story well illustrates28 my point, I will venture to tell it.
A Winter Camp
It was in the "dark days before Christmas" that a party of four started from W., bound for a camp on Second Fork, in the deepest part of the wilderness that lies between Wellsboro and the Block House. The party consisted of Sile J., Old Al., Eli J. and the writer. The two first were gray-haired men, the others past thirty; all the same, they called us "the boys." The weather was not inviting29, and there was small danger of our camp being invaded by summer outers or tenderfeet. It cost twelve miles of hard travel to reach that camp; and, though we started at daylight, it was past noon when we arrived. The first seven miles could be made on wheels, the balance by hard tramping. The road was execrable; no one cared to ride; but it was necessary to have our loads carried as far as possible. The clearings looked dreary30 enough, and the woods forbidding to a degree, but our old camp was the picture of desolation. [Pg 32] There was six inches of damp snow on the leafless brush roof, the blackened brands of our last fire were sticking their charred31 ends out of the snow, the hemlocks were bending sadly under their loads of wet snow, and the entire surroundings had a cold, cheerless, slushy look, very little like the ideal hunter's camp. We placed our knapsacks in the shanty, Eli got out his nail hatchet32, I drew my little pocket-axe, and we proceeded to start a fire, while the two older men went up stream a few rods to unearth33 a full-grown axe and a bottle of old rye, which they had cached under a log three months before. They never fooled with pocket-axes. They were gone so long that we sauntered up the band, thinking it might be the rye that detained them. We found them with their coats off, working like beavers34, each with a stout35, sharpened stick. There had been an October freshet, and a flood-jam at the bend had sent the mad stream over its banks, washing the log out of position and piling a gravel36 bar two feet deep over the spot where the axe and flask37 should have been. About the only thing left to do was to cut a couple of stout sticks, organize a mining company, limited, and go in; which they did. Sile was drifting into the side of the sandbar savagely38, trying to strike the axe-helve, and Old Al. was sinking numberless miniature shafts39 from the surface in a vain attempt to strike whisky. The company failed in about half an hour. Sile resumed his coat, and sat down on a log—which was one of his best holds, by the way. He looked at Al.; Al. looked at him; then both looked at us, and Sile remarked that, if one of the boys wanted to go out to the clearings and "borry" an axe, and come back in the morning, he thought the others could pick up wood enough to tough it out one night. Of course nobody could stay in an open winter camp without an axe.
It was my time to come to the front. I said: "You two just go at the camp; clean the snow off and slick up the inside. Put my shelter-cloth with Eli's, and cover the roof with them; and if you don't have just as good a fire tonight as you ever had, you can tie me to a beech40 and leave me here. Come on, Eli." And Eli did come on. And this is how we did it: We first felled a thrifty41 butternut tree ten inches in diameter, cut off three lengths at five feet each, and carried them to camp. These were [Pg 33] the back logs. Two stout stakes were driven at the back of the fire, and the logs, on top of each other, were laid firmly against the stakes. The latter were slanted42 a little back, and the largest log placed at bottom, the smallest on top, to prevent tipping forward. A couple of short, thick sticks were laid with the ends against the bottom log by way of fire dogs; a fore2 stick, five feet long and five inches in diameter; a well built pyramid of bark, knots and small logs completed the camp-fire, which sent a pleasant glow of warmth and heat to the furthest corner of the shanty. For "night-wood," we cut a dozen birch and ash poles from four to six inches across, trimmed them to the tips, and dragged them to camp. Then we denuded43 a dry hemlock of its bark by the aid of ten-foot poles, flattened44 at one end, and packed the bark to camp. We had a bright, cheery fire from the early evening until morning, and four tired hunters never slept more soundly.
Camp-Fire as it Should Be Made Camp-Fire as it Should Be Made
We stayed in that camp a week; and, though the weather was rough and cold, the little pocket-axes kept us well in firewood. We selected butternut for backlogs45, because, when green, it burns very slowly and lasts a long time. And we dragged our smaller wood to camp in lengths of twenty to thirty feet, because it was easier to lay them on the fire and burn them in two than to cut them shorter with light hatchets46. With a heavy axe, we should have cut them to lengths of five or six feet.
Our Luck
Our luck, I may mention, was good—as good as we desired. Not that four smallish deer are anything to brag47 about for a week's hunt by four men [Pg 34] and two dogs. I have known a pot-hunter to kill nine in a single day. But we had enough.
As it was, we were obliged to "double trip it" in order to get our deer and duffle down to "Babb's." And we gave away more than half our venison. For the rest, the illustrations show the camp-fire—all but the fire—as it should be made.
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1
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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6
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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13
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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14
browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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15
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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28
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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unearth
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| v.发掘，掘出，从洞中赶出 | |
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34
beavers
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| 海狸( beaver的名词复数 )； 海狸皮毛； 棕灰色； 拼命工作的人 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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40
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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41
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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42
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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43
denuded
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| adj.[医]变光的，裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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44
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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45
backlogs
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| 积压未办之事( backlog的名词复数 )； 没交付的订货； 备用； 备用物 | |
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46
hatchets
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| n.短柄小斧( hatchet的名词复数 )；恶毒攻击；诽谤；休战 | |
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brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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