Matt Hazard

It starts with the meet-up. An early morning tradition of arriving at your buddy’s place with a vehicle full of rods, tackle, and more beer than you know what to do with. A (semi)friendly game of rock/paper/scissors is played to see who drives, and you set out on the first part of the adventure – the road trip.

Arriving at the campsite with the song “You Outta Know” seared into your brain, you crack the first beer without even unloading the car. That other crap can wait; the first beer is much more important. It not only symbolizes kinship between friends, it also marks the first step towards a series of bad decisions. Laughter and a few high fives are exchanged before you crack another. Before long, you are five beverages deep, and you realize that you still have to set up the tent.

Now that the tent is haphazardly leaning against a tree, you begin to unload the car. Where’s your pillow you ask? You know exactly where it is. Back home on your bed, most likely beside the sleeping bag that you forgot to pack.

Realizing that you’re losing daylight and are in no condition to be out on the water, it’s decided that maybe dinner should be a priority. The fire in the tiny pit that you’re sanctioned to have roars as high as it’s allowed while you pull out two cans of pork and beans. Since one of you is the vegetarian, a single can of black beans will fill the void. Fish was supposed to be on the menu, but hey, adventure got in the way.

You lay down on the deflated air mattress inside the tent. You didn’t recall the manual mentioning anything about the Coleman pump accessory, but then again, you don’t read manuals. You are all that is man. That extra jacket you brought for no explainable reason will serve as a decent pillow, anyway.

Morning comes, and a few bottles of water and Advil pills later, you’re both set and ready to hit the water in search of food for lunch. At least, that was the plan. It’s supposed to be the plan, but your buddy is smiling at you as he holds two dripping beers pulled fresh out of the cooler. You roll your eyes as he hands you one while he lights up a cigarette. It’s only eight o’clock in the morning. He passes you the cigarette as he cracks his beer with a grin. Eyeing the car where your fishing gear is still in the backseat, you slump back down into an oversized camping chair in front of yesterday’s miniature fire. Sighing, you take a slow drag from the cigarette, even though you don’t even smoke.