09/29/2026
Tent vs Man…hood
Tents and camping go hand in hand. In fact, one would hardly exist without the other. Were it not for the tent, camping would simply be called…dying of exposure!! Tents have kept humans mostly alive for thousands of years and were, in fact, the inspiration for the modern home. At some point in history someone said: “Hey, let’s take this same concept but make it dry, comfortable, more wind resistant, and most importantly…with no zippers!” Perhaps this ancestral history is somehow ingrained in our DNA, and this is why, from a very young age, many people, especially boys, are fascinated with tents. It usually starts when children at play will stretch a sheet between two chairs and crawl inside, pretending to be like the mountain men of old, taking shelter from imaginary storms, gales, and wild beasts. This fascination continues through the years until they eventually advance to setting up real tents in the backyard and going on group outings with friends on local lakes and forests. Then suddenly, the fascination fades the first time that a real storm, gale, or wild beast tears at their tents.
For some of us, though, the relationship is lifelong. Adversarial, if not downright combative at times, but still the bond between man and tent is as strong today as it was for the mountain men and our ancient ancestors. Many of us look at the tent not just as a refuge from the elements, but as a thing to be mastered. A thing to be tamed and conquered like a wild beast. Putting up a tent could be considered the ultimate sign of our outdoorsmanship and a test of our manhood. What outdoorsy guy has not poured the contents of a new tent out upon the ground and not heard that mocking challenge coming from deep within said pile of nylon, clanking poles, and cords saying: “You don’t even know how to put all my parts together, do you…Mr. Mountain Man”? Nobody likes a snarky tent!
Tents have come a long way over the centuries. Going from simple skins hung over some sticks to complex, mind-bending puzzles of nylon, poles, zippers (that never work), and cords that even Einstein didn’t have an equation for. I don’t think that in the early days of aluminum pole tents that I ever had one that had all the poles. I may well have been the reason that the modern bungee-corded tent poles were invented. However, I feel I could still lose one were I to make even a modest effort towards that goal. And I know I have never had one that the zipper survived past the first outing, nor one that would fit back into the bag it came in.
Nevertheless, our primal urges drive us to continue to try and conquer this beast we call the tent. Native Americans famously gained a feather in their headdress each time they “counted coup” on an enemy warrior. I am sure they also gained a feather each time they successfully put up their teepees, especially if they didn’t lose a pole. But I bet they never could get them back into their original bags, though! However, it is exactly this kind of toxic masculinity and desire to prove ourselves that led to the unfortunate events of when I first arrived.
I arrived at camp exhausted and suffering from severe altitude sickness. I managed to get my small canvas tent up for a place to sleep that first night. A simple 10x12 canvas tent easily conquered by a man of even the most modest abilities. However, the kitchen tent is a 16x20 behemoth weighing well over 100 lbs. and ideally should be set up by three or four people. It would be a week or more before anyone else arrived in camp to help, and I needed a place to cook and keep warm out of the weather. Forgetting that I am fast becoming a senior citizen, and the mist of memory having bred the miasma of delusion, I convinced myself that I am still the man of capabilities, strength, flexibility, and ingenuity that I was 30 years ago.
Just as any real man worthy of the title would do, I fancied I could do it easily by myself. It’s just how us guys are designed to think. If Barnum & Bailey could raise their tents with just a couple elephants, surely a man such as myself could raise this one alone. I drug the giant mass of canvas out of the trailer and over to its final destination. Trying to pace my footsteps between the pounding in my head, I cleverly and systematically laid out the tent and supports and tied off the ropes to trees so as to make sure everything would go up as easily, safely, and efficiently as possible. After realizing I had it backwards and inside out, I cleverly and systematically redid the whole thing. Now keep in mind that a giant canvas tent does not present itself as a giant canvas tent when laying on the ground, but rather a giant pile of twisted and tangled sheets whose ability to form into knots is unbelievable!
Slowly, I got everything in position. Scissor supports on both ends, center supports laid in place, and the ridgepole threaded down the center. Now, to raise one of these tents, you begin by raising the two outside scissor supports, thus lifting the ridgepole. You then start to raise the center supports to help take some of the weight off the ridgepole so it does not break. With multiple people, this can all be done in one motion, and the tent is raised in seconds. With one person, it is a delicate dance of running from pole to pole, inching each one up a little at a time. Raise one up too far and the other supports fall away, and you have to start over.
Victory is usually declared the moment you get the center supports perfectly vertical under the ridgepole. Once this is achieved, it is a quick dash to tighten the lines, and the tent is all but up. However, Mother Nature, being inherently hostile to the efforts of man and to me personally, has a way of taking your little victories, successes, and pleasures in life and crushing them up like a wad of tinfoil, tossing them to the ground…then raining on them! Keep in mind that in my condition at the time, this had been an hours-long project, and I had no more than bumped that final support into position and declared myself a man among men for having accomplished this alone, when out of nowhere came a 40-mile-per-hour gust directly into my now 20-foot freestanding wind sock! From inside the tent, I held onto the pole with all my might, believing brute strength alone could save her. It felt like I was about to be lifted off the ground when I heard one of the scissor supports hit the ground outside and then the other. I knew then, that just like a canvas-covered Titanic, this ship was going to founder! There was nothing I could do now but save myself. With a single bound, I leaped through the door of the tent, barely escaping being encased in a 100 pounds of twisted canvas and poles as the whole entire thing came crashing down into a creaking and groaning heap! Thankfully, nothing had been broken, torn, or crushed…and the tent and poles were fine too!
I stood there for some time, hands in my pockets, just staring blankly in disbelief. I looked first to the pile of canvas laying before me, then to the ominous clouds that had bred that dastardly gust of wind. Then back to the canvas, then back again to the clouds, when a sudden thunderclap brought me back to my senses and, with the accompanying burst of adrenaline, I started the whole process over again, throbbing head and all. Altitude sickness or not, I would not be defeated! Killed maybe….but not defeated! Once again, I performed the dance of running pole to pole, and this time luck was on my side. Just as I drove the last stake into ground, securing the tent for good, it started to rain, and did not stop for the next three days, but at least I would be dry.
What is the moral of this story, you ask? I don’t know, but I do know that there is not a single particular day that you suddenly become “not the man you used to be”…there is only the day that you admit it! So just deny it as long as you can and keep doing dumb, dangerous stuff…like the man you used to be would have done!
