A Splashingly Good Vacation

It began like so many vacations, with eager expectations, a tank full of premium-priced gas, and a trailer full of goodies. The drive to the Rock Creek RV park was uneventful. The sun smiled down on us, and the gas tank quickly emptied so I could re-fill it with lower priced, perhaps still gold-laced fuel. It seems the price of fuel is not linked to the dropping world prices after all, but rather to how much money I have in my wallet.

Setting up camp in the hot sun was followed by what is always the best beer of the vacation. By the end of day one, all was well and looking good for a great, relaxing vacation.

Day two began as it should, with a fine cup of coffee in the sun to warm up our frozen innards and a nice outdoor breakfast. Then it was time for a chat with other family members and a few games of our newest craze, bolongo ball, AKA Hillbilly Golf. The false sense of serenity had set in. It began slowly at first, like a freight train leaving the station. An older sibling, who shall remain nameless, armed with a lethal water cannon, proceeded to spray a few innocent adults. I saw Gerda coming and stayed on the outside of the pack. My first instinct was to grab something valuable like an expensive camera, and hold it hostage. These people are Dutch. Certainly they know better than to risk such a costly item. Unfortunately, I only had one camera, so it was difficult covering both my front and back.

Things began to deteriorate quickly. I retreated to the trailer to fetch my vintage, 1980 squirt gun, but it would be no match for the arsenal now on display everywhere. Soon, water cannons were replaced by buckets and laundry tubs. This was getting ugly. I knew I could never be safe for the rest of the vacation if I stayed in the trailer so I proceeded to the battle field, little gun in hand. Everyone was in a frenzy, and there was no reasoning with them. My dry body became an instant target. Under some conditions, this may have been all right, but not with this motley crew. I turned quickly to see the all out assault coming from three sides. Buckets, tubs and super soakers all aimed at me. I abandoned all hope of talking things out, and proceeded to introduce myself to the neighbouring campers who seemed amused and overly self-confident they could remain neutral and unaffected. They must all be Canadians, I thought.

A funny thing happens to legs after 50 years. They move back and forth less rapidly. I believe this is because, in the words of Apostle Paul, we put off our childish ways. Paul did not know my family. Younger nephews were on the front lines, and attacked first. Their much more senior parents and perhaps a spouse of mine, lagged behind but swarmed in as well like a pack of hungry wolves at a fresh kill. I’m not sure, but I do believe that every inch of my clothing was drenched. I would have been afraid to come home in such a condition had my wife not been there. “Et tu,.Brutus?”

At long last a truce was called, young rebels were given stern looks and peace returned. There was no need for a cooling off period, but a drying spell was welcomed. Wet shirts, shorts, underwear ( I didn’t see any bras so I can only guess what happened to them) were strewn all over tables and chairs.

After lunch, a nice, quiet ride down the Kettle River in inner tubes was called for. There is nothing more pleasant than to float along in the tubes, dipping one’s toes or hands in the water from time to time to cool off a little. A group of us entered the cool but inviting river and began our float towards camp. Several thugs, led by the previously unnamed sibling and by dearly beloved, saw things differently. Anyone coming near to them was immediately confronted with flailing hands and feet, and water carelessly being disturbed. You could never let down your guard. One minute you could be thinking about how peaceful and good life can be, and the next minute you were again under attack from behind. Nothing was sacred. I stopped to enjoy the sight of a deer standing at the waters edge and wishing I had my camera. Since I did not, I just wanted to take in the wonderful sight, plus keep an eye on avoiding the pee which she was emitting into the river. I soon found myself under a deluge of spray. My own daughter joined in. Mob mentality I suppose. It is important to watch what company your children keep. The deer of course wasn’t amused either, and leapt over a fence, never to be seen again. Only a crafty bit of back-peddling prevented a final attack at the finish line.

Day three was a repeat of Day two, with only the main initiators changing. Sitting at our camp, I knew things were not going to go well when I saw Mark sneaking to the next camp site to fill up his super soakers. I was reminded of Apocalypse Now. I knew now the evil that lurks in the hearts of these people, so I avoided the battlefield for the first skirmishes, and donned my bathing trunks instead. Now, dressed in my battle fatigues, and armed with a newly acquired assault rifle, (Home Hardware only had one lousy water gun left. It didn’t work well, but it was half price, so I was happy.) I faced the music. The beasts descended upon me quickly. Greatly outmatched, I was drenched within 10 seconds. I was now free to join in, (even the UN has to go on the offensive some times), no longer a specific target.

The afternoon float was similar to the previous day, except that I was a quick learner, and Gerda did not come along. However, parents can be a bad influence on children. Her daughter Wendy proved to be every bit as evil as her mother. The trick is to stay ahead of the pack, and never let someone get behind you. It is less relaxing but much warmer. I did however trust Joanie, which is a mistake not to be repeated. I carried her bottled water, and even cooled it off for her in the river. I let her catch up to me to let her have a drink, on condition that she did not splash. Never trust a woman!

The plan was to float past our campground to a bridge a little down stream where we could get picked up. I surveyed to group choosing to take on this challenge, including my untrustworthy wife, and Wendy the water assassin, and chose a cool drink in the sun instead. One of my better decisions.

Alas, the vacation was all too short but it is good to be able to sit in the sun at home without keeping one eye peeled for some evil family member with a water fetish. However, I do think I will be asking for a new, super duper soaker for Christmas. See you next year, suckers!