Some of the best memories from my mis-spent youth are those spent on camping trips in Montana
Jerry, Frankie, Pat, Al, Mel and I wasted lots of time—actually spent a lot of time—living away from the comfort of home (which was never too distant). We’d go to the area south of town and camp in the hills, out west toward the lake and spend a week-end, or drop by Washoe Park where there were lots of places to pitch camp along the creek, which varied in size from several feet to several yards wide. Lots of rapids, but no falls. We didn’t miss them.
One time we set up on a small island in the middle of the steam in weather that tended to get a little chilly in the morning.
Morning came early in those days, and this time was no different. None of us ever learned to get a decent night’s sleep on these adventures, and we always ended up going home droopy-eyed.
One particular morning, prior to sunup, as was usual, someone would start making noise and we’d all crawl out of our sleeping bags and drag our tired bodies over to the site of the campfire, which was just about dead.
The most popular breakfast in those days consisted of bacon and eggs, sometimes complimented with a side of hashers or baked spuds left over from the night before.
As you might imagine, an early Montana morning, a flowing body of water, darkness all mixed together with a good dose of October, tended to be might chilly, to say the least.
We re-built the fire and began to pull out our mess kits of frying pan, plate, cup, etc.
We all started to fry (there was no other means of cooking in our repertoire) and proceeded to prepare out meals—most important meal of the day, you know.
After the bacon and eggs were done, the meal enjoyed (as much as we could) we all started to clean the dishes and repack for the activities of the day.
All except Frankie. Try as he might, his bacon had formed a frozen lump during the night, and it wouldn’t melt and cook. The rest of us were finished and he was still trying to get started. Even moving to different sides of the fire didn’t help; he was really getting pretty ticked off. Started to swear, even.
Finally, Al gave him a flashlight to check the progress, as the day was still pretty dark. Frankie was desperate and willing to try anything. The shadowy light of the fire wasn’t the best to see into a frying pan.
As Frankie turned on the flashlight, it illuminated his bacon. But it wasn’t in the frying pan at all! It was on the ground where he had been sitting originally!
A quick look into the pan brought roars of laughter from everyone-- except Frankie. His language got lots dirtier as he realized why his breakfast wasn’t cooking the way he wanted.
There, in the pan, close to the edge was a piece of tree bark! Pine, if memory serves!
Frankie had been trying to fry “tree-bacon”, as it came to be called.
Till the last time I saw him in the late ‘50’s, he never lived it down.
It really WAS funny.
