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Dearest Mother,
If I don't write again, something from the lake or maybe from the woods ate me. Either that or Lindsay dumped my body in the lake. You should look there first.
Just kidding.
You know that Camp Grenada song? I think it really fits this experience. It's raining, I have no decent phone service, and we need firewood, or something to burn. But then again, it's raining, so we can't really burn anything anyways.
We've already managed to have a bag of Doritos spilt in the tent and lost several brave weenies to our pathetic attempt at a fire.
Pray that Summer eats no cheese and we aren't gassed out. Here ends day one.
Morning of Day Two - Satan has a plastic minion, and it's name is "TARP." Another camper loaned us a tarp to cover our tent for further rainproofing, but inexperienced tarp tyer-uppers and lots of wind don't blend well. I spent half the night listending to the tarp flap in the wind, ready for takeoff.
Let me tell you, getting up at 1 in the morning to tie down a flying tarp in mud and rain is lots of fun.
-pause for dramatic and sarcastic effect-
Waking up and think the monsoon of the previous night has washed you out into the lake is also fun. (Seriously, the sound, the calm, it was all very convincing. I pictured the scene from LaLohan's version of "The Parant Trap" where the evil replacement woman is floating in the middle of the lake on an inflatible mattress at this point.)
We managed to start a fire and cook breakfast.
On to HICKING! (Except I think I meant HIKING. I blame TARP and it's evil sleep-sucking powers).
Don't freak out or anything, but Lindsay fell down the cliff and broke her ankle.
I kid.
But Summer did fall on her rear and is getting a nasty bruise.
And that's where it ends.
