Day 3: Lions and Tigers and Koreans! oh..what? Camping: The Most 'Memorable' Moments.

Its Day 3 and already i'm feelin' the effects of PDS happenin'

Its not that I don't want to post anything...(I promise) its just I tend to think too much about the topic I want to talk about that my brain explodes.

So I took a walk..mostly to clear my thoughts and the effects of cheap rice wine, purple potatoes, and homemade fries from the night before. I'm currently stranded in the woods of Pennsylvania..and before a chocolate labrador chased me down the train tracks; the run, trees and the river reminded me of my days camping every weekend when I was younger.

My parents wanted to 'get away' from the city life, so we would go camping. Camping would be something that they did every once in awhile, but since they enjoyed it so much, it was something we would do every weekend.

My camping life went through four stages. Tent, Trailer, Trailer w/o wheels, River House.

The first, two stages happened in Roscoe, NY. It was my favorite place to be out of the four, and I have more memories there. Mostly good

..some totally traumatizing.

When I was around 9 my parents rented a spot next to a creek, at a small campsite in Roscoe, NY. It was a three hour drive from Staten Island to Roscoe every friday night.
I remember the first day there very well. It was a cold October day. My dad was setting up our tents..which took a long time to, as the directions were hard to understand. He told me that I have to collect branches for the fire. Which I happily did..except when this happened.

It was horrible. I have a immense fear of anything with more than four legs. (Mutant mammals excluded) I refused to go get any more branches, thinking that that the trees were mad at me for taking their limbs and sent out their centipede hoard to attack me. My dad was then forced to get the branches after spending a long time putting up the tents.

As night was falling, so was the temperature. So my dad decided it was a good time to make a fire..but..it wouldn't go so well. For a number of reasons.

First, most of the branches he gathered were young. They refused to burn

and the dry ones burned quickly.

Second, it was windy..not agonizingly windy, but enough to snuff whatever flames we had out.

Third. It was getting dark fast. And we only had a flashlight to work with and it was a cheapass flashlight that kept flickering. Clearly, we were prepared.

After many tries, my dad gave up and we went to sleep in our cold tents.

For a couple of weekends we slept in tents, and my dad got better at making fires.I thought it was fun, but my parents didn't like the tents so much, so they decided to get a cheap, used trailer and set it there.

As an Architecture student, I couldn't resist drawing this accurate floorplan

It smelled like mold, looked like mold with all the green decor/carpeting. Hell...it probably had mold.

I refused to sleep in it. I wanted my tent and sleeping bag back. My dad said no at first, but my 9 year old self kept whining and sulking til he gave in..but before he set up my tent, he took my shoulder and said:

"Don't let the bears eat you"

I was scared, but I was too stubborn to listen. Bears? psh, old man, puhh-lease..set up my tent.

When night came, my parents went into the trailer and ominously said good-night and gave me a flashlight and I crawled into my tent.

Things were fine for awhile. I fell asleep soundly. But then..I heard a noise outside.

I ignored it..maybe it was my drunk neighbors, then I heard footsteps..

Then..silence..the calm before the storm.Then I saw the top of my tent move as if something was clawing at my tent.



The was the final straw.I screamed and the thing ran away. I tried to turn on the flashlight but it was the cheap-ass one.

When I felt that the coast was clear I came out (like a awkward caterpillar) and banged on the trailer door.

I was crying hysterically.

...My parents..just smiled.

Asian parents rarely show any sympathy for their kids when they know they were right in the first place.

(After that, I slept in the trailer on the mold couch. I wasn't until many years later when I found out it was my dad who was the supposed 'bear')

My favorite place to hangout was by the river. I would catch crawfish, baby trout, and tadpoles. My dad would catch frogs for me since I was still a noob in my catching abilities. When I did catch a frog, I was so happy. I made a frog friend, his name was Kermit. I proudly introduced Kermit to my mom.

She said she would watch Kermit while I went out exploring. When I came back to ask where Kermit went..

She said she let him go because he wanted to go back home. I was sad, but I didn't want Kermit to miss his home. After exploring for awhile, I was hungry. I saw that there was a pot on the stove. I wanted to see what she was making..when I opened the lid..

There was Kermit. Gutted, chopped and boiling in some hot soup. I could tell it was kermit because I saw his head. Another victim of my dad's cooking experiments.
I was devasted, disgusted, traumatized..etc, I ran out screaming

Note: We were the only Asians in this campsite...heck, we were probably the only Asians within a 100 mile radius.

I lost my appetite...and my innocence.

Our neighbors weren't probably too surprised. Asian parents must eat their childrens pets all the time. After that, I refused to bring my parents any more things that I've caught. I thought the all of the animals were in danger of my Korean parents, because they would find them and eat them when they had a chance.

I really liked coming here in the early october and mid-spring seasons. Summertime was...nice...but with nice comes a price..there were too many bugs. At night, they would swarm near our trailer light next to the door. I was extremely careful to not let any of those things in.

except one night..


I know moths don't speak..but I was so terrified..I could hear this thing taunting me..in Spanish


This mo'fo made the next hour or whatever mins of my life hell. I don't mind moths too much, they're small enough for me to kill...but this thing... was as big as my hand..its body was thick like big baby carrot, might as well have been an adult carrot. When that thing flew, it sounded like a helicopter.

I couldn't kill it like a normal bug, ever since my teacher killed a spider and exclaimed:

"oh, its like squishing a grape!"

my hands would get a numb, tingly feeling.

I imagined killing this moth would go something like this.

Everything went into slow motion that night. My parents were out somewhere and I couldn't call them to kill it for me. So I ran into the bathroom. I could hear that thing fluttering around, throwing itself at the light above the living room.

I couldn't live in fear of this monster. I had to be brave and conquer it. I found a can of economy sized sunscreen spray (if it protects me from UV rays, its gotta protect me from monster moths right?) and the battle began.

When I creaked open the door a little..I saw it on the wall next to the window.

I grabbed my Sunscreen can. Muttered a little prayer.Creaked open the door..

...
..
.

and ran out, yelling like a Spartan..

It was a terrible battle, the Moth flew out at me towards my face and I sprayed it, it fluttered towards the ground. I grabbed my cup of Tang that I was drinking earlier and caught the sucker.

From the cup, an orange puddle was slowly growing on the carpet, like blood oozing from my enemy on the battlefield. I was victorious.

However, this good feeling did not last long.. My Parents did not appreciate the whole trailer being covered in spray and the carpet now having a giant orange stain.

...nor did my mom appreciate having to pick up the cup and having the Spanish death moth fly out at her..

And that concludes the most traumatizing moments from Roscoe that have clearly stayed in my mind since childhood. We would have stayed longer but the little old woman, who owned the campsite, decided to move to Alaska and sold the place. For awhile it was good, until it became rest point for Motorcycle enthusiasts, who held loud, drunken parties at night.

Since my parents didn't want to start a fight with the Hell's Angels wannabes or whatever, they decided to stop renting our spot by the river. I still miss this place, and think that out of all the places I've camped in, this place was the best..

despite the mental scars.



(note: this is unfortunately not Roscoe..I left that album back on Staten Island)