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CHALLENGE: WHAT'S IN A PHOTO - THE STORIES
- Thread starter Meadow337
- Start date
Meadow337
Former Moderator
Now Is the Winter Of Our Discount Tent
(with apologies to the Bard)
Readers, friends, fellow survivalists, lend me your ears for I have a winter's tale to tell.
For many years we had been discussing a 'return to nature' as a family, then the economic disaster struck and what had been a potential lifestyle choice became a harsh reality. Our house had been repossessed and here we were trying make a go of the survivalist way of life by necessity rather than ideology. When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows and none were stranger than our fellow survivalists, but this is not a tale about them, but about the winter of our discount tent.
"To have or not to have", that is the question that ran through my mind as I studied the pile of discount tents. I was probably making much ado about nothing, as under the circumstances, a tent was essential. The tempest had blown in from the nor'east unexpectedly. Beware the Ides of March, for its winter storms are sharpest and this one was no exception. We had 3 tents set up, one for storage, one larger one for cooking, eating, reading etc and one smaller one (easier to keep warm with just body heat) for sleeping. The storm had swept in and the heavy fall of snow had crushed our storage tent under its weight. A new one was essential so here I was, perusing the pile of discounted tents, trying to find the best one i.e. the one that offered the most for the least. Finally I made my choice and worked my way through the crowd to the check out.
"You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely or at least cheaply over there," I said, to the man perusing the more expensive tents with their double flaps and inner lining. As expected he completely ignored me.
A short time later I arrived back at our campsite with the new discount tent and set about setting it up and moving our stores of food and other essentials into it. Once it was up my wife suggested that we needed to ceremonially welcome the new tent with a libation, by which she meant we needed a warming shot of Tequila after working in the cold for so long. Two or three shots later, or perhaps it was more, and I was taken with a moment of poetic fancy. Going over to the old tent I raised my glass and intoned, "What 's gone and what 's past help should be past grief, so let us not mourn the passing of this tent." I turned to the new tent and poured out a tot on the ground before it and said, "Then let not winter's ragged hand deface this abode, let it last long past winter's end. Let us not discount this discounted tent for having cost next to nothing, we have little to lose. We have heard the chimes of frost ringing in the breeze at midnight. Let us climb out of the jaws of death winter would set before us. The miserable have no other medicine but only hope so let us hope that this winter of our discounted tent be made summer by hope. A tent of few dollars is the best tent. Long may it last."
After this speech, the tent did indeed survive all the hazards of that winter, which forever after was known as the 'Winter of our Discount Tent' although my wife argues that it should be better known as the 'Winter of Tequila Prose with a side of Frozen Toes.'
THE END
Meadow337
Former Moderator
The Winter of Our Discounted Tent
Here it lies, our discount tent,
the death of warmth and cheer,
our bodies in still repose inside
come summer they will find
us here undisturbed
pay heed to our discount tent
and let this a warning be
for cheap is not better
frost and ice do not care
for your parsimony
And in years to come
passersby will note
that this is the spot
the winter of our discount tent
became death inglorious
Here it lies, our discount tent,
the death of warmth and cheer,
our bodies in still repose inside
come summer they will find
us here undisturbed
pay heed to our discount tent
and let this a warning be
for cheap is not better
frost and ice do not care
for your parsimony
And in years to come
passersby will note
that this is the spot
the winter of our discount tent
became death inglorious
Gita V.Reddy
Active Member
Great way to start! Loved the story and the witty lines. I may have to give this exercise a pass for a couple of weeks but will definitely come back.
Actually, I think it would be a nice idea to continue the old thread. If we don't, it is bound to die out and new members will not get to read those stories. I don't think any one would read the older stories instead of looking at the current picture. If that was the case we would have to start a new thread every week!Post your stories here so that we can look at the current picture without being tempted to read the stories that have already been written
Meadow337
Former Moderator
Well I wasn't thinking of this replacing the write a story in a week thread but acting in conjunction with it. It is after all a rather different concept I was hoping more people might join in with this, as I thought it was easier to do. Even just writing a funny descriptive caption for the photo is very popular on other forums.
Thanks I read more Shakespeare yesterday than I have in years (and remembered why I don't particularly like him BUT the concept appealed to me as the title is a pun on 'Now is the winter of our discontent, made summer by the sun of this Prince of York' .... so I wanted to incorporate other well (or perhaps lesser known) quotes from Shakespeare into the story. I have highlighted all the (mis)quotes below.
Now Is the Winter Of Our Discount Tent
(with apologies to the Bard)
Readers, friends, fellow survivalists, lend me your ears for I have a winter's tale to tell.
For many years we had been discussing a 'return to nature' as a family, then the economic disaster struck and what had been a potential lifestyle choice became a harsh reality. Our house had been repossessed and here we were trying make a go of the survivalist way of life by necessity rather than ideology. When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows and none were stranger than our fellow survivalists, but this is not a tale about them, but about the winter of our discount tent.
"To have or not to have", that is the question that ran through my mind as I studied the pile of discount tents. I was probably making much ado about nothing, as under the circumstances, a tent was essential. The tempest had blown in from the nor'east unexpectedly. Beware the Ides of March, for its winter storms are sharpest and this one was no exception. We had 3 tents set up, one for storage, one larger one for cooking, eating, reading etc and one smaller one (easier to keep warm with just body heat) for sleeping. The storm had swept in and the heavy fall of snow had crushed our storage tent under its weight. A new one was essential so here I was, perusing the pile of discounted tents, trying to find the best one i.e. the one that offered the most for the least. Finally I made my choice and worked my way through the crowd to the check out.
"You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely or at least cheaply over there," I said, to the man perusing the more expensive tents with their double flaps and inner lining. As expected he completely ignored me.
A short time later I arrived back at our campsite with the new discount tent and set about setting it up and moving our stores of food and other essentials into it. Once it was up my wife suggested that we needed to ceremonially welcome the new tent with a libation, by which she meant we needed a warming shot of Tequila after working in the cold for so long. Two or three shots later, or perhaps it was more, and I was taken with a moment of poetic fancy. Going over to the old tent I raised my glass and intoned, "What 's gone and what 's past help should be past grief, so let us not mourn the passing of this tent." I turned to the new tent and poured out a tot on the ground before it and said, "Then let not winter's ragged hand deface this abode, let it last long past winter's end. Let us not discount this discounted tent for having cost next to nothing, we have little to lose. We have heard the chimes of frost ringing in the breeze at midnight. Let us climb out of the jaws of death winter would set before us. The miserable have no other medicine but only hope so let us hope that this winter of our discounted tent be made summer by hope. A tent of few dollars is the best tent. Long may it last."
After this speech, the tent did indeed survive all the hazards of that winter, which forever after was known as the 'Winter of our Discount Tent' although my wife argues that it should be better known as the 'Winter of Tequila Prose with a side of Frozen Toes.'
but acting in conjunction with it. It is after all a rather different concept I was hoping more people might join in with this, as I thought it was easier to do. Even just writing a funny descriptive caption for the photo is very popular on other forums. Thanks
I read more Shakespeare yesterday than I have in years (and remembered why I don't particularly like him BUT the concept appealed to me as the title is a pun on 'Now is the winter of our discontent, made summer by the sun of this Prince of York' .... so I wanted to incorporate other well (or perhaps lesser known) quotes from Shakespeare into the story. I have highlighted all the (mis)quotes below. Now Is the Winter Of Our Discount Tent
(with apologies to the Bard)
Readers, friends, fellow survivalists, lend me your ears for I have a winter's tale to tell.
For many years we had been discussing a 'return to nature' as a family, then the economic disaster struck and what had been a potential lifestyle choice became a harsh reality. Our house had been repossessed and here we were trying make a go of the survivalist way of life by necessity rather than ideology. When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows and none were stranger than our fellow survivalists, but this is not a tale about them, but about the winter of our discount tent.
"To have or not to have", that is the question that ran through my mind as I studied the pile of discount tents. I was probably making much ado about nothing, as under the circumstances, a tent was essential. The tempest had blown in from the nor'east unexpectedly. Beware the Ides of March, for its winter storms are sharpest and this one was no exception. We had 3 tents set up, one for storage, one larger one for cooking, eating, reading etc and one smaller one (easier to keep warm with just body heat) for sleeping. The storm had swept in and the heavy fall of snow had crushed our storage tent under its weight. A new one was essential so here I was, perusing the pile of discounted tents, trying to find the best one i.e. the one that offered the most for the least. Finally I made my choice and worked my way through the crowd to the check out.
"You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely or at least cheaply over there," I said, to the man perusing the more expensive tents with their double flaps and inner lining. As expected he completely ignored me.
A short time later I arrived back at our campsite with the new discount tent and set about setting it up and moving our stores of food and other essentials into it. Once it was up my wife suggested that we needed to ceremonially welcome the new tent with a libation, by which she meant we needed a warming shot of Tequila after working in the cold for so long. Two or three shots later, or perhaps it was more, and I was taken with a moment of poetic fancy. Going over to the old tent I raised my glass and intoned, "What 's gone and what 's past help should be past grief, so let us not mourn the passing of this tent." I turned to the new tent and poured out a tot on the ground before it and said, "Then let not winter's ragged hand deface this abode, let it last long past winter's end. Let us not discount this discounted tent for having cost next to nothing, we have little to lose. We have heard the chimes of frost ringing in the breeze at midnight. Let us climb out of the jaws of death winter would set before us. The miserable have no other medicine but only hope so let us hope that this winter of our discounted tent be made summer by hope. A tent of few dollars is the best tent. Long may it last."
After this speech, the tent did indeed survive all the hazards of that winter, which forever after was known as the 'Winter of our Discount Tent' although my wife argues that it should be better known as the 'Winter of Tequila Prose with a side of Frozen Toes.'
Occlith
Well-Known Member
Caídalenta is the highest mountain in the Sierra Padre range. Climbers have dubbed its crumbling summit the ‘House of Cards’. Close to the summit are the desiccated remains of a polydactyl domestic short-haired cat. No one has explained why a cat would want to climb Caídalenta.
“This is beautiful – no, more than that – awe inspiring. AWESOME.” Karina corrected herself as she set her backpack on the pine duff that layered the ground.
“Much better views than the site we stayed last night.”
“Well I don’t want to say I told you so…,” he started.
“So you won’t,” she ended.
Karina and Henri smiled at each other then turned to take in the view. They could see Mount Caídalenta, white-topped with snow as it ever was year-round.
“Won’t it be cold being so near the foot of the mountain?”
“Our campsite is on the leeward side so we won’t be exposed to the freezing winds from its peak,” Henri explained.
After they had dined on rehydrated lasagna and snacked on gorp, the couple sat in front of their tent sipping filtered spring water. They ruminated in comfortable silence.
He was a writer and liked to spend his vacations traveling and especially liked hiking and camping. He wrote articles for magazines and sold the occasional short story. Inspired by his imagination and creativity, she tentatively began to explore her own creative side, writing light verse.
She had money and that was part of his attraction to her. When he could not find a publisher (after a flurry of rejection letters), she paid the vanity press that printed out his first self-published novel.
It is said that a writer’s first novel is often biographical but Henri never stated that it was or was not so. Love, hatred, betrayals, all immortalized in print. The novel was reviewed on a well-known online book and reader’s forum. The publicity spread; the book was a minor success.
Henri had written a draft for his next novel but he was restless and wanted to get out of the house before starting the serious task of writing. As usual he brought his tablet to record any inspiring thoughts. A tablet paid for by Karina as was all the camping equipment, except for the tent.
The tipi style tent was bought at a highly discounted price from a camping supply warehouse. Henri claimed that some great story ideas came to him when he slept in it so the talisman was brought along for each camp outing.
As they lay in the tent he spoke of the book in progress, the general plot and described the major characters. After which she mentioned that she had tried her hand at writing a couple of short stories and would like to read them to him when they returned home.
“Honey, I’m the writer here.” Then he switched to a playful tone, “Couldn’t you stick to poetry? You were always good at limericks. Go ahead, recite that one about Nantucket.”
“Ah, well,” she said, “If I want support for my efforts then I will ask the blessing of Mount Caídalenta.”
“What?” he laughed.
“Legend says that the mountain will bless those with open hearts and good intent and will take away blessings from those of ill will.”
“In that case, I ask to be blessed with an international best seller.”
He was writing in his home office then stopped as a small shadow crept close. He could not move and it sat before him on his desk. He struck the shadow. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his hand as if stabbed.
She sat in front of her computer. She could not write; she wanted to but was blocked. So she sat. A dark shape moved towards her. It jumped upon the table and faced her. She thought it a small animal, a cat maybe but it seemed to have large paws. It leaned forward from where it sat and touched her forehead with its nose.
The wind gusted so fiercely that it awoke them. The wind blew from the direction of the mountain and chilled them. The tent was not made to insulate against such low temperatures. They put on the extra clothing they had in their packs and tried to stay warm. After ten minutes the winds stopped.
The sunlight upon their faces awoke them but it took them a few minutes to realize that the tent was not above them. The tent was rent -- red scraps of fabric were in the fire pit, in the bushes, and the hanging from the lowest branches of the pines. Henri noticed a cut on his finger but could not remember how it had happened.
They decided that it was time to return to the trail head. Everything was packed including the remains of the discount tent.
As they walked the bits and pieces of ideas in Karina’s mind had reassembled to become stories. Stories she would now be able to put into writing. If she could not sell them, she could self-publish stories for her own enjoyment. She remembered the dream and the creature with large paws.
“Henri, do you remember a news article about a dead cat found on the mountain’s summit? The cat had multiple toes on each foot. Polydactylism, it’s called.”
“Erm?” He had been thinking about the novel but was now doubtful on one of the plot points and it bothered him. He also thought of the tent. “Yeah, I heard about that cat. What of it?”
“Oh nothing, I just thought of it now. Those multi-toed cats are also called Hemingway cats; after the author.”
Henri didn’t reply. The cut on his finger was starting to throb.
“This is beautiful – no, more than that – awe inspiring. AWESOME.” Karina corrected herself as she set her backpack on the pine duff that layered the ground.
“Much better views than the site we stayed last night.”
“Well I don’t want to say I told you so…,” he started.
“So you won’t,” she ended.
Karina and Henri smiled at each other then turned to take in the view. They could see Mount Caídalenta, white-topped with snow as it ever was year-round.
“Won’t it be cold being so near the foot of the mountain?”
“Our campsite is on the leeward side so we won’t be exposed to the freezing winds from its peak,” Henri explained.
After they had dined on rehydrated lasagna and snacked on gorp, the couple sat in front of their tent sipping filtered spring water. They ruminated in comfortable silence.
He was a writer and liked to spend his vacations traveling and especially liked hiking and camping. He wrote articles for magazines and sold the occasional short story. Inspired by his imagination and creativity, she tentatively began to explore her own creative side, writing light verse.
She had money and that was part of his attraction to her. When he could not find a publisher (after a flurry of rejection letters), she paid the vanity press that printed out his first self-published novel.
It is said that a writer’s first novel is often biographical but Henri never stated that it was or was not so. Love, hatred, betrayals, all immortalized in print. The novel was reviewed on a well-known online book and reader’s forum. The publicity spread; the book was a minor success.
Henri had written a draft for his next novel but he was restless and wanted to get out of the house before starting the serious task of writing. As usual he brought his tablet to record any inspiring thoughts. A tablet paid for by Karina as was all the camping equipment, except for the tent.
The tipi style tent was bought at a highly discounted price from a camping supply warehouse. Henri claimed that some great story ideas came to him when he slept in it so the talisman was brought along for each camp outing.
As they lay in the tent he spoke of the book in progress, the general plot and described the major characters. After which she mentioned that she had tried her hand at writing a couple of short stories and would like to read them to him when they returned home.
“Honey, I’m the writer here.” Then he switched to a playful tone, “Couldn’t you stick to poetry? You were always good at limericks. Go ahead, recite that one about Nantucket.”
“Ah, well,” she said, “If I want support for my efforts then I will ask the blessing of Mount Caídalenta.”
“What?” he laughed.
“Legend says that the mountain will bless those with open hearts and good intent and will take away blessings from those of ill will.”
“In that case, I ask to be blessed with an international best seller.”
He was writing in his home office then stopped as a small shadow crept close. He could not move and it sat before him on his desk. He struck the shadow. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his hand as if stabbed.
She sat in front of her computer. She could not write; she wanted to but was blocked. So she sat. A dark shape moved towards her. It jumped upon the table and faced her. She thought it a small animal, a cat maybe but it seemed to have large paws. It leaned forward from where it sat and touched her forehead with its nose.
The wind gusted so fiercely that it awoke them. The wind blew from the direction of the mountain and chilled them. The tent was not made to insulate against such low temperatures. They put on the extra clothing they had in their packs and tried to stay warm. After ten minutes the winds stopped.
The sunlight upon their faces awoke them but it took them a few minutes to realize that the tent was not above them. The tent was rent -- red scraps of fabric were in the fire pit, in the bushes, and the hanging from the lowest branches of the pines. Henri noticed a cut on his finger but could not remember how it had happened.
They decided that it was time to return to the trail head. Everything was packed including the remains of the discount tent.
As they walked the bits and pieces of ideas in Karina’s mind had reassembled to become stories. Stories she would now be able to put into writing. If she could not sell them, she could self-publish stories for her own enjoyment. She remembered the dream and the creature with large paws.
“Henri, do you remember a news article about a dead cat found on the mountain’s summit? The cat had multiple toes on each foot. Polydactylism, it’s called.”
“Erm?” He had been thinking about the novel but was now doubtful on one of the plot points and it bothered him. He also thought of the tent. “Yeah, I heard about that cat. What of it?”
“Oh nothing, I just thought of it now. Those multi-toed cats are also called Hemingway cats; after the author.”
Henri didn’t reply. The cut on his finger was starting to throb.
Sparhawk
Active Member
Finally finished. Struggled a bit, so not the bestest ever but it doesn't really matter. I finished!
The Winter Of Our Discount Tent
Now I could hear the sounds of frantic digging from somewhere by my feet as Bill dug me out from the snow that had killed my tent. As I wait for enough of the snow to be cleared away from what used to be the entrance of my tent, for me to be able to get out of the tent, I wonder how I had gotten into this situation in the first place. I realised that it all must have started two weeks ago when my friend Bill, (the same friend that is busy digging me out of my tent), came by to visit. During that visit he talked about the camping trip that he had planned for the summer but had not been able to go on because of work, 'I was going to go up to a camp-site up at the top of Mount Wilfred. The view is supposed to be great but I guess that going camping up there is just going to have to wait till next year.'
It was at this moment that I remembered that I had read something in the newspaper about the camp-site that Bill was talking about so I said to him, 'I think I remember there being something in the paper about it. Give me a moment to find it...' It took me a lot longer than a moment to find the paper (I had forgotten where I had left it) and then at least another five minutes to find the article, which wasn't where I thought it would be either. Finally I found it, 'Ah here it is, listen to this, "Due to a growing trend for people to go camping in the winter, the camp-site on Mount Wilfred will be kept open for the first time this winter. People will have to book camp-sites at least a week before their trip..." then there is just some stuff about the site itself. Now what do you think about that Bill? I cant imagine who would be crazy enough to want to go camping in the middle of the winter in the snow.'
'I think that it might be fun, an adventure and all that.' said Bill.
'Then you are mad my friend!'We had a good laugh and I thought that that was the end of that, but a week later Bill called me up and said that he was going to go and camp with some friends of ours and that he thought that it might be fun if I came along. At first I was just going to say no but then I thought to myself, why not, you never know it might just be fun. Anyway I had never been camping even though Bill tried to get me to go camping with him every year. So I agreed to go along. We made plans to meet up with our other friends at the adventure store the next day to buy everything that we were going to need.
That night it snowed heavily and our friends decided that it was turning out to be far too much of an adventure for them, so that just left me and Bill. It was still snowing when I arrived at the store, Bill was already there and was waiting for me at the entrance. The first bit of the shopping was fine and soon most of the things on the list were checked off. Then we went to get the tents, and that is when we learned that they did not keep tents in stock during the winter. We were told that people did not go camping in the winter, but if we really wanted too we were welcome to buy some of their discount tents.
After a long discussion about what tents were better and which one's had this and which one's had that, we finally settled on two tents. One for each of us, mostly because we could not agree on which tent to buy. When we were all set and ready to go all we needed to do was wait for the end of the week and the weekend on which we were going to go camping.When the weekend rolled around we packed the car and stopped at the shops on the way to buy some food for the weekend.
All went well on the drive to the camp-site and although we found ourselves in a battle with the tents (and the tents were winning) in the end it was all sorted out and we soon had everything set up properly. That first night we found out why our tents were being sold at a discount. I was trapped under what was left of my tent after it had collapsed under the snow and once Bill had dug me out I learned that he had very nearly frozen to death. Not only had he nearly been frozen solid he also found out that there was a reason why you wore gloves when staying for any length of time out in the cold, (he had frost bite on some of his fingers). At this point we both decided that it was best if we abandoned ship and headed home, but things were not going to be that easy.
First we had to find some gloves for Bill, (I ended up giving him my spare socks to slip over his hands because it seemed that he had not brought any gloves or spare socks), then there was the excitement of dealing with the tents. It took the two of us three hours just to pack up the two tents. By that time we were both even colder and I had slipped on some ice and had sprained my ankle, but we won the second battle with the tents and we were all set to head down the mountain. Four hours later we were sitting in a room in the hospital, Bill with his fingers taped up and my ankle bandaged. I looked over to Bill and said, 'Well you were right.' Bill turned and looked at me and said,
'Right about what?'
'It was an adventure and somewhat fun.'Bill looked at me and then said,
'You must be crazy, that was the worst camping trip ever.'
The Winter Of Our Discount Tent
It was mid-winter and I woke up to find myself lying flat on my back with the roof of my tent inches from my nose. After yelling for help I hear the slightly muffled and sleepy voice of my friend Bill asking what the matter was, I realised that he must still be in his own tent and unaware that my tent had collapsed under the weight of the snow that had fallen during the night, 'Well it would seem that I have been snowed in!' Bill mumbled and then I heard him say,'Hold on I will dig you out!'Now I could hear the sounds of frantic digging from somewhere by my feet as Bill dug me out from the snow that had killed my tent. As I wait for enough of the snow to be cleared away from what used to be the entrance of my tent, for me to be able to get out of the tent, I wonder how I had gotten into this situation in the first place. I realised that it all must have started two weeks ago when my friend Bill, (the same friend that is busy digging me out of my tent), came by to visit. During that visit he talked about the camping trip that he had planned for the summer but had not been able to go on because of work, 'I was going to go up to a camp-site up at the top of Mount Wilfred. The view is supposed to be great but I guess that going camping up there is just going to have to wait till next year.'
It was at this moment that I remembered that I had read something in the newspaper about the camp-site that Bill was talking about so I said to him, 'I think I remember there being something in the paper about it. Give me a moment to find it...' It took me a lot longer than a moment to find the paper (I had forgotten where I had left it) and then at least another five minutes to find the article, which wasn't where I thought it would be either. Finally I found it, 'Ah here it is, listen to this, "Due to a growing trend for people to go camping in the winter, the camp-site on Mount Wilfred will be kept open for the first time this winter. People will have to book camp-sites at least a week before their trip..." then there is just some stuff about the site itself. Now what do you think about that Bill? I cant imagine who would be crazy enough to want to go camping in the middle of the winter in the snow.'
'I think that it might be fun, an adventure and all that.' said Bill.
'Then you are mad my friend!'We had a good laugh and I thought that that was the end of that, but a week later Bill called me up and said that he was going to go and camp with some friends of ours and that he thought that it might be fun if I came along. At first I was just going to say no but then I thought to myself, why not, you never know it might just be fun. Anyway I had never been camping even though Bill tried to get me to go camping with him every year. So I agreed to go along. We made plans to meet up with our other friends at the adventure store the next day to buy everything that we were going to need.
That night it snowed heavily and our friends decided that it was turning out to be far too much of an adventure for them, so that just left me and Bill. It was still snowing when I arrived at the store, Bill was already there and was waiting for me at the entrance. The first bit of the shopping was fine and soon most of the things on the list were checked off. Then we went to get the tents, and that is when we learned that they did not keep tents in stock during the winter. We were told that people did not go camping in the winter, but if we really wanted too we were welcome to buy some of their discount tents.
After a long discussion about what tents were better and which one's had this and which one's had that, we finally settled on two tents. One for each of us, mostly because we could not agree on which tent to buy. When we were all set and ready to go all we needed to do was wait for the end of the week and the weekend on which we were going to go camping.When the weekend rolled around we packed the car and stopped at the shops on the way to buy some food for the weekend.
All went well on the drive to the camp-site and although we found ourselves in a battle with the tents (and the tents were winning) in the end it was all sorted out and we soon had everything set up properly. That first night we found out why our tents were being sold at a discount. I was trapped under what was left of my tent after it had collapsed under the snow and once Bill had dug me out I learned that he had very nearly frozen to death. Not only had he nearly been frozen solid he also found out that there was a reason why you wore gloves when staying for any length of time out in the cold, (he had frost bite on some of his fingers). At this point we both decided that it was best if we abandoned ship and headed home, but things were not going to be that easy.
First we had to find some gloves for Bill, (I ended up giving him my spare socks to slip over his hands because it seemed that he had not brought any gloves or spare socks), then there was the excitement of dealing with the tents. It took the two of us three hours just to pack up the two tents. By that time we were both even colder and I had slipped on some ice and had sprained my ankle, but we won the second battle with the tents and we were all set to head down the mountain. Four hours later we were sitting in a room in the hospital, Bill with his fingers taped up and my ankle bandaged. I looked over to Bill and said, 'Well you were right.' Bill turned and looked at me and said,
'Right about what?'
'It was an adventure and somewhat fun.'Bill looked at me and then said,
'You must be crazy, that was the worst camping trip ever.'
The End
Gita V.Reddy
Active Member
Very cool story Occlith!!
And I think we need a new picture.
Pleeease wait for me! I'll be able to find some time in a day to write something!
Occlith
Well-Known Member
Thank you. I'll choose a picture after Gita has posted a story.
Meadow337
Former Moderator
Cool!
Meadow337
Former Moderator
The Boats Go Boom.
The defenders on the wall watched nervously as the Viking Longboats approached. They had heard the rumours of villages torched, raped, plundered and pillaged. None of them wanted their village to be next. Their Shaman had spent days in his tent cooking up weird recipes with noxious smells until he had emerged with a small clay pot in his hand and declared "This is it!".
The Shaman and his apprentices had spent a week feverishly making hundreds of the clay pots. He had carefully coached the warriors in how to light the long thread emerging from the pot and to throw them as fast and as far as possible with their catapults.
'This will save us." he had declared. The warriors were sceptical but in typical fashion the Shaman had merely mysteriously tapped his nose and said, "Wait and see".
Now the Vikings were here and the warriors did as they had been ordered. They lit the pots and flung them at the approaching Vikings.
Nothing happened.
"You have killed us all, you fool!" the warriors turned on the Shaman. Unperturbed he gazed out at at the approaching ships.
"Just wait," he replied calmly. "Throw again. Throw them all,' he urged. Despite their grave doubts the warriors lit and threw, lit and threw. Hundreds of smoking clay pots flew through the air but still nothing happened. The Vikings drew closer and closer.
Suddenly there was a massive gout of flame and a wall of noise washed over the watching defenders, deafening them. They could only watch in amazement as the Viking ships sank before their astonished eyes as the Shaman gibbered and capered in silence.
Slowly the sounds came back as their battered ears recovered and they could hear the Shaman shouting, "I thought it would work! I thought it would work!"
Gita V.Reddy
Active Member
Thanks. Liked yours too. I've said it before and I'm saying it again, what I love about this exercise is the way we come up with totally different stories.
Occlith
Well-Known Member
Flavor Berg
A play in One Act
Scene: A small boat somewhere.
Gene: (side profile then faces audience) This is Gene Greenbaum, correspondent from the Global Report. I am reporting live from a boat piloted by a research team.
It is winter in our hemisphere so the sight of an iceberg is not that unusual. Striped icebergs have been seen and studied in the past but what makes this different is the location. This one is only 40 miles offshore from the northern-most section of the state of California.
This could be one of the most important indicators of radical global temperature changes known.
In the boat with me are various experts in in many fields, including the world’s foremost expert on icebergs, Snorri Ingstadt. Mister Ingstadt –
Snorri: Please, call me Snorri.
Gene: What have you and your team found so far, Snorri?
Snorri: We have taken many pictures and also readings of many kinds. Plenty of samples were chipped from different areas of the berg. We have also taken core samples and have already sent them away to be tested.
There is only one test remaining. (dramatic pause)
Gene: Yes, the one test that I have been waiting for. Please tell us our viewers about this test.
Snorri: I have the capability of being able to find the origins of an iceberg by its taste. By this method I have been able to detect what glacier it originated from thereby knowing what part of the world it came from. Of course, we will know everything after the tests but I can tell you in just a minute or so.
Gene: Heh-heh. Are you going to lick the iceberg like an ice cream?
Snorri: Ha ha. No, I don’t want to get my tongue stuck. I have already chipped a small piece of the blue section of the ice. Here goes.
Gene: (in undertone) Mister Ingstadt has just placed a small sample of the iceberg in his mouth. As far as we know, he is the only person with this ability to find out about an iceberg by its flavor.
(glances at wrist watch) Okay, it’s been about fifteen seconds. Now Snorri is rolling the piece around his mouth to extract its glacial intensity. Now his face is showing that he may have detected something. Uh-oh.
Snorri: (spitting) Blech. Ptui. Gak.
Gene: I’m guessing that the iceberg sample you just tasted has not been like other samples you have tried in the past.
Snorri: No! It wasn’t! This was just terrible. Let me finish rinsing out my mouth. (squeezes bottled water into mouth, swishes it, then spits over the side of boat) Ptui! That’s better.
Gene: I take it that the glacier this originated from is polluted?
Snorri: Oh, this was no glacier. This berg is frozen Alaskan bilge water with coloring supplied by toilet bowl cleaner. Sani-Flush brand to be exact. (to crew) Take us back to the ship, I need to brush and floss, ASAP!
Gene: Thank you, Snorri. (faces audience) This is Gene Greenbaum for the Global Report.
A play in One Act
Scene: A small boat somewhere.
Gene: (side profile then faces audience) This is Gene Greenbaum, correspondent from the Global Report. I am reporting live from a boat piloted by a research team.
It is winter in our hemisphere so the sight of an iceberg is not that unusual. Striped icebergs have been seen and studied in the past but what makes this different is the location. This one is only 40 miles offshore from the northern-most section of the state of California.
This could be one of the most important indicators of radical global temperature changes known.
In the boat with me are various experts in in many fields, including the world’s foremost expert on icebergs, Snorri Ingstadt. Mister Ingstadt –
Snorri: Please, call me Snorri.
Gene: What have you and your team found so far, Snorri?
Snorri: We have taken many pictures and also readings of many kinds. Plenty of samples were chipped from different areas of the berg. We have also taken core samples and have already sent them away to be tested.
There is only one test remaining. (dramatic pause)
Gene: Yes, the one test that I have been waiting for. Please tell us our viewers about this test.
Snorri: I have the capability of being able to find the origins of an iceberg by its taste. By this method I have been able to detect what glacier it originated from thereby knowing what part of the world it came from. Of course, we will know everything after the tests but I can tell you in just a minute or so.
Gene: Heh-heh. Are you going to lick the iceberg like an ice cream?
Snorri: Ha ha. No, I don’t want to get my tongue stuck. I have already chipped a small piece of the blue section of the ice. Here goes.
Gene: (in undertone) Mister Ingstadt has just placed a small sample of the iceberg in his mouth. As far as we know, he is the only person with this ability to find out about an iceberg by its flavor.
(glances at wrist watch) Okay, it’s been about fifteen seconds. Now Snorri is rolling the piece around his mouth to extract its glacial intensity. Now his face is showing that he may have detected something. Uh-oh.
Snorri: (spitting) Blech. Ptui. Gak.
Gene: I’m guessing that the iceberg sample you just tasted has not been like other samples you have tried in the past.
Snorri: No! It wasn’t! This was just terrible. Let me finish rinsing out my mouth. (squeezes bottled water into mouth, swishes it, then spits over the side of boat) Ptui! That’s better.
Gene: I take it that the glacier this originated from is polluted?
Snorri: Oh, this was no glacier. This berg is frozen Alaskan bilge water with coloring supplied by toilet bowl cleaner. Sani-Flush brand to be exact. (to crew) Take us back to the ship, I need to brush and floss, ASAP!
Gene: Thank you, Snorri. (faces audience) This is Gene Greenbaum for the Global Report.