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COLUMN BY MATT PRANGER |
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The Barge, The Tent and S'more at Camp Pranger
posted 08/01/01
Camping with my folks, my five siblings, a cousin or two or four and a few other friends was about as convenient as driving through central Seattle during a WTO demonstration. My parents -- better known as The Growler and Matt's Mom -- believed in traditional Great Plains camping. They would pack more stuff into our car and pick-up truck than settlers would load on a wagon heading from Jefferson City, MO to Walla Walla, WA. The family Barge -- a flatboat six feet wide by 18 feet long -- would even be filled to the gunwales. Fear flickered in other campers' eyes when the Pranger Pack howled into camp at mid-day. The howling -- usually from tormented younger siblings -- would subside to a clamor as we set up camp. The clamor turned into groans as all hands were needed to hoist and secure the TENT. Calling this temporary structure a tent is misleading. It was not your olive green, nylon umbrella type designed for an average family. No, the Prangers (pronounced prANGERS) were anything but average and our tent was very probably unique. I've never seen another like it anyway. I'm not sure how The Growler hooked up with Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey but one day he came home with the Tent, which was ample enough for our family and then some. The 12-person Tent with its orange sides and yellow and white striped roof must have had more canvas than all of the Lady Washington's sails. After considerable coordinating, cursing and muscle straining, the Tent would be raised. Of course the older siblings wished it had been razed and would scatter from embarrassment. This left the middle children -- always the considerate and well-adjusted ones -- to help launch the Barge. First we'd warn people on the bank of the coming rise in the lake's water level. Then we'd maneuver Barge down a gravel boat ramp. Most ramps were designed with a 90-degree dogleg turn in the middle, making a hassle-free launch as likely as a hole-in-one on a par 5. There was too much trailer and boat to turn. No problem: We unhooked the trailer and pushed it and the boat down to the water. And since the rear wheels of the truck would be submerged and stuck before the boat would float free, we'd wade out to our chests and lift the front of the boat. Wet and whipped, we'd head back to camp. By now Matt's Mom would be cooking dinner on the old Coleman stove. Earlier, cooking over a campfire had seemed more probable. The stove would burst into semi-controllable flames just before Growler blew a fuse. The stove spared from anchor duty, would have Matt's Mom grilling slices of Spam in cast-iron skillets. The one forgotten item -- the first aid kit -- would've been handy after she mangled her finger while attempting to open the keyless Spam can with a screwdriver or some other blunt tool. She would've used needle-nose pliers -- the perfect tool for twirling off the can's band -- but it would have been in the boat, which would've been blown from the bank and would be tugging the tree it was tied to into the water before both floated free in a brisk wind. Eventually the commotion would quiet down and the Pack would be gathered around the campfire. The younger ones would be performing pyrotechnics with their marshmallows while the others munched on s'mores. Of course the Pranger children knew better than to say "I want s'more." Too much Hershey's chocolate, puffed sugar and starchy graham crackers would prevent sleep before the Creature of the Dark filled the campground with his horrific call. Unlike home, The Growler's snoring could not be muffled by a door and walls. Neighboring campers would watch the sides of Tent to see if it sucked in and billowed out like the cartoons. Even raccoons and the boldest and most persistent of campground vermin -- the Professional Camper who's been to every campground west of the Mississippi and is going to tell you about each one of them -- kept clear of the Camp Pranger. By the second day the campground -- now primarily Camp Pranger and a deaf couple -- would settle into a somewhat predictable rhythm: Runs to grocery store and emergency room would become less frequent; Barge's motor would conk out, limiting live kid-overboard drills; and children would be less cranky after learning to dodge the Creature of the Dark by taking long naps in the afternoon. Usually half the time of setting up camp was required to break it. (Note: We always paid for any damage.) All of the Pack would be ready for the comforts of home. Since The Growler preferred camping at primitive campgrounds (Outhouses and No Showers or Electricity), on top of the list was soaking away bug bites and Nature's crust in a long hot bath. Over a couple of decades the Growler warmed to modern conveniences, conicidentally about the time his youngest child broke his own trail. The Growler and Matt's Mom now camp in a camper equipped with a propane stove and heater, toilet and shower. The unsinkable Barge -- it really was stolen during one outing and the thieves' attempt to scuttle it failed -- has a new owner or is 10,000 Coke cans. Instead, The Growler uses a much more compact vessel. The Circus Tent, Barge and inconveniences of early Camp Pranger will be missed when the family camps again, but there will be plenty of commotion. There now are more grandchildren than children. And even if the grandchildren are quieter than their parents, and there is no orange, white and yellow canvas quarters brightening up the campground like a carnival sideshow, I'll still find Camp Pranger. I'll just follow the aroma of sizzling Spam -- the Lite version plopped out of an easy-open can. |
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