Manly Men Are We

Anyone who has a brother knows that there is a certain rivalry that exists between male siblings. My brother, Danimal, and I are no different. I love the guy but it seems that whatever we do always seems to end up in some kind of odd challenge. (Remind me sometime to tell you about the time we dared each other to try and drink ALL the tequila in Cabo.) One day as we were swapping camping tales we got onto a kick about who could “rough it” better. I was convinced that my ten years as a boy scout better prepared me for primitive life than his four years as an ROTC lieutenant. He of course disagreed. Naturally this could only be settled in the manliest of ways. A survivalist camping excursion.

On the day of the challenge we piled into his jeep with the barest of provisions. Each of us trying to out macho the other one by taking less. Survival kits, some rope, sleeping bags and that was about it. If it were possible, we probably would have insisted that our fishing gear consist only of bent safety pins for hooks and line made from our own pubic hair. Of course matches were completely forbidden. How can you have a proper survival camp with such trappings of civilization?

Once we escaped the snarl of rush hour traffic and began our climb into the mountains the one blue sky overhead begun to take an ominous turn, dark black clouds filtered in as the air took on that all too familiar smell of an oncoming storm. Arriving at our campsite, we set about quickly to make our shelters for what looked to be a damp night ahead. I chose a high spot under a dead fall tree. My brother chose a low spot between 2 large hills to build his shelter. No sooner had we finished out makeshift shelters when the rain started to fall. A light sprinkle at first, “No problem” we said as we puffed out our manly chests. No mere sprinkle would send us manly men slinking back to civilization.

After much cussing and bruised knuckles, we never actually managed to coax a fire using my old boy scout flint. And to think I once did it in order to earn a merit badge? Too dark now to properly “forage” for dinner, we both dug into our survival kits for dinner. a meal of hard tack crackers and an old power bar later we decided to call it a night. The rain now fell harder, we had some cover from the mighty trees that surrounded our small encampment, but soon even their great branches would not stop the downpour. I think by this point we were looking to see who would blink first. We both really would have much preferred to be home and dry but by god we were not going to let the other one off the hook.

Sometime in the wee early hours of the night the rain turned from shower to a downpour. Sheets of water fell from an angry sky as the soft ground turned into a sliding mess of mud. I watched and silently gloated as the lee my brother chose for his shelter began to fill with water. By dawn it would be a full blown creek. He setup camp in a flood run off zone.

When the watery dawn finally came we were a mess. My brother’s shelter, now underwater, looked more like a damn built by beavers on crack. My little lean to, having long since succumbed to the eroding hillside, lay in a pile of sticks at the base of the hill. Danimal and I looked even worse. Wet and covered in mud we resembled those cavemen from Quest for Fire. As he tried in vain to wring out the water from his sleeping bag I set about getting warm and fed. "Fuck this" I swore as I opened my kit and dug deep, deep into the bottom where I kept my “if all hell breaks loose” supplies. Items I never hoped I would have to use. The first item? A road flare. Walking up to the pile of deadfall that was once my shelter, I struck the flare and shoved it deep into the mass of sticks and tinder. It was not long before the ramshackle pile of limbs was converted into a rather large fire.

Once the heat problem was fixed now to address the hunger issue, digging deeper I pulled out the one item I never, ever hoped I would have to use. This was my last ditch item, but by god I was not going to back down and let him win this. So with a deep breath of resignation I pulled out...a can of spam. The blue and yellow can was faded and dented from years of rattling around the bottom of the kit. Looking around I found a relatively straight stick and after a few minutes with my knife I fashioned it into a primitive roasting spit. Spearing the greasy meat product with the now sharpened forked end, I thrust it into the fire in the vain hope that once warmed the quivering mass might not taste as foul. Granted at this point I think I would have probably eaten my own shoes, but that is beside the point.

As I pulled the dreaded meat cube out of the flame I made a remarkable discovery. Spam is flammable. Very flamible. Amazed and delighted by the site of this new discovery I turned to show my brother, who was now also standing next to the fire drying out.
“Dude check it out, I got a pork torch!”
Just as I turned and presented my flaming discovery to Danimal, we were surprised by a loud, wet *SPLORCH*.
Little known fact, spam is also explosive when set ablaze.

Now wet, muddy, and covered in bits of smoking pork by product I smiled, shrugged and said, “Ya know I think there is an IHOP at the base of the mountain?”