Our weekend at Hult Pond was unforgettable. I know because I have tried.
Disbursed camp sights sprawl along this man made log pond and nightmarish horror movie set along a footpath seamingly designed to dump its evening travelers into the muck that is Hult Pond. Jagged old logs poke out of the stagnant water as a reminder that someone used to get paid to spend the day here.
If this doesn’t sound like the most picturesque of settings I would direct you to the strange log loading equipment rusting just on the forbidden side of a gated barbed wire fence. Upon closer inspection you see what must be tetanus’s way of luring barefoot boys and girls into a summer of drooling lockjaw.
The access road is a still functioning rock quarry road that hosts a never ending parade of old rattling dump trucks and loaders. Nothing says ,”getting away from the hustle and bustle” quite like a convoy barrelling down a narrow road spilling basketball sized boulders before returning bouncing back up empty and clearly attempting to meet a quota.
The whole thing gave me an uneasy sense of nostalgia. Reminding me of the days we would gather by the dozens with red solo cups full of Hams. We would drink ourselves into a vomiting delirium in a parking lot off some old logging road. We would wake up with profanities drawn on our faces as punishment for succumbing to alcohol poisoning sooner than at least one of our classmates.
In fact I believe that’s exactly what the 58 kids in the campsite right next to ours we’re doing each night of our trip.
The girls learned all sorts of colorful language and I believed, based on the way my ten year old son was drooling that the tetanus had succeeded. I was not relieved to discover on our final morning, him wreaking of cheap beer and cigarettes and moaning how horrible he felt while proffering his undying love to a high school girl named Tiffany.
Not recommended.
