Getting Tied Up
Despite this, I was always drawn to camping. Setting up in the forests of British Columbia for a few days, surrounded by trees and fresh air, always felt good. Worthwhile. Right.
Okay, that is too charitable. I was incompetent at knots. All I could really do is tie the basic learn-it-when-you’re-five knot, repeated twice for good measure. Knot connoisseurs call this a “granny knot,” and it is an objectively bad knot.
These bad knots got me through most of life – they tie a garbage bag until it’s out of sight and out of mind – but when it comes to camping, they are not very helpful. They don’t stay tight, but they’re also hard to untie. They’re not adjustable for tarp lines, and they’re not useful when you only have one end of a rope to work with. They’re just generally bad, and they should feel bad.
I kind of knew this. I had camped every year for decades, and my knots were always a source of frustration. But I was never a Boy Scout. I missed the knot-tying part of life! And my dad moved out when I was a kid. And… I dunno. I’m a computer guy, don’t make me learn knots.
