I am Cro-Magnon man! I am a warrior! I seek meat and tools for building a civilization! I wear charcoal in place of a shirt.
Such is my summer camping mentality. During several annual trips to the deep-woods areas of the Upper Peninsula, I undergo a transformation. Usually I'm not the most civil of people - I burp, stink and horse around with the best of 'em, but I'm able to find my place in society at least to the point that I'm not running animals down and devouring them (which, believe you me, is a hard urge to overcome). I participate actively in societal norms and even wear clothing to cover my body (and yes, I can hear your sighs of relief right now).
But summer in the woods presents something different. You're in a different situation when you're a couple miles deep into the woods with nothing but trees, waterfalls and whiskey to keep you company. The norms of a civilized society go out the window and you're left with the confusing option of staying civil or reverting to the primal urges locked up by society.
The transformation from average Joe or Jane to Fred Bear or Kilitar of the Woods Vast is sometimes a slow process, but it is undeniable.
From my experience, people tend to enter a deep-woods situation with a preconceived notion that their lives as outstanding members of civilized society will go on as planned. They bring comforts from home - shampoo, nice clothes, silverware and flashlights - in an effort to deny their urges to hunt and gather.
Day One is usually spent gathering wood, drinking from cups and eating with silverware. This does not last.
Soon, something begins to take hold of you, something unexplainable yet decidedly natural. Personally I attribute this to the lack of a shower. I believe there are certain chemicals in human sweat that, when blended with campfire smoke, set off something subconscious in the human brain. Soap is typically used to cover it up, and the lack of soap simply adds fuel to the fire of what could well be considered cavemanism.
It is at this point in the trip that people begin to forego their cups and silverware, opting to eat half-cooked meats with their hands and drink directly from bottles.
Inevitably on Day Two, one of the males in your pack will begin to fashion a spear from a stick. The other males of the pack will, of course, do the same. This can usually be attributed to the emergence of facial hair and the omnipresent dirt on the face. It is at the point of forging weapons and the feeling of inevitable dirtiness that camouflage usually emerges. Usually consisting of soot from the fire, the males of the pack will typically paint their face in an attempt to look more tribal, but in effect just look like freak shows.
It is at this point when people tend to revert to the ways of the savage outdoorsman. I know from experience. The last time I went camping I underwent a similar transformation. Brandishing a spear, a pair of shorts and war paint, I took to the woods at dusk, ready to try my survivalist ways against the elements.
Deep in the woods populated with massive cliff faces and extensive waterfalls I ran like hell, seeking whatever adventure came my way and communicating with others through a series of incoherent grunts (attributed, partially, to whiskey and such). As I climbed the face of 60-foot cliffs with the greatest of ease, I found myself completely removed from anything acceptable in a city.
My hunter needs were satisfied by following other hikers at a distance, leaping behind rocks at the snap of a twig. The purpose was not to stalk, but rather observe the habits of the normal people of the woods.
After this, I began to scale more cliffs, challenging the elements that were my only foe. Upon dropping from one cliff into the river (upside down mind you) I was struck with a sudden jolt of energy. With a mix of tribal drums thumping in my head and the battle theme from "Conan the Barbarian" racing through my mind, the otherworldly beast I had become ran full speed down a field populated with trees. As I smacked my body from trunk to trunk, there was something I felt that had been missing - a feeling of freedom and naturalness.
Pain? Cold? Fatigue? Bah! None of it mattered as I plunged head first off a 40-foot cliff into the icy waters of Dead River.
Such are the woods. Several days outside of civilization gives rise to primordial urges in the instincts of the weird. I challenge you to resist these urges in a similar situation. You'll soon realize that deep-woods camping is not just a relaxing vacation, it is a wake-up call to primitive urges held at bay by society, and a good way to develop a limp.
A.P. Kryza is the State News film reporter. Reach him at kryzaand@msu.edu.
