This one time, at faire camp...

[Mouse]

Share your favourite stories, if you please, of times at camp. There may already be a thread for this..if so, apologies. I'm just jonesing for a good tale.

[Breandan]

I already divulged most of mine in the other thread a couple of years back, but I can always re-post them if desired since that thread is now long buried

[Bonny Pearl]

Hhhhhmmmmmm..... I am trying to recall a story about 'The Mouse & the Fire Pit'.... anyone ever heard that one?

[Autumn Blaize]

Oh there are so many but the one story that gets all my faire virgin friends to camp with us is...
This one time we were all minding our business just hanging around the fire and drinking. Next thing you know 3 girls come up to the fire. They had on cloaks and it was no big deal, we start chatting, as you do and then we all realize that they only had on cloaks!! The guys in our camp about died lol All the wives started cracking up. The girls just laughed and said thanks for the loki and the fire you guys have a great night! Every time someone hears that story they want to see if it will happen again lmao

Second best story>>> Last AHE weekend my husband had to work. So I went with the rest of our clan and rode with a girlfriend of mine. We were very very very drunk that Friday night so one of my friends husbands said he would walk with me, his wife and his sister to the bonfire ( smoke pit) to have a cig to make sure we were ok. So we start playing the Jenga game set up by the fire pit. > I hope you guys know what I am talking about, can't remember that pirate that sets this up..one again I was drunk>>  Anyway his sister pulls out a piece and does the dare on the bottom..next thing I know my top is down, her face is in my chest and our designated walker was screaming man I wanted to see Autumn's tits but not like this..that is my sister lmao

Ahhh crazy crazy times lmao

[KiltedPrivateer]

Oh there are so many but the one story that gets all my faire virgin friends to camp with us is...
This one time we were all minding our business just hanging around the fire and drinking. Next thing you know 3 girls come up to the fire. They had on cloaks and it was no big deal, we start chatting, as you do and then we all realize that they only had on cloaks!! The guys in our camp about died lol All the wives started cracking up. The girls just laughed and said thanks for the loki and the fire you guys have a great night! Every time someone hears that story they want to see if it will happen again lmao

This encounter is typically accompanied by ice chest raiders....

[Rani Zemirah]

That's why the ice chests need to be well within the light from the fire circle! 

[Mouse]

Breandan, by all means, repost..what is dead and buried is not necessarily gone....
I own a cloak...hmmm...I wonder if I could gain liquor that way...well, the nearly empty bottles thrown at my head as I'm being ran out of camp

[Breandan]

Well over twenty years ago, when I first started working at TRF, I spent my days running around with the Barbarians as an unofficial bear-pelt-wearing appendage to the horde. Things were different back then, as we used to camp behind the Drunken Dragon in the inner circle which is now almost exclusively vendor parking. I was a young lad in my late teens- with all the quirks and foibles that come with such an age- and Fate decided to play a particularly amusing hand in the placement of my tent that year. It was completely unintentional, mind you, so I blame Fate for the situation wherein after night fell I realized that a neighboring tent was aligned precisely between my tent and a security light in just the right way so that the goings-on inside said tent were projected on my wall with crystal clarity. By clarity, let me simply say that the midnight interlude going on was so sharply projected that I could make out the hair on the arms of the male part of the ménage à trois occurring next door.

Not being the wisest of lads, I made the mistake of pointing this out to a friend of mine- who shall remain nameless- and, well, promptly found my tent filled with an audience of limbic voyeurs who actually started scoring and cheering, ruining any chance of sleep. Now, do not misunderstand my attempt to sleep through the silent theater of the carnal upon my wall as a puritanical bent on my part, but I had driven five hours from Corpus Christi that night after work and was exhausted, so my survival instinct of preventing sleep-deprivation around alcohol and sharp-and-pointies the next day had finally overridden my libido after a titanic struggle. That being said, the appreciation of the trio of apparent gymnasts with inexhaustible stamina soon turned into a drinking game, wherein shots were taken at various points, and triple-shots (of some caustic substance that would be put to better use degreasing engines or fueling an F22 Raptor than imbibing, I might add) for dexterous exploits that none in attendance thought physically possible. I am ashamed to say I took part in this, having long since given up on sleep after a certain someone *coughSeancough* used me as a seat when I attempted to do so.

Alas, I do not recall anything that followed for a period of 36 hours, beyond vague memories of doing something untoward on a table whilst wearing a kilt and two mystery hickies on my inner thighs I don't remember getting. The trio were, apparently, quite agile.... >.<

[JackGonzo, MD]

Well over twenty years ago, when I first started working at TRF, I spent my days running around with the Barbarians as an unofficial bear-pelt-wearing appendage to the horde. Things were different back then, as we used to camp behind the Drunken Dragon in the inner circle which is now almost exclusively vendor parking. I was a young lad in my late teens- with all the quirks and foibles that come with such an age- and Fate decided to play a particularly amusing hand in the placement of my tent that year. It was completely unintentional, mind you, so I blame Fate for the situation wherein after night fell I realized that a neighboring tent was aligned precisely between my tent and a security light in just the right way so that the goings-on inside said tent were projected on my wall with crystal clarity. By clarity, let me simply say that the midnight interlude going on was so sharply projected that I could make out the hair on the arms of the male part of the ménage à trois occurring next door.

Not being the wisest of lads, I made the mistake of pointing this out to a friend of mine- who shall remain nameless- and, well, promptly found my tent filled with an audience of limbic voyeurs who actually started scoring and cheering, ruining any chance of sleep. Now, do not misunderstand my attempt to sleep through the silent theater of the carnal upon my wall as a puritanical bent on my part, but I had driven five hours from Corpus Christi that night after work and was exhausted, so my survival instinct of preventing sleep-deprivation around alcohol and sharp-and-pointies the next day had finally overridden my libido after a titanic struggle. That being said, the appreciation of the trio of apparent gymnasts with inexhaustible stamina soon turned into a drinking game, wherein shots were taken at various points, and triple-shots (of some caustic substance that would be put to better use degreasing engines or fueling an F22 Raptor than imbibing, I might add) for dexterous exploits that none in attendance thought physically possible. I am ashamed to say I took part in this, having long since given up on sleep after a certain someone *coughSeancough* used me as a seat when I attempted to do so.

Alas, I do not recall anything that followed for a period of 36 hours, beyond vague memories of doing something untoward on a table whilst wearing a kilt and two mystery hickies on my inner thighs I don't remember getting. The trio were, apparently, quite agile.... >.<

Going to have to add this to a Faire movie screenplay, it's a must!

[Laird Fraser of Lovatt]

Ahhh... I love camp... 

[*Teach*]

Several years ago after a horrible divorce I had decided I was going to remain completely single on purpose and forever. I had zero intention of ever being attached again. No way, no how.
Then this one time at Faire camp I met the Lovely Lady Trinn.
We celebrate 6 years of wedded bliss Saturday of opening weekend of TRF.
If you wish, join us in the camps that night. I expect this to be a night to remember.

*She accepted me for who I am and didn't mind the rum... what else could I do?*

[scarletnyx]

This story is short and more of a summary than a story, but I tell it like a story and I shall remember it until the day I die.

The first time that I ever camped at a Ren Faire was just straight up magical, despite weather conditions to the otherwise. My husband and I arrived at camp to pretty joyous people all around, despite the frigid temps. I can't remember what really happened until the sun went down ( I think we just got settled in and waited for Teach to show up ) and walkabout started.

Walkabout was -perfect-. I love to people watch, take in the sights and sounds and smells of a group of people, unified, for one purpose, and walkabout was kinda like walking around sampling a buffet for me. The people we were introduced to were amazing and very welcoming, and with each interaction I felt that warm fuzzy feeling growing in my stomach.

After one ( or three or five ) laps with light snacking and more companionship around the fire, alex and I were ready to turn in. Bundled up in so many layers we couldn't put our arms down, we crawled into our cozy little tent to fall asleep. Alex was out within moments, but I stayed away for a few minutes to listen to the soft, far off sounds of the drum circle and crackling fires spread throughout the Sherwood campgrounds. That night, I fell asleep with that warm, fuzzy feeling permanently lodged in my stomach.

That was the best sleep I have had in awhile. Like I said, not really a story per say, but a fond memory.

[Mouse]

I've really got to cut down on my FB time..I keep heading my cursor for a non-existent LIKE button on here...stories, fond memories, what have you..all are welcome/

[Breandan]

I have a whole slew of stories to add to this thread, but there are some which are noteworthy, not because they happened at faire, but on the way to it. To explain this, you have to understand the journey- at the time, my foster-brothers Orren and Marty and I lived in or around Corpus Christi, which is four hours south of Houston along the coast. This meant a four hour trip to Houston on IH 77/59, and then switch to I-45 in Houston (which at that time was under constant construction and a nightmare and a half), followed by another hour to hour-and-a-half to faire. We did this after getting off work on Fridays... Epic journey indeed. One such tale happened in late October, 1995

That particular Friday eve, Marty and I were in the cab of my truck, and Orren was stretched out in the bed sleeping, encased in Marty's Army-issued arctic mummy bag and buried under our gear. As we came into Houston, 59 choked up to three very narrow lanes where construction was ongoing, and the 9pm bar-bound crowd was out in force. Then, it rained. Let me take a step back and rephrase that... somewhere above us in the heavens, a dam broke, deities fled for high ground, and then tore a rent in the sky to divert the biblical wall of water down onto our unsuspecting heads. We went from clear vision to where-the-hell-did-my-hood-go visibility in .04 seconds flat. All we could see of the car ahead of us was a faint red glow of brake lights as the dimwitted hydrophobe locked up and became a brand-name speed bump. Fortunately, I managed to avoid the bump and dodge a wreck, but found myself next to the k-rail divider. With a torrential downpour blinding us, and making traction dodgy at best, and the proximity of the concrete wall to my left seeming to be mere millimeters from my ear, things were understandably tense. Then, out of the rain-darkened night came a metallic behemoth from the right. A semi truck had pulled over into the middle lane, just as the car ahead of us slowed down. Boxed in by wall, semi, a cautious driver to the fore and a veritable vehicular proctologist behind us, our nerves were wracked like Torquemada's favorite victim.

A strange cracking noise sounded in the cab, and I risked a quick glance over to see Marty gripping the dashboard, and crushing it in his death grip as he stared out the right window at the truck. I then heard a strange squeak and realized I had bent the steering wheel in my own grip of the doomed. We rounded a curve, and then it happened- the semi crossed the dotted line. The lanes were already narrow, barely wide enough for my truck to fit in between the lines, so there was no room for movement as a mack truck suddenly wanted a wee cuddle. I pulled as far to the left as I could, only to be rewarded by a loud THWACK! as a reflector sticking out of the k-rail smacked my rearview mirror and slammed it against the window. Marty rolled down the window, allowing half the content of the Atlantic Ocean to join us, it seemed. I figured he had justifiably chosen to bail out of the doomed truck and take his chances clinging to the outside of the semi, but I was wrong. No, his loyalty to his brothers was strong as he leaned out the window and began furiously pounding on the back of the cab of the semi truck.

This seemed to get the attention of the driver, for the semi suddenly jerked away from pancaking our poor little truck into a Ford patty. I saw an opening and we managed to maneuver between vehicles like a ferret on meth , Marty shouting out "CLEAR!" the instant an opening appeared to the right, and we launched up the exit to I-45. As soon as we hit the exit, some god of weather returned from his visit to the loo and flipped the switch, shutting off the vertical tsunami. As we got onto I-45 proper, the skies parted, stars shone, angels sang, babies belched, and we pulled off onto the shoulder, grey-haired shattered wrecks of PTSD-stricken young men. It occurred to me that we had forgotten the last sibling of our traveling trio, and apparently Marty came to the same realization, for we both said "Orren!" in unison and bailed out of the cab, running to the bed to check on our trapped little brother. The wee bastard was still sound asleep. He had not only slept through the entire ordeal, but through some miracle of airflow and hydrodynamics he was bone-dry. Marty fixed that, scooping cold water off of the cab roof and dumping it on the slumbering cherub. After we finally reached faire (without further incident, thankfully), Marty and I agreed it was for the best if we drank ourselves into unconsciousness, which we did with the fervor one can only find in an ambitious career alcoholic.

Ah, good times 

[JackGonzo, MD]

Breandan sounds like you could make that experience a mod lol