Big
By Pat McManus
July, 2012
Perhaps the most overused word in the vocabulary of outdoorsmen is big. For example, you ask how a fishing trip went. The angler replies, “Oh, I caught several small ones but mostly they were big.” The listener must evaluate the information. “Big” in this context depends on the size of the small ones. If the small ones were six-inchers, the big ones might only have been 10-inchers, scarcely what we would normally refer to as big fish. I point this out not in the way of criticism but in the interest of precision. On the other hand, I would not wish to deprive any fisherman of his use of the vague. A reputation often depends on it, and I certainly don’t intend to put the reputation of any outdoorsman in jeopardy. What else do we have?
The use of big in reference to any outdoor activity, other than fishing, of course, can actually be dangerous. I remember one time as youngsters when we were camped out on Schweitzer Creek. It was a tiny stream tumbling out of a narrow mountain canyon a couple of miles from where we lived. An hour’s hike up the canyon took us to one of the world’s great camping spots. Any kid who grows up without knowing such a campsite is seriously deprived. If I had time, I would get a Congressperson I know to pass a law against such an occurrence. (He no doubt would undertake this chore for me, but I don’t know if he’s been released yet.)
The unique feature of this campsite is that it required no tent. Sometimes we took a tent anyway, but only because we wanted to. What’s the point of having a tent if you don’t use it? The reason a tent wasn’t required was that a high cliff rose up from the ground and slanted out over half or more of the rocky beach on which we camped. If it rained, there was something about our camping trips that triggered rain, we could build our campfire under the cliff, cook and eat our means there, and spread out our sleeping bags to sleep high and dry.
He little stream tumbled by the edge of the beach, and for a while at least, we could catch our breakfast right out of the pool that had been formed and stocked with fish perhaps a thousand years ago just for our benefit. An endless supply of firewood lay right at the edge of our camp. It was not quite under the cliff, so sometimes we had to put up with the discomfort of getting damp in the rain while we chopped a day’s supply of firewood from a big cedar tree that had fallen across the creek.
In the ten years or so we camped at the site, our gathering of firewood id not make a dent in the tree. The last time I saw it, after ten years of its feeding our campfires, the cedar looked as it might have been gnawed on a bit by a discriminating beaver and then abandoned.
Now what was I writing about? Oh, yes, "big". I did mention a big cedar, but of course you have no idea how big the big cedar was. If I said the cedar was as wide as a sidewalk and you could cross to the other side of the creek on it without any danger of falling in, then you would grasp the concept of “big,” in this case at least. So here we had not only an infinite supply of firewood, but easy access to the other side of the creek provided by a single tree. What more could be asked of “big?”
One extremely dark night—actually, because of the depth and narrowness of the canyon, all nights were extremely dark—we suddenly heard an enormous racket over by the big cedar.
“What is it?” I whispered to Norm.
“I don’t know,” he whispered back, “but it’s big!”
Vern nudged me in the back. “Can Norm see what’s making that racket?”
“I think so,” I whispered to him. “He says that it’s big!”
Kenny nudged Vern. “What’s making that racket?”
“Norm says it’s big!”
“Big? It’s gotta be a bear!”
Vern nudged me. “Kenny says I’s a bear!”
“Cripes,” I said. I nudged Norm. “It’s a bear!”
“Oh no!” He hissed, which is an expression very hard to hiss, unless of course, you have a big bear ten feet away from you.
It was a matter of considerable comfort to me that I had Norm between me and the bear. Norm at the time was a little fat kid and, I suspected, would provide the bear with a rather tasty hors d’oeuvre. By the time the bear was done snacking on Norm I could be at the tiptop of the nearest pine.
Suddenly, the racket stopped. This could be a bad sign! Fortunately, for the rest of the night, not a single sound came from the big cedar. All four of us could attest to that fact, because none of us got any more sleep.
The next morning we discovered the racket had been made by a chipmunk that gnawed his way into and through a bag of potato chips. Not only did one of the smallest of woodland creatures deprive us of a night’s sleep, undercover of big, but he also ate one of our basic camp foods! You lose your potato chips on an outing and you’re as good as done for. It was a lucky thing for that chipmunk he didn’t show his smug face around our camp again. He would have been in big trouble!
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Bun reminisces on July Fourths of Yore in Old-Fashioned Fun.
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