Two years ago was my first ever camping experience within a cabin. Before that, I relished staying at home and on occasion, I would take a hike with my father. I did not feel as though the outdoors was a place that truly captivated me. As a result of these prior thoughts, I became anxious at the thought of traveling to a campground nearby Raystown Lake. The week leading up to it, I could only think about the trip. When I ate, I thought camping. When I relaxed, or make the attempt to do so, I thought camping. It also did not help that while I conducted research on Raystown Lake, I discovered various cases of people drowning there. The fact that my father was traveling along did help to mollify my concerns to a small degree, but they still remained intact. You see, my father is always engrossed with the outdoors, particularly camping. He has a plethora of hiking backpacks, canteens, knives, shoes, etc. This weekend trip to Raystown was not only my first camping trip taken with my father but also my first true test to see if I could endure the wild.
“It’s time to take off and go meet my friend,” said my father as I tiredly ate breakfast at the dinner table. It was a Friday and we had already packed all of our belongings into bags the night before.
I responded rather unenthusiastically by muttering the words, “Already, it’s only 7:00 a.m.?”
“Well, after we meet with Larry it’s going to be a two-hour drive down and we need some time to get set up,” said my father. I agreed with…