After falling into Timothy Lake and returning to camp, I flailed about in our tent like a shivering man-child while The Wife forced me into dry clothes.
Dinghy McBrokenboat had set his crawdad trap earlier that day, so by the time we rejoined the group at the campfire he’d caught 4 of the disgusting little freaks.
“Look honey!” I said, holding one up for her to see. It waved its claws around, miming precious little death threats at her.
“Ooo!” she replied. “It’s a Crapdaddy.” Obviously I could not bring myself to correct her. Instead, I laughed and pulled out my iPhone, adding her quote to our ongoing list of Denglish hilarity.
We cooked the crawfish and ate them; each one offering just enough meat to evoke in my mind the shellfish genocide it would require to form a proper meal. It was then I noticed movement on the ground around the campfire. All around, as far as my flashlight could reveal, the forest floor was crawling with spiders. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. It was like something out of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets… or the night terrors I’ve been having ever since.
Because my normal clothes were soaked, I was wearing only socks on my feet, which left me feeling all the more vulnerable to spider attacks. I held my feet up as long as I could, like a pregnant woman in stirrups, before exhausting myself and retiring for the night.
The next morning, we awoke to the dreaded patter of rain hitting our tent. My coat was hanging under a tree somewhere outside, so The Wife found a white plastic bag and cut holes for my head and arms, fashioning a makeshift rain vest comprised of 10% German resourcefulness and 90% American shame. The rest of our group enjoyed the hell out of my predicament, while I choked down a little of the hair of the dog that bit me. I was cold, I was wet, and I was still angry about those other campers molesting our otherwise virginal ambiance…
But by God, we were camping… and we were camping hard.
Click here to read our very first camping adventure — The Camping Chronicles: Burning the German, Part I
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Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
My German wife likes camping. Especially hard camping. I’m more into softer camping these days, so we bought a pop-up camper. I highly recommend it. You can still have cold PBR and whatever whiskey you desire. And, you can get out into the wilderness where a typical RV won’t go.
Oh, and the pop-up has a memory foam topper and a door that prevents creepy things like spiders and snakes from getting inside. The running water, heat, stove, and lights are a plus as well. The pop-up may not have been discovered yet in Germany, but my in-laws like their old VW bus camper.
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