My first official boy Scout Camping trip was in the fall of 1963 or 1964.  I was probably working on the rank of tenderfoot.

 

The outing was memorable for three reasons; it was my first overnight with the scouts, the biscuit scandal, and my fight with Jim.

 

We were at a Forest Service campground not far from our small town.  Since it was public, we shared the campground with a number of civilian campers.  We quickly learned this was a mistake.  No good could come from any fraternization, even incidental.

 

Deer hunting season was coming soon and many of the campers were hunters from out of the area.  They were conducting reconnaissance missions; learning the lay of the land, finding game and locating sources of supply for groceries, liquor, and ammunition.

 

Most of the civilians were pretty well off compared to us.  They had RV’s, fancy trucks, new gear and a selection of off road vehicles.  We had army surplus camping gear and hunted in old pickup trucks with our fathers while getting firewood for the winter.

 

The first morning my friend Rich and I had breakfast duty.  We were assigned to make biscuits.  We made a great bowl of Bisquick batter, and dolloped it out on a large cookie sheet.  As we were walking over to the reflector oven to bake them, I tripped,  dropping the raw biscuits in the pine needles and dirt.  Our Patrol Leader came by, told us to get rid of the mess and whip up another batch.  We had plenty of fixings.

 

It was still dark, and we could not see well.  Rich and I scooped up the dirty dough and decided to throw it in the bushes rather than wander around looking for a garbage can.  The bears would find it later.  We heard the sickening thump of the projectiles landing on sheet metal. We crept around the brush and found a civilian campsite on the other side of the bushes.  A great wad of sticky, dirty dough was in the middle of the hood on a new four wheel drive truck.

 

We crept over to wipe it off.  All we managed to do was to smear the mass over the hood and grille of the vehicle.  The situation had gone from bad to worse.  Before we could figure what to do we had to retreat, the civilians were getting up.

 

We ran back to the camp, started on the next batch; and waited for hell to break loose.

 

Jim was a new kid in town, my age and seemed to be a fairly decent guy.  He moved a lot because of his dad’s job.  Jim didn’t really know anybody and was trying to fit in, however he could.   He had been showing off a bit on the camping trip.  While Rich and I were cooking biscuits, he decided to show everyone how tough he was.  I was a little smaller than he was and he to picked me as the goat.  He started boxing my ears and I told him to knock it off.  The gauntlet was thrown.  We were starting to draw an audience.  I had a pair of pliers in my hand to move the biscuit pan in the hot oven.  Jim had the advantage of size so I had to improvise.

 

I quickly reached out with the pliers and got a finger.  He was quickly on his knees bawling in undignified surrender.  I really wasn’t going to remove the finger but he wasn’t sure.   After ensuring that Jim was past any attempt at retaliation, I let him go.

 

After that morning, the older scouts didn’t seem to haze me as much.

 

Jim and I ultimately came to be on friendly terms.  He never again tried to bully me, but did occasionally show a mean streak.

 

Meanwhile, the gods had been smiling over the biscuit dough.  It wasn’t discovered until  the next day when we were breaking camp.  There was a lot of loud talk about vandalism from next door but Mr. Westman and one of the adult leaders, a minister, went over and somehow managed a reconciliation.  The perpetrators were never identified.

 

On the way home our patrol leader winked at Rich and I and complimented us on our camp biscuits.