When a Camping Trip is More Than Just a Camping Trip. 

The greatest man I have ever known was, without a doubt, my father. Every success I achieved throughout my life can, in some large or small way, be directly attributed to watching my dad and learning from his example. 

He worked hard. He worked very hard, in fact. But a lot of what he accomplished didn’t always correlate into yearly earnings or material gain. That was no error or mistake on his part, by the way, but rather just how he went about his daily business.

No, my father’s greatest achievements were more than his long and very distinguished career as an electrical engineer or even his time spent as a Navy pilot. His greatest achievements were, in fact, much, much more than those.

His finest accomplishments were hardly ever seen by others and, as a result, rarely spoken about by anyone. He was a quiet man, one who did not want or draw much, if any, attention to himself.

But even to this day, I find he still inspires me to do my best, to not worry about what other people think, and just do what I know is right. This comes from a lifetime under his tutelage, up to the time of his unfortunate passing nearly 2 years ago.

Of all the fond memories I have of him, each one systematically sorted out and cataloged in my head from endless reruns and playbacks, one cherished moment sticks out above the rest. Yes, one prized memory, indeed, stands high above all the others and ended up changing my life forever.

It was a warm summer weekend in the Grand Teton National Forest. I was a budding young Boy Scout on one of my first outdoor adventures, a weekend camping trip and hike near Table Rock Mountain.

My father, who was never willing to admit camping wasn’t exactly his forte, came along to support me as I eagerly greeted the outdoors in what would become the single most defining moment of my entire life.

Upon arrival at our campsite, my dad and I pitched our humble abode. It was a simple a-frame style pup tent, nothing fancy by any stretch of the imagination.

Each end of the faded, highly weathered structure was held up by a single aluminum pole. Long cords pulled out from all sides of the thin blue polyester walls and were firmly staked into the ground, in essence, giving our fabric residence for the weekend its strength and shape. 

No rainfly or mosquito netting was included, just the bare-bones makings of a simple shelter, offering just enough space for 2 full-grown adults. 

In addition to our humble abode,  the sleeping bags and other equipment at our disposal were also, I somberly suggest, a bit on the rustic side. But regardless of the age and condition of our gear,  we were equipped with what was needed for the weekend.

After our house warming chores were completed, I caught myself gazing around at the other scouts setting up camp. Intently, I eyed their modern spring-bar tents, each one complete with a rainfly, no necessary outward support, and waterproof treated fabric.

I fought back the stirring thoughts of envy and jealousy, as best as a 13-year-old boy new to the outdoors could, as a civilization of modern technology sprung up all around us.

My dad wasn’t a wealthy man by any means. He always worked hard to provide for us, and, looking back at my childhood, I can most definitely say I was truly blessed despite the humble situation at that particular time of our lives.

We may not have had the latest and greatest of outdoor-related amenities but, because of his tireless efforts to support our family, we always had what we needed. This weekend was certainly no exception.

The next morning would be our big hike to Table Rock Mountain, and sleep was definitely on the menu that night. Leaders strongly urged an early turn-in for all as they pointed to the menacing mountain peak off in the distance we were to tackle first thing in the morning.

 It worked. After the campfire died down and the marshmallows ran out, I crawled into bed, and my dad followed suit soon thereafter.

Mother nature had a different plan for this band of enthusiastic young scouts, however. Shortly after the last whispers and giggles throughout the camp subsided, another noise started to roll through our heavily wooded campsite.

Thunder woke us up as it echoed off the dense, pine-covered mountainside. Rain quickly followed but my heavy eyelids paid little to no attention to what was going on outside our humble shelter. 

It rained all night long. The thunder eventually ceased, but I was awoken by yet another sound shortly after my eyelids once again gave in to the stillness of the night. 

It was a strange scratching sound, followed by a light rustling of the tent with my dad reaching all around me on my side of the tent. The bizarre occurrence was capped by the tent zipper opening and closing. Strange, indeed, I thought.

I quietly conversed with myself for a bit, trying to convince my tired frame to roll over and open my heavy-laden eyelids and observe what was going on. 

But before the argument was compelling enough for me to wake up and see what my dad was up to, it was over. Case closed I thought, and back to sleep I went.

20 minutes later, once again awakening me from my slumber, it started all over again. The rustling of the tent, the same strange scratching sound and tent-wide fidgeting followed by the door opening and closing. 

By the third time, however, I had to see what my dad was up to. I couldn’t sleep with all of this commotion going on, so I quietly rolled over and, not saying a word, witnessed what was going on.

The pouring rain was beginning to be too much for our tent to handle. Water was soaking through the thin polyester fabric at will.

My dad, giving up a whole night’s sleep so I could rest, was fighting a seemingly endless battle with the rain. Armed with only a small white handkerchief, he was relentlessly wiping down the rain-soaked walls and floor every 20 minutes so I could stay dry. 

He would open the tent, wring out the handkerchief as best he could to ready it for the next battle with the relentless downpour, and quickly zipped the door back up before any more wind-driven rain found its way in.

He never knew I saw his tireless efforts of watching over me as I slept, keeping me dry despite the rain doing all it could to bleed through our tent walls and make the night miserable for both of us. 

All night long, my father gallantly fought the good fight against the rain seeping through our thin polyester barrier, doing all he could to keep the water from puddling on the floor beside our sleeping bags. 

He literally sacrificed an entire night sleep so I could rest for my big hike the next day. 

I never told anyone this story until the day I stood at the podium and eulogized my thoughts at his funeral. 

Looking back at it now, I sometimes wish I had shared this story about my dad before his passing. He wasn’t one to brag or accept accolades for anything he ever did so I wonder how it would have been received by him. 

I know he never talked about it and just thought of it as his fatherly duty to care for his offspring, but it was more than just a fatherly chore on a rainy summer weekend. 

It taught me how we, as humans, are to treat one another. It showed me how we are to serve, even sacrifice our time and comforts for others in need as I was that weekend.

Even at this very moment, I am so very grateful for my dad coming along on that trip. I shudder to think what would have happened if I was left to my own devices and had to deal with the rain on my own. Many of the other scouts were on their own as very few fathers did make the trip. 

But a successful hike or camping trip wasn’t what was gained that weekend. I learned who my father really was. I had a dad, someone who, over the course of several decades,  would teach me the ways of life without ever speaking a single word about it. 

He didn’t have to, in fact, because, from that day forward, I watched my dad, even studied him, as it were, and gleaned everything I could, knowing someday I wouldn’t have him around anymore to learn from.

It’s been almost 2 years since my father has passed and nearly 37 years since that rainy Friday night, but it will always stand out as the greatest moment in my life because of what my dad taught me.

Thank you, dad. Your tireless efforts did not fall short by any means. Your life-long example of how we are to be is one of the most cherished, if not the most prized, possessions you passed on to me. 

Your greatest achievement, without a shadow of a doubt, is being my father and what you taught me on that stormy Friday night, and it will never be forgotten.

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