1965: The Big "W"

By David R. Deitrick on August 23, 2024

During their Thirties peak in popularity, motion pictures, and the theaters in which they were shown, played an important role in American society. With radio as their main competition, the movies provided information and entertainment. Going to the movies meant a pair of feature films preceded by a cartoon, newsreel, and a fifteen-minute chapter from a Republic serial viewed in comfortably upholstered seats. In the summer it also included air conditioning (a rare luxury at the time) which provided both a respite from the heat and a welcome chance to socialize after a grinding work week.

None of that mattered to me on a particularly frigid Friday afternoon in March of 1965. While in search of heat rather than air-conditioning, I was jonesing for the comedy blockbuster It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World which was showing at the Soldotna Theater. The film told the story of an eclectic group of comedians in search of a hidden treasure trove of $350,000 in stolen cash, their single clue being the phrase, 'The big W', but I was primarily lookingforward to seeing the antics of my comedian de jour, Jonathon Winters.

…but instead of noshing on hard-as-a-rock candy bars while sitting on equally hard seats,

I was curled up shivering in a thin California-weight sleeping bag under a lean-to that offered absolutely no heat retention to the occupants. It was my first camp-out with Troop 151, and we'd set up at the east end of the Scout Lake close to where the state campground is now located. It was there that I learned the first three rules of camping;

Outside air temperature drops ten degrees when you have to pee.

Looking back from years of outdoor living with both army and as an adult scout leader, I shudder at the idea of a dozen ill-equipped and untrained boys spending the night sleeping outdoors in subzero weather. Even more distressing was the fact that of the three other dads who'd loudly talked for weeks about toughing it out with the boys, not one of them turned up on Friday for the outing. My dad was the only adult to show, but due to his overloaded schedule at the employment office he had little chance to prep or pack for the trip – after speeding home from the office, he tossed an assortment of gear and food into his backpack and drove us out to the lake.

Setting up was quick and easy – we split into pairs, claimed camp spots, and after stamping down sleeping areas in the snow we built lean-tos consisting of an overhead framework of saplings with spruce boughs providing cover. The final touch was a reflecting wall at the open end of the sloping roof, which in theory reflected heat from campfires into the space under the sapling roof¹. Dinner was the first order of business, and it was at that point I learned the second law of camping:

Nothing tastes right without a bit of dirt kicked into the skillet while cooking.

Most of the Scouts opted for something fried, but I chose to make a foil-dinner². On the drive out there'd been lots of talk about pranks, but one look at the scowl on dad's face put an end to that option, and we turned in early to shiver the night away. Unfortunately, in his efforts to make up for the three 'no shows', dad overdid himself and developed a hernia. After checking that we were all warm and safe, he drove the mile or so home, promising someone would be out to pick us up in the morning.

Despite the lean-to roof, we had an impressive view of the night sky. Light pollution was a term that wouldn't even exist for a couple of decades, and with the closest streetlight at least five miles away, I felt like I was on the set of Fireball XL5. It was a breathtaking vista, but the longer I took in the view, the more confused I became.

It seemed as though one of the stars directly overhead was moving in a westerly direction. It entered my field of vision, then turned and continued at a downward angle before turning yet again on an upward slant. The pattern continued forming a series of big W's across the night sky before disappearing over the trees to the west, and once it was gone my attention shifted back to the main challenge that came with winter camping; staying warm while minimizing time outside of the sleeping bag by taking a leak as quickly as possible.

Daybreak came surprisingly fast, but breaking camp meant warming up frozen clothes, packing our gear, and walking out to the road while loudly complaining at each step. Home was a beehive of activity as Mom prepped Dad for a trip to the Wildwood clinic for an evaluation of his hernia. The next few weeks continued to buzz by as Dad went to the base hospital at Elmendorf for his hernia repair followed by the rest of the family during spring break the next week for dental work. The next night that I spent under canvas was during Scout camp the following summer where the discomfort of subzero weather was replaced by the equally odious menace of Howard Watson's corn-fueled flatulence.

It wasn't until we were planning for another campout the next fall that I learned the third rule of camping.

The hardest campouts give you the best stories to share.

I never did find out what the big in the Sky was, even when I was stationed at FT Richardson years later As this happened in the height of the Cold War it could have been part of some observation/reconnaissance effort by either us or the Russians but who knows…

Notes

This was before I replaced my Godzilla mode of camping (cutting and smashing anything in my way) with the more responsible minimum impact mode.

Foil dinner recipe/checklist:
Brown the meat and parboil the vegetables first.
Place the meat and vegetables in the middle off a sheet of aluminum foil 18 inches square.
Pour condensed cream of mushroom soup over the ingredients and mix it in well.
Fold up the aluminum foil into a flat packet taking care to fold over the seams.
Fold a sheet of newspaper around the foil pack.
Wrap a second layer of aluminum foil around the packet.
Cook on glowing coals for half-hour, occasionally flipping the packet.