Us: 1 ; Asshole Camping Neighbors: 0

You hate to see it come to that, but sometimes 911 is the only thing left between you and a halfway decent salvagable night's sleep. After marching across the road at midnight Friday night and calmly asking the large group to quiet down because people were trying to sleep, thank you, Saturday night's noisy shenanigans put us over the edge. Especially since they had been repeatedly talked to by Big Bend's management twice the night before about keeping quiet. Unwilling to walk over and risk a nasty confrontation with Fred Flintstone and a trashy tattooed Wilma the second night, Tim repeatedly called the campground office, got no answer, and then dropped the big one on them (while apologizing for using 911 for a nonemergency). I missed it (I must have actually slept at various points) when the sheriff arrived and told them in no uncertain terms to quiet down.

We're not sure how many people were part of this group, but we estimated 4 couples and about 8 small children. A toddler clad in nothing but a swim diaper kept escaping the clan. I'm sure any parent is all too aware of just how fast those little legs can churn...it's actually pretty frightening to behold. I watched one of the adults break into a full sprint to catch the little squirt. I was afraid before the weekend was over we were going to witness a water search-and-rescue from the high and fast-flowing Rifle River on one side of us, or the 5-acre lake on the other.

Seriously, the loudmouth ringleader looked and sounded like Fred Flintstone. As Sharon said within an hour of them pulling in and setting up, he simply did not have an 'inside' voice. We could hear pretty much everything he said (and drunkenly sang in the wee hours) the whole time they were there. After we asked them to quiet down Friday night, we could overhear him bitching about all the 'old people' at this end of the campground (?), and declaring since he'd brought all this booze with him, he was going to drink it.

Within minutes of arriving, various members were trotting through both our campsites with abandon. After all, it was the shortest way to the bathroom building and the lake. I've never seen it written down anywhere, but there is a camping rule that says you don't traipse through peoples' sites once they are set up. You just DON'T. We had to ask several times to please stop walking through our sites. And Sharon has a dog who was probably abused before they rescued her, and is very skittish around little kids. Beyond preventing this rude annoyance, she wanted to prevent a potentially serious dog-child incident. As things turned out, it was one of their rat terriers that attacked Sharon's other dog while he was minding his own business on our side of the road. I was sure we were going to be looking for the nearest emergency clinic for stitches, because in dove Sharon to try to separate the furry, snarling mess. Luckily there were no injuries other than to Skippy's pride.

We knew we were probably in for nastiness when I saw 'Wilma' yelling at me (Me? Are you seriously yelling at me?) from about 100 feet down the road Saturday morning while we were minding our business sitting in our camp chairs. I guess since I was the only one she could see between the parked trucks, I got the benefit of her tirade which ended in 'God forbid we should walk through your sites!!'. I wondered what the rest of it was, and why she didn't feel she could come a little closer to us and say it in an 'inside' voice. Hmmm. Anyway, we got many hours of relief when the entire gang packed up and left for a day on the river. Which meant we decided to NOT go canoeing, and instead sit around, talk and drink Bone Relaxers. Tim, mom and I also seized the advantage to take naps to make up from the night before, and to prepare for another possible noisy night. We also amused ourselves watching the seagulls descend on their messy, trash-strewn campsites after they left, hoping they crapped all over everything.

One would think a Friday night of drinking and most of a hot Saturday spent on a river would tire anyone out. Well, apparently not. The evening started out quietly enough, but unbelievably they got louder with the radio and Fred talking and singing as camp quiet hour came and went. And the kicker was all of them looked pretty bright-eyed and bushy tailed come Sunday morning. Some things just aren't fair. What was even more aggravating was us observing Fred having what looked like a friendly word with the camp owner at the pig roast Saturday night, and then one with his wife Sunday morning at the pancake breakfast. Both times in our plain view. I voiced a sneaking suspicion this was calculated.

Here's the fair part of the story: Sharon followed up with an email to the campground website after we parted and went home, and this turned into a phone conversation with the owner's wife after she'd detailed our weekend. It seems these people were about to be kicked out of the campground Saturday night/Sunday morning, but given the amount of alcohol consumed and small children present, it was decided that putting them out on the road was the worst thing they could do. After being roused by our complaints two nights in a row (including by law enforcement), she told Sharon these people are not allowed back into Big Bend campground again. And the suspicion we'd had of Fred being friends with the owner? Bogus. He'd been going around telling people he'd known them for 7 years.

Full disclosure: we and our camping group have made some serious noise and done some hellacious drinking in times past. But when someone told us to quiet down, we did. And we didn't need to be told the night after that. Nor did we cop an attitude like we were the wronged party, or pull retaliatory crap.

Oh, and here's the recipe for Bone Relaxers:

(From Big Bruce's Chili Mix package insert)

1 cup vodka
1 cup peach schnapps
1 cup dark rum
1 cup orange liqueur (Triple Sec)
1 quart orange juice
1/2 gallon orange-cranberry Tropicana Twister


Makes 1 gallon and then some.

We long ago decided ice is optional, but Sharon thought up putting it in her smoothie maker with a just a little ice...and it's really good that way. Best served in a gawdy, cheap plastic flamingo or palm tree glass while camping.

And just so there's no doubt we had no hunger issues, here's the hunk of beef tenderloin we had Friday night:


























I so wish I had gotten a pic of the pig when they were roasting it or carving it Saturday night. The potluck pig roast alone is worth a weekend camping trip to this place.