The Ranger wrote:
> George Shirley > wrote in message
> . ..
>> The Ranger wrote:
>>> George Shirley > wrote in message
>>> . ..
>>> [snip]
>>>> My favorite was the 12-quart Dutch oven with
>>>> the recessed lid and the three feet on the bottom.
>>> [snip]
>>>
>>> Holy CROW, man! That thing must've weighed in
>>> at close to 40 to 45 lbs when you were cooking!
>>> Did you use a forklift to lift it out?
>>>
>> Nope, had a regular set up with the iron fire forks
>> and bar. Picture a long metal bar with a crank on the
>> end. Had a length of chain welded to it at the mid-point.
>> Turn the crank, pick up the pot. Generally didn't use it
>> though, two of us would pick up the pot with gloves on
>> and set it aside. when you're cooking for twenty hungry
>> men in their twenties to their forties you need either
>> big pots or lots of pots.
>
> We didn't invite the village for our forays into Da Wild! <EG>
> There were just too many that didn't enjoy the necessary
> physical activities associated with camping during that time in
> my life. (I'm now firmly entrenched in that status, too, where
> modern facilities like refrigeration and central heating or AC
> are minimal requirements for my extended enjoyment.)
>
>>> The "Can't imagine the pain behind packing in cast iron
>>> to a remote camp" Ranger
>> All of our deer camps in East Texas had roads leading to
>> them. This wasn't the wild west, just plain old Texas with
>> lots of of good roads and a few not-so-good roads. When
>> I used to hike into a remote camp I had an official Boy
>> Scout aluminum pot set that all fitted together with a
>> skillet
>> as the lid. Just gave it to my youngest grandson a few
>> weeks ago.
>
> We didn't drive in to our hunts (although it _would_ have been
> NICE!) Looking back, with those rosy spectacles firmly set upon
> my nose, I'm not sure I would've enjoyed the times as much as I
> did. There were a couple times when it would have simplified a
> couple mealtimes, though.
>
> The Ranger
>
>
As I rapidly approach the age of three score and ten I regard staying at
a Holiday Inn Express as "roughing it." In my youth, misspent as much of
it was, I loved camping rough. At eight or nine years of age I would
take my .22 rifle, a Winchester Model 1906 pump, whatever dawg I had at
the time, a little salt and pepper in a twist of wax paper, a dozen
strike anywhere matches in my Scout match safe, maybe a wedge of cheese,
and go forth into the wilderness around where we lived. I could go in
any direction for at least eight hours walk without seeing another
human. My folks were such that I could go out and stay for a couple of
days without worrying them very much and could pretty much live off the
land while having a good time.

As I got older I went farther and farther out into the woods and stayed
longer. Alas, once you become an adult, gather responsibilities to your
heart, you slow that type of life down or stop it all together. By the
late sixties the area where I grew up was rapidly becoming suburbia.
Instead of just two or three relatives living nearby we had whole damned
subdivisions building up. Then the interstate went through with the
hubbub that brought. When I drive through there today I don't recognize
anything. People I went to school with, and grew up with, that still
live there don't seem to miss what we once had.

Luckily my children, now in their late forties, got in on the tail end
of it and fished, hunted, and wandered the woods much as we did when I
was young. Their children are growing up as urbanites either in or near
very large cities. Those days are pretty much gone unless you live in a
state that is still somewhat undeveloped. Plus, I'm now too old to go
hunting adventure and try to live wild. The memories are still vivid and
good though. And my great grandchildren like to hear Granpa's stories of
long, long ago.