So I got back from camping yesterday. Wow. That was awesome. Two great days in the wilderness bracketed by modest road trips of significant awesomeness. This looks to become an annual trip, although we might should procure more car space next time.

Note that “might should” there. Camping makes me talk more Southern, it seems.

Anyway, Western Michigan was never so beautiful until this weekend. Bringing people up to see it for the first time (and not having been there much recently) really helped me recognize how great it is up there. Sunset on the Lake, seen from the dunes, was gorgeous, and we saw it twice, as well as getting in a fair amount of dune hiking in too, as well as the occasional dune ambush, dune tackling, and dune jumping-off-and-running-down-the-side. It was fun; I only bounced once, and Megan found my glasses without much trouble (I could not, as I was blind).

Megan was particularly amazing, as we would all have starved to death without her, and especially her suicidal disregard of fire. She did, however, escape with all her fingers mostly intact, and only actually set herself on fire once. And as further commendation to her bravery, she was willing to brave the screeching pig-dogs of the night (No really, we have no idea what it was, but it sounded like a cross between a dog and a dying pig, I swear, except imagine creepier than that). However, her insistence on carrying her shoes whilst walking straight into pointy dune grass bordered on foolhardy.

Not that I mean disparage the suicidal tendencies of our less experienced campers, of course. Amanda displayed a real enthusiasm for hypothermia, being the only one to swim in Lake Ergang completely of her own free will, although she did get two more to join here by various methods. I was gradually persuaded and dragged; Megan was tackled. It really wasn’t that cold once you got used to it. And by “used to it” I mean “completely numb.”

And I myself, as the would-be fireworks expert of the group, gave a brief seminar on “Things to Do with Bottle Rockets.” And no one was killed, even. And we produced some gigantic fabulous effects. And roman candles with questionable quality control.

And there was Mao, and fires, and a fish (caught by Zach). And we all made it back in one piece, by way of a borrowed Corolla and a 73-song camping playlist compiled by myself. And despite it being the wrong month on both counts, three more people are fans of the Decemberists. And rightly so:

“July, July, July! Never seemed so strange…”

-Pants full of sand, head full of crazy.
No really, there’s still sand in my goddamn pockets.