The Smelly Cave

It is a natural rite of passage to go to summer camp. Even if you hated it, summer camp holds a special place in everyone's heart. It's the first time most of us were away from our parents for more than a long weekend. It was the first time signing campfire songs while roasting marshmallows. It's where many of us had our first boyhood crushes. Mine was on the saucy arts & crafts instructor. Her Bermuda short-shorts gave me the first tinglings of manhood. I had the opportunity to go to a well funded camp folded into the Oregon's Cascade Mountains. Its name was Big Lake and for one week every summer I'd revel in the beauty of the landscape and mischievously run around with other kids my age. My softmore summer I signed up for Ultimate Rad camp. A week-long romping in the backwoods with promises of sore muscles and sun-burnt skin. The Ultimate Rad crew was regarded as superstars at Big Lake. The fact that we lodged in tents and partook in activities like rock climbing, rafting and mountain biking set us apart from other campers who enrolled in arts & crafts, basketball and sailing. Huh... I wonder why? On the first day while camping at Smith Rock, we found a good route to climb on and got to it. By late afternoon, we were all exhausted and the sun was beating down on us like a merciless team driver. So we took refuge in a small cave that cut right into the rock. Crowding into the cave was like trying to stuff an oversize sleeping bag into a fanny-pack. But we did it. Once inside we relaxed and started to shoot the shit. I had had gas all day and I was holding it so not to get the reputation as "the smelly kid" on the first day. However, with all of us crammed into that cave just seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. I discreetly let loose with a one-cheeker, so as not to attract attention and allowed the madness to ensue. Never had I seen a cave clear out faster than on that day. It was like watching a group of Film Study majors scatter at the mention of a math quiz. Everybody started blaming one another. Though, with my crafty diplomacy skills, I deflected the focus off of me and onto my friend Ari. She took the blame surprisingly well. I guess she'd been blamed before for other people's flatulence. And thus the week continued as did the controversy of the smelly cave. Until the last day... We were all back at Big Lake, heading to the final supper, when I jumped ahead of the group and confronted them. "I must say something," I said. "That fart, at the beginning of the week. That wasn't Ari. It was me!" And with that I definitely skipped down to the mess hall to the sound of gasps and awestruck murmurs. That was a fun week.