Chris Williamson, Glamper

When I was twelve years old, I joined the Boy Scouts and became a proud member of Troop 240 in West Hempstead. I was a late bloomer as far as scouting was concerned—most of my friends had gone through the Cub Scouts. I went straight to “the show.”

The most famous member of Troop 240 was rumored to be the bass player from Twisted Sister. I feel like if I could find a photo of him in full Boy Scout uniform wearing his Twisted Sister makeup, it could be worth some money.

I never advanced as a scout. I was a Tenderfoot all through high school and never achieved anything higher. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, Tenderfoot is somewhere between entry-level and low man on the totem pole.

I joined so I could go on trips with my friends. My best friends.

On my first camping trip with the troop, I spent half the day putting up my tent. I say “tent” loosely, as it was basically a windbreaker with plastic legs.

By the end of the day, I was incredibly hungry. One of my friends’ fathers, who had gone on the trip, handed me a potato and a piece of aluminum foil. He told me to wrap the potato in the foil and throw it into the campfire.

After two hours, I bit into the potato. It was slightly softer than a rock I had thrown into a stream earlier.

I’m convinced that if I had left that potato in the campfire for all these decades, it could still double as a hockey puck.

Every year we went on “Operation Bluenose.” We used to call it “Operation Blue Balls.” We would go camping in the middle of January or February and camp in the snow. For some reason, we saw roughing it as a good time.

My first year at Bluenose, I learned to sleep cuddled up with my canteen so my water wouldn’t freeze overnight.

Amongst other things.

Years later, my son joined the Cub Scouts, and we went on a family camping trip with the other scouts.

It was in June.

At the beach.

On a campground near cabanas.

This was not Bluenose.

Families brought huge, modern tents that had four bedrooms and a study. Instead of throwing potatoes into campfires, moms brought portable grills and cooked filet mignon.

As a scout, I went on hikes over rough terrain. We learned what to do if we saw a bear.

These kids? They spent the day at the beach.

In the ocean. No bears, but potential sharks if they swam out too far.

There were SHOWERS!

Private, modern showers at the campground. There were no two- or three-day B.O. issues with the campers like I lived through in my day.

There is now a term called “glamping.” It stands for “glamorous camping.” People camp with real beds, electricity, air conditioning and heat. Private bathrooms.

There was no such thing as “glamping” back in my Troop 240 days.

A bag of Doritos was considered a luxury.

Now that I’m in my 50s, I remember those days of camping fondly. I was able to get lost in the woods with the best of friends. I created memories that will last me a lifetime.

If I had the choice to go camping now, though, I wouldn’t go.

Glamping?

Maybe.

It depends on what’s for dinner.