Word: camped
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...some ways a dangerous sport too, but less for the fish than for the angler's relatives. Fly-fishermen can quickly become world-class bores. Solitude becomes an end in itself. Spouses bristle at the suggestion that family vacations should consist of two weeks at some bug-infested fishing camp in Forsaken, Mont. Dinner-party invitations trail off as conversation seems to center on the pleasures of fishing nymphs in deep riffles or the relative merits of bamboo and graphite fly rods. Children growl at the proposal that the backyard pool be returned to nature and converted to a trout...
Before my mind could locate the most appropriate New Jersey joke for the moment, ("logically impossible" "is your nose clogged or something?") my memory flashed to my last canoeing experience, at summer camp 10 years...
...summer in the high Himalayas, but photographer Robert Nickelsberg borrowed a heavy-duty arctic snowsuit to cover this week's story on war on the Siachen Glacier between India and Pakistan. Just as well: he was stranded by a blizzard at a military camp 17,400 ft. up. Later, during an artillery exchange, Nickelsberg tried to dash to a better position only to discover that the thin air made it "nearly impossible to run." The rigors behind him, Nickelsberg sent back the first combat pictures seen in the West of this little-known conflict...
...fascinating account of what might be called the psychopathology of exploration. It presents not just the evidence of its subjects' misdeeds -- or nondeeds -- but the details of two extraordinary lives. Despite his claims, Cook never really tried to reach the North Pole. In 1908 he simply set up a camp with two Eskimo boys near the shore of the Arctic Ocean, stayed there for a number of days, then returned home and announced success. Peary tried repeatedly, with all his energy, and in 1909, at the age of 53, nearly made it. But the speeds and distances he claimed...
...Phoenix hotel, a gaggle of aging boxing groupies watch the hulk as he works out. Foreman is like the dynamo of old, steadily pounding home sledgehammer blows. Five rounds later and barely sweating, he halts to regale the faithful. "I should be carrying a cane," he jests. "My training camp is Baskin-Robbins. But if Tyson wins, it's only Lamborghinis and big houses for himself. Means nothing. If I win, every man over 40 can grab his Geritol and have a toast...