Rob Bettaso

Photos by Jeff Riesner

It’s a gray day and the trails are too muddy for hiking. I decide to clean out the fireplace — a most tedious task that requires scooping up ash, putting it in a kitchen trashcan, and then walking the can outdoors to dump the ash at the base of several young saplings. I haven’t maintained a garden for many years and the only plants that I water and offer the slightest bit of nurturing to are several young aspen and cottonwood trees that have sprouted up in my yard in recent years.

After I finish spreading the ashes I pause in the unseasonably warm and humid outdoor air to clear my lungs from the billowing ash that has irritated them. I take deep breaths and exhale fully. It feels wonderful to conduct this respiratory purge and, once completed, I watch the birds that have now grown used to my presence and have decided to brave the suet feeder nearest me – which is only 10 feet away from where I’m standing.

The nonnative English Sparrows (aka House Sparrows) discovered my yard a few years back and have been relentlessly greedy when it comes to taking more than their share of nourishment. But the other small species (the native juncos, chickadees, nuthatches and kinglets) are brave in their own way and fight for their time at the feeders. Because of my proximity to the one feeder, the English Sparrows have temporarily gone elsewhere; they are bullies when it comes to other small birds but they are also much more wary of humans than many of the other birds. As such, the small native birds have seized upon the opportunity to have unfettered access to the suet and are gorging themselves. As long as I stand quietly nearby, they seem to perceive me as their protector, and take advantage of the situation.

When a light drizzle resumes, I decide to return indoors and start a fire in the newly cleaned hearth so that I can enjoy reading a book while listening to the crackle and pop of juniper logs. Once the fire is burning well, I sit down in my rocker and watch the flames dance about the logs. While gazing into the fire, my thoughts return to a recent camping trip. In fact, I wrote about said camping trip in the last edition of OSW, but, since I barely scratched the surface of that story, I will resume telling a part it now.

Perhaps because I’m staring into the fire in my hearth, the first thought that springs back into my mind pertaining to my camping trip with Scott and Jeff were the campfires we had. Not surprisingly, there is more than a one type of campfire. Cooking fires generally tend to be much smaller than fires built to supply warmth or to provide ambiance. Weather conditions are also a primary factor when it comes to the type of fire to be built: if it is very cold, naturally bigger campfires are desirable; if it’s warm, only a small fire may be needed. When conditions are rainy, then it might make sense to keep a fire burning all day, with logs near enough to the fire-ring to allow them to dry while they are in-waiting for actual burning within the ring. Never should any sized fire be left unattended; so if a camping trip involves hunting, fishing, or other reasons for leaving camp, then the campfire must be extinguished and re-built when it can be safely supervised (and enjoyed). In cool weather, a morning fire is a nice treat as it allows one to enjoy breakfast in relative comfort before dousing the short-lived, small morning fire, so that camp can be safely vacated for a period of time (to go day-hiking, or whatever).

Another major factor determining the type of campfire one has is the availability of burnable wood. In heavily visited areas, most campsites have already been picked clean of suitable firewood. Additionally, living trees (including trees that may only be partially living) should never be cut for campfire wood; for one thing, green wood doesn’t burn well, but also, killing a living tree just for the sake of campfire ambiance is not only self-fish, it is often punishable by fines. Speaking of fines, obviously a campfire is never appropriate if forest conditions are such that burning anything, no matter the size, is a risk to the environment. Even when the Forest Service (or other land manager) hasn’t yet expressly prohibited burning, it is still ethically indefensible to have a campfire during inappropriate conditions (when surrounding vegetation is too dry, when humidity is too low, when a breeze begins to blow at an unsafe velocity, etcetera).

But enough exposition, let me get back to my camping trip with Jeff and Scott. Based on the weather in the days leading up to our trip and the forecast just prior to our departure, we knew that we would be safe in having campfires. We also suspected that firewood might be scarce where we planned to go. Given that I had a woodpile of old oak (plus some cottonwood, which isn’t a particularly desirable firewood) I decided to put a fair amount of wood in my open pick-up bed. Likewise, Scott had a bunch of milled scrap-wood at his house that a wood-working co-worker of his had given him, so Scott brought some of that along.

Once we had all arrived at camp and had finished our exploring for the day, the time came to build a fire. I used wood from the back of my truck and started it with old newspaper I had in the truck because the local tender/kindling was damp. I’ve been making campfires for so many years that it seldom takes me more than a few minutes to get one going and such was the case on this first, late afternoon. Because I had brought food to put on a campfire grill I decided to make a big fire using the punky cottonwood first. I would then add some good oak to burn for an hour or so, and would then let it burn down so that I could grill my food over the coals. Both Scott and Jeff had brought cook stoves and so their meals wouldn’t require campfire cooking.

After we had all eaten, Scott suggested he throw on some of his milled planks to get the fire going again. It was getting chilly now that it was dark and since we had no plans for the evening, both Jeff and I concurred. Scott didn’t know the origin of his wood, other than it came from trees that had been cut and then milled by his friend and he had been told that they would burn well. The planks were rather odd in appearance, looking like long two by fours, and as soon as the first one touched the coals it quickly ignited and was soon burning like it had been soaked in kerosene. Scott tossed on another plank and I was somewhat alarmed by how combustible this unknown wood was and also by how much dark smoke it produced. But, it burned very hot and very bright and so it was great for keeping warm and for attending to the occasional task nearby (such as washing our dirty dinner dishes).

Although the local conditions were very safe (damp from recent rains), we resisted the temptation to add more planks to the fire since we didn’t need or want a bonfire. Nonetheless, I eventually grew tired of having such a hot and bright fire and suggested that we switch back to my oak wood so that we could sit and relax closer to the fire and not have to worry about scalding our eyeballs.

Over the course of the next two nights we continued with our first night’s fire strategy: using my wood until after I had grilled, then putting a bit of Scott’s plank wood on the fire to illuminate our camp tables so that we could attend to a few chores, and then switching to mostly oak until I was ready for sleep and would walk the 100 feet to my cot-site while Scott and Jeff stayed up late around the campfire, exclusively burning those crazy old planks. Both nights, I fell asleep watching orange shadows flicker upon our camp’s overhanging canopy, so bright were their fires.

Presently, back at home and reading by the hearth, I think back to the slightly different camping styles and preferences between me and my good friends – Scott and Jeff. They tend to like the bigger flames; I the smaller. They prefer tent camping; me, a cot. They are camp stove cookers; I prefer a campfire grill. They enjoy covering lots of territory in a vehicle and getting a good feel for the lay-of-the-land; while I tend to go off on foot, see much less country, but see it at a slower pace and in greater detail. There are several other differences between our respective preferences, but in the end, none of them matter because what we all appreciate is enjoying the natural world together.



I’ll close this article by suggesting that camping with friends is like when our common, native bird species share a suet feeder amongst themselves. There may be some style and preference differences, but nobody really interferes with everyone benefiting from the experience. But, when you have to camp with strangers nearby (like in a formal campground) well, for me, that’s more like camping knowing that there are English Sparrows at hand – it doesn’t mean the strangers are necessarily bad, it’s just that, unlike with your friends, the strangers may have a few rowdy and inconsiderate mugs in their group.