Camp Cushycanoe

So Mortgage Partner and his dear friend Dr. Doolittle are off for a weekend of canoeing in Bum F*ck Missouri. They just departed in Doolittle's efficient little truck with the camper top, their packs filled with goodies, for a weekend of manly adventure. Note: that's what Jon Voight and Burt Reynolds thought they were getting too.

Mortgage Partner and Doolittle will be staying in a lovely two-person cabin with a kitchen. The canoeing outfitter will deposit them at Chicken Farm Runoff River. They will leisurely canoe down said river with snacks in hand and time enough for a jaunt in the woods o' Missouri. The canoeing outfitter will then pick them up, and the lads can return to their cabin and watch Fight Club on Doolittle's laptop. (The distant sound of men beating on chests and growling...)

Ok, I mock too much.

I think they'll have fun. It's good for the guys to get together and have man time.

When I graduated from college, my 5 best female friends and I canoed in the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. Our experience was a bit different. Rascal (don't ask, that's her nickname) packed just enough food for the week, and we schlepped all our supplies with us, which meant that 4 people carried the canoes and 2 people carried the packs when we had to portage. We also had to tie our food up in a tree at night so the bears wouldn't eat it. It rained every day were there, and it was in the 40s most nights (despite being June). I was definitely the most inexperienced of the bunch, being somewhat of a dainty princess, but we had fun. I look back on it as a character-building exercise and a final chapter of college before we all had to become grownups. Truth be known, I haven't camped since, but I don't think it has anything to do with being wet for a week, smelling constantly of campfire (and worse), and being worried about getting bitten in the ass every time I had to potty.

I'm sure there's another reason, but I can't think of what it is right now.