I?ll preface this by saying, yes, I know how to start a fire properly, with a single match, using kindling, a bit of paper or lint and then slowly adding larger and larger pieces of wood. I could probably even do it with flint and steel if I had too, but using one of the assorted friction methods for the spark would be challenging.
Now, here is my camp fire story.
I took the family camping once and we arrived late in the day and it was windy and cold up on the mountain. My wife and daughters were tired from the drive, so I figured I?d start them a fire to stay warm around while my son and I set up camp.
Being in a hurry, I splashed camping fuel on some logs and tossed in a match. After 30 seconds of roaring flames, the wind was threatening to blow the fire out, so I did what any other idiot would do. I uncapped the can of fuel and splashed a bit more on the fire. Ahh, instant warmth and I happily turn to toast my back side.
That?s when I noticed the can of fuel I was still holding had a small blue flame coming out of the top. Time stops and I dumbly admire the pretty blue flame, thinking ?huh, that?s something you don?t see every day.? I scream like a girly-man and drop the can. Fuel splashes up and flames momentarily fill the air. Frantically, I start kicking dirt on the can trying to put it out, but only succeed in kicking it over and spreading fuel and flames to the base of a nearby pine tree. At this point terror pretty much sets in and I officially fly into frantic idiot mode.
Kick, kick, kicking more dirt on the fire, alternating between the flaming can of fuel and the blazing tree. I scream at my wife and kids to get back in the minivan, thinking that if this goes bad we can make a quick getaway. For the next few dirt-flinging seconds my mind reels with fears of burning down the tree, a full-blown forest fire, the state billing me for the cost of putting the fire out, death by exploding camping fuel can, winning my very own Darwin Award. The next 15 seconds seems like a lifetime.
I finally get the can uprighted and extinguished. The battle is half won. The wind is blowing so hard that the tree itself isn?t actually burning yet, just the fumes from the spilt fuel making those pretty blue flames. But how much longer can that last? I kick more dirt on that fire and get it out too, and, thank God, the tree doesn?t even have a burned mark on it. Whew, chalk up another victory for dumb luck!
Idiot?s joy then sets in. You know, that wonder and embarrassing sense of having escaped unscathed from really, really terrible fate caused by your own stupidity. That?s when I hear my wife yell, ?Your boot is on fire!? Yup, there they are again, more of those pretty blue flames coming from the toe of my boot. I start dancing around with a self-induced Mexican hotfoot to the sound of my daughter crying.
I bathe my boot in another shower of dirt and finally get the last of the flames out. Looking around the camp I?m amazed that there is almost no sign of damage other than a bit of soot on the end of my boot. I escape the incident with third degree burns to my pride and a new found respect for the mandatory warning labels on flammable liquids.
With a lighter, no problem. I think I could do it with a flint and knife but I don't know for sure.
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