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Frozen Eggs and Hard Lessons on the Trail

We crawled out of the tent and started a fire. The goals were simple: warm up and cook some breakfast. The chattering of our teeth, despite the long johns and layers of clothes on top of them, wasn’t helping as we tried to endure the freezing cold of the mountains around us.

We broke the ice in the bucket and poured enough water to fill a pan for grits. When the frying pan was hot, we added frozen bacon. We had planned on scrambled eggs, but when we cracked the shells, all we found inside were egg ice cubes. So we simply dropped those into the skillet.

When a bunch of Boy Scouts hit the trail, it’s amazing what the food sometimes looks like after we cook it. Most of the time it’s edible, but the appearance could sometimes sway one’s appetite. That morning we started out feeling as if we were already in a freezer. I can only remember one other time being quite so cold—on a camping trip in the northern part of the U.S.

After breakfast we cleaned up, broke camp, and moved on. Two adult leaders and about a dozen scouts with backpacks headed toward our rendezvous point.

Those monthly camping trips were about far more than getting from one campsite to the next. Their real purpose was to strengthen our survival skills and put into practice what we were learning as we worked through various merit badges. Our leaders were good fathers and great teachers who invested in us. Our lack of skills felt like a constant uphill battle, yet as we climbed the ranks we grew more proficient and eventually could advise and coach those coming up behind us. My late father was one of those adult leaders. He always made the best effort to pass on his skills.

Of course, we still dealt with the same dynamics we faced in everyday life. There were the cool guys and the not-so-cool ones, and we sometimes found our share of hazing among the ranks. I was never one of the cool guys, but I excelled at earning merit badges and rose quickly through the ranks. I learned fast, and after the initial hazing the incidents became fewer and further between.

One year at summer camp, however, the bullying grew heavy. It was one of the few times in my life that I truly lost my cool. Pushed so far that all I could do was lash out, I picked up a three-inch-thick wooden tent pole about six feet long and started swinging it at the boys who were harassing me. In retrospect it was stupid and could have ended very badly. Thankfully I don’t remember landing any blows. Had I connected, I could have killed someone or broken a bone. The one thing it accomplished was that they saw I was no longer going to take it, and they left me alone after that.

I learned a valuable lesson that day about dealing with anger in the face of bullying—a lesson that has stayed with me the rest of my life. I am a much better person for the experience. The cold mornings, the hard climbs, and even the painful moments all taught the same truth: when life sends you an opportunity, seize the lessons it offers and build skills that will help you again and again.

Read more of Randall’s writings in his books in our Store.

Ripples run

Ripples float endlessly across the lake as a large frog croaks in the distance.

The line running from the end of my pole drifts slightly with the light current pulling away to my left as the red and white float
moves with the ripples.

I had spent much of my time working thus far in my first fishing adventure to bring the hook with the worm slid upon it into the
drink.

My childhood adventures of fishing with my dad, especially early in the learning process reflected the scenarios of the episode of “The
Andy Griffith Show” where “Howard Sprague” went fishing with Andy and the rest of the guys only to spend more time with his hook
in a tree or his own pants than in the water.

In retrospect, my dad’s patience as he taught me the process and answered the questions the younger version of myself asked was
amazing. Why do fish eat worms? Why do we have to put the hook through the worms, can’t we just throw them out and let the fish
eat them? Why do we have a float on the line?

Why do I do better throwing the line behind me rather than in front of me?

These are just a few that I recollect in the process.

My father was someone much like myself – outdoor sports were not really his thing – but he felt it was important that I learned them,
that we shared the experiences that he had shared with his father and uncles. There are lessons that are shared in the midst of the
teaching that settle deeper beyond the immediate task at hand.

The bonds created between a father and son through positive joint experiences; respect for the world around us and the other people and
creatures who share it with us; and an understanding about what is expected of you when you are a man.

I am so glad that he did take this time with me, oftentimes, it seemed strategically placed around tough points in my life when I
needed the input, the lesson, the hope, the insights that he wanted to share.

Establishing the groundwork at a younger age, when the years passed allowed us a smoother path.

When as an older teen, I wished to push the bounds of our relationship by asserting my own authority on my life, we were able
to work through those tense moments when I was spreading my wings, and make them teachable moments in the life experience. They added to
our relationship rather than pushing us farther from each other.

Perhaps my father’s early passing set my prospective of our relationship forever in the nostalgia of my youth. We never really
got to the good stuff of the best friend relationship that should have happened as time went on because he was still having to spend
time being my dad. Not that such a role would have ever ended, but as I was able to take on more of the responsibilities for my life after
college, I would have hoped that the lessons could have taken on a different form.

It is in this time of the year, that my father’s memory seems closest to me, because we shared so much in the summer months. I am
thankful that God sent me to be in family where I had two parents who were present and participating. So many youths do not, and as the
news of the world seeps into my life, I can’t help but wonder if a few more participating, present mothers and fathers would have
prevented many of the headlines which plaque our country.

Are you present in your children’s lives? Are you teaching them the lessons needed? Do they respect other people, creatures, and
cultures? If they don’t, may I suggest a fishing trip. There is something iconic and idyllic about those opening TV shots of Andy and
Opie Taylor walking with fishing poles in hand along a country road. Funny how so many long for the simplicity portrayed. We may never
have it, but it never hurts to take the walk.

“So, take down your fishin’ pole.”