Bigfoot Big Weekend Update Part I: Friday
Aug. 11th, 2003 12:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mousmeAs I noted in my previous entry, I was gone for the entire weekend for the Mega War Game at Bigfoot Paintball which took place on Saturday. Like last year, I will be updating this in several instalments, as it is already quite late and I have to work tomorrow.
On Friday at 11:20 precisely I left my cats to their own devices here in my apartment and set out to fetch![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
firewillow to whom I was giving a lift to Rawdon (the town nearest fearsclave's shack, where we were to spend the weekend). I realised I'd forgotten the paper with my directions on it, so I circled back, and ended up at firewillow's at noon on the nose.
At her suggestion we stopped by the Walmart near her place so that she could get an air mattress for her tent, where she and her husband would be sleeping that night, due to there being too many people to fit comfortably in the shack. I found a sleeping bag for $20 taxes included, and threw a 20-litre jug of water into the mix as the shack has no running water to speak of and the pump has been broken for the past two summers now IIRC.
The drive up took about an hour, although the last twenty minutes were spent in silence, asfirewillow has the endearing habit of falling asleep in any car that she's not driving. Because we were starving we stopped in Rawdon at a greasy-spoon/fast food joint called "Patates À Gogo" (which means nothing at all, except seems to imply that they serve potatoes speedily) to eat. We met up with fearsclave who as it turned out was the "asshole who tailgated me all the way from the exit into Rawdon" ;) and his Spousal Unit Suzanne and their very hyper West Highland Terrier Angus MacLeod.
Weinhaled our food grabbed a bite to eat, mocked fearsclave and teased his dog, shot the breeze with Suzanne, then piled into the cars once more to get to the Shack, which was maybe another ten minutes' drive.
firewillow and I were treated to a rare sight, however, which by itself would have made my weekend. As we drove along the dirt road that led to the cottage, a gorgeous Peregrine Falcon glided across the road about six feet in front of us, turning slightly in mid-flight to give us a full view of its wingspan and tail from the back, and then swooped into the woods and posed artistically on an everwood branch. It was absolutely breathtaking.
For those of you who have never seen El Shack (as it has been named for a while by its owner for reasons which even he has forgotten), it's a very sweet, rustic affair. It is an authentic log cabin that rests about ten to fifteen feet away from the edge of a small but very picturesque private lake, and has the added advantage of a screened-in porch so that people can sit and chat in the fresh air without being eaten alive by insects.
El Shack is not winterised, which is a shame as I bet that lake is spectacular in winter, and likewise has no running water as I mentioned previously. It comprises a small living-room and four even smaller bedrooms as well as a small but very functional kitchen, and is decorated with as much of Suzanne's taste as the previous tenants' decrepit old furniture (from what I've understood). Neither the walls nor the floor seem to be acquainted with the notion of right angles, and groan and creak in a friendly way when you try to creep past sleeping people in the middle of the night. Save the outer doors, there are only curtains to partition the rooms, including the teeny tiny room that houses the surprisingly large composting toilet.
Actually, I feel compelled now to make a side note about the aforementioned composting toilet. I had never heard of such a contraption before I went to El Shack for the first time last year (for Bigfoot, as it happens), and I was extremely impressed and not a little intimidated at first by this formidable piece of equipment. It stands about three feet off the ground, and is to all extents and purposes a large box with a hole and a toilet seat in the top. However, it is not a glorified outhouse. Okay, it sort of is, but it's more complicated than that. ;) Basically, inside the large box is a drum of sorts, in which there is already a fair amount of peat soil (fearsclave, feel free to jump in any time to clarify what I'm saying or correcting it if I'm wrong) and a specialised type of chemical or what have to you that helps break down waste into useful compost. When you've finished using the toilet, you simply chuck in a small shovelful of peat soil, then crank a handle that rotates the drum until it gives off an unmistakeable clunk. Not something I'd recommend for the city, but a very ingenious invention for the country where there is no running water or water is at a premium (say, in the case of a very small sceptic tank).
Suzanne has managed to pull the place together with small touches, such as the addition of blankets (most of which she knitted herself), table cloths, dishes, framed photographs, lamps, etc. The windows aren't very large, but the glow of the lamps makes the entire place seem very cozy instead of claustrophobic. The living-room also houses two beds that double as sofas and a comfy chair, so that people can sit in there and talk as well as on the porch. Many a good midnight conversation has taken place in that room.
As I mentioned in my last post,fearsclave had promised to run a Mage game for firewillow and myself, and he was as good as his word. The game didn't last very long, as it was more of a transitional session than anything else, and it was punctuated a few times by Angus bouncing around, barking, and generally making a nuisance of himself, but it was still lots of fun. Suzanne had bought two large baskets of fresh Québec raspberries, which we polished off in short order while gaming.
A short trip back into Rawdon at around 6pm allowed us to procure enough food for that evening and a bit for the next day as well: we bought bread and paté and pop and beer and wine (andfirewillow bought Smirnoff Ice, for which she has a peculiar liking), as well as cheese and salami and various other important foodstuffs that would allow us to not go hungry, like Mae West cakes and Lady Fingers and The World's Best Carrot Cake™ made by a local bakery.
On the road back to El Shack we were treated to another bird sighting: hopping along the road (at almost the exact same spot we'd seen the falcon) was the biggest darned crow I'd ever seen. If I'd been standing beside it it would have easily reached my knee. It was so large, in fact, that it only took to flight at the very last moment when the car approached it, and flapped ponderously for about five feet to settle by the side of the road. We were all duly impressed ("That thing could fly off with Angus if it had a mind to!").
Dinner was a delicious and very fun affair. We giggled, we laughed, we tormentedfearsclave and watched in appreciative silence as a loon swam by and later as a heron swooped gracefully over the lake right by the cabin.
The first of the other members of our paintball team to arrive were Marc (or the Scary Little Maniac as he's known to most of us) and Dave,rotagar's brother, who'd bummed a lift with the SLM. By then firewillow was sewing up some of the more abused portions of fearsclave's webgear (which, for the uninitiated, is basically a large harness-type thing military people wear that enables you to carry a whole pile of crap clipped, strapped and stuck to various portions of your torso, and very useful for when you're running around and need to keep your arms and hands free for other activities). Naturally, there was more mocking of fearsclave who apparently couldn't sew his way out of a wet paper bag, and then we proceeded to the usual exchange of paintballing war stories, which are always lots of fun when you were involved with them. We also took the opportunity to check all our paintball markers (the "guns," although theoreticallly you're not really supposed to call them that).
firewillow's husband fishstalker arrived around ten thirty, bringing along two more people, Maggy and her b/f Jean-François, who were both completely new to paintball. The ratio of newbies to "veterans" was fairly even: Dave, firewillow, and fishstalker had played once before each, and Maggy and J-F were complete paintball virgins. So we had beer and Smirnoff ice and exchanged more war stories and the computer people talked shop, fearsclave broke out the whisky, and firewillow bruised the heels of both hands manually pumping air into the air mattress she'd bought for the tent she was to share with her husband.
Finally I called it a night at just past midnight, and crashed in the room I usually occupy while at the shack, and slept blissfully until 5am Saturday morning, when four or five alarm clocks all went off at precisely the same time in an ear-splitting racket.
Stay tuned for the next thrilling issue. ;)
On Friday at 11:20 precisely I left my cats to their own devices here in my apartment and set out to fetch
firewillow to whom I was giving a lift to Rawdon (the town nearest fearsclave's shack, where we were to spend the weekend). I realised I'd forgotten the paper with my directions on it, so I circled back, and ended up at firewillow's at noon on the nose.At her suggestion we stopped by the Walmart near her place so that she could get an air mattress for her tent, where she and her husband would be sleeping that night, due to there being too many people to fit comfortably in the shack. I found a sleeping bag for $20 taxes included, and threw a 20-litre jug of water into the mix as the shack has no running water to speak of and the pump has been broken for the past two summers now IIRC.
The drive up took about an hour, although the last twenty minutes were spent in silence, as
firewillow has the endearing habit of falling asleep in any car that she's not driving. Because we were starving we stopped in Rawdon at a greasy-spoon/fast food joint called "Patates À Gogo" (which means nothing at all, except seems to imply that they serve potatoes speedily) to eat. We met up with fearsclave who as it turned out was the "asshole who tailgated me all the way from the exit into Rawdon" ;) and his Spousal Unit Suzanne and their very hyper West Highland Terrier Angus MacLeod.We
fearsclave and teased his dog, shot the breeze with Suzanne, then piled into the cars once more to get to the Shack, which was maybe another ten minutes' drive.firewillow and I were treated to a rare sight, however, which by itself would have made my weekend. As we drove along the dirt road that led to the cottage, a gorgeous Peregrine Falcon glided across the road about six feet in front of us, turning slightly in mid-flight to give us a full view of its wingspan and tail from the back, and then swooped into the woods and posed artistically on an everwood branch. It was absolutely breathtaking.For those of you who have never seen El Shack (as it has been named for a while by its owner for reasons which even he has forgotten), it's a very sweet, rustic affair. It is an authentic log cabin that rests about ten to fifteen feet away from the edge of a small but very picturesque private lake, and has the added advantage of a screened-in porch so that people can sit and chat in the fresh air without being eaten alive by insects.
El Shack is not winterised, which is a shame as I bet that lake is spectacular in winter, and likewise has no running water as I mentioned previously. It comprises a small living-room and four even smaller bedrooms as well as a small but very functional kitchen, and is decorated with as much of Suzanne's taste as the previous tenants' decrepit old furniture (from what I've understood). Neither the walls nor the floor seem to be acquainted with the notion of right angles, and groan and creak in a friendly way when you try to creep past sleeping people in the middle of the night. Save the outer doors, there are only curtains to partition the rooms, including the teeny tiny room that houses the surprisingly large composting toilet.
Actually, I feel compelled now to make a side note about the aforementioned composting toilet. I had never heard of such a contraption before I went to El Shack for the first time last year (for Bigfoot, as it happens), and I was extremely impressed and not a little intimidated at first by this formidable piece of equipment. It stands about three feet off the ground, and is to all extents and purposes a large box with a hole and a toilet seat in the top. However, it is not a glorified outhouse. Okay, it sort of is, but it's more complicated than that. ;) Basically, inside the large box is a drum of sorts, in which there is already a fair amount of peat soil (
fearsclave, feel free to jump in any time to clarify what I'm saying or correcting it if I'm wrong) and a specialised type of chemical or what have to you that helps break down waste into useful compost. When you've finished using the toilet, you simply chuck in a small shovelful of peat soil, then crank a handle that rotates the drum until it gives off an unmistakeable clunk. Not something I'd recommend for the city, but a very ingenious invention for the country where there is no running water or water is at a premium (say, in the case of a very small sceptic tank).Suzanne has managed to pull the place together with small touches, such as the addition of blankets (most of which she knitted herself), table cloths, dishes, framed photographs, lamps, etc. The windows aren't very large, but the glow of the lamps makes the entire place seem very cozy instead of claustrophobic. The living-room also houses two beds that double as sofas and a comfy chair, so that people can sit in there and talk as well as on the porch. Many a good midnight conversation has taken place in that room.
As I mentioned in my last post,
fearsclave had promised to run a Mage game for firewillow and myself, and he was as good as his word. The game didn't last very long, as it was more of a transitional session than anything else, and it was punctuated a few times by Angus bouncing around, barking, and generally making a nuisance of himself, but it was still lots of fun. Suzanne had bought two large baskets of fresh Québec raspberries, which we polished off in short order while gaming.A short trip back into Rawdon at around 6pm allowed us to procure enough food for that evening and a bit for the next day as well: we bought bread and paté and pop and beer and wine (and
firewillow bought Smirnoff Ice, for which she has a peculiar liking), as well as cheese and salami and various other important foodstuffs that would allow us to not go hungry, like Mae West cakes and Lady Fingers and The World's Best Carrot Cake™ made by a local bakery.On the road back to El Shack we were treated to another bird sighting: hopping along the road (at almost the exact same spot we'd seen the falcon) was the biggest darned crow I'd ever seen. If I'd been standing beside it it would have easily reached my knee. It was so large, in fact, that it only took to flight at the very last moment when the car approached it, and flapped ponderously for about five feet to settle by the side of the road. We were all duly impressed ("That thing could fly off with Angus if it had a mind to!").
Dinner was a delicious and very fun affair. We giggled, we laughed, we tormented
fearsclave and watched in appreciative silence as a loon swam by and later as a heron swooped gracefully over the lake right by the cabin.The first of the other members of our paintball team to arrive were Marc (or the Scary Little Maniac as he's known to most of us) and Dave,
rotagar's brother, who'd bummed a lift with the SLM. By then firewillow was sewing up some of the more abused portions of fearsclave's webgear (which, for the uninitiated, is basically a large harness-type thing military people wear that enables you to carry a whole pile of crap clipped, strapped and stuck to various portions of your torso, and very useful for when you're running around and need to keep your arms and hands free for other activities). Naturally, there was more mocking of fearsclave who apparently couldn't sew his way out of a wet paper bag, and then we proceeded to the usual exchange of paintballing war stories, which are always lots of fun when you were involved with them. We also took the opportunity to check all our paintball markers (the "guns," although theoreticallly you're not really supposed to call them that).firewillow's husband fishstalker arrived around ten thirty, bringing along two more people, Maggy and her b/f Jean-François, who were both completely new to paintball. The ratio of newbies to "veterans" was fairly even: Dave, firewillow, and fishstalker had played once before each, and Maggy and J-F were complete paintball virgins. So we had beer and Smirnoff ice and exchanged more war stories and the computer people talked shop, fearsclave broke out the whisky, and firewillow bruised the heels of both hands manually pumping air into the air mattress she'd bought for the tent she was to share with her husband.Finally I called it a night at just past midnight, and crashed in the room I usually occupy while at the shack, and slept blissfully until 5am Saturday morning, when four or five alarm clocks all went off at precisely the same time in an ear-splitting racket.
Stay tuned for the next thrilling issue. ;)
