Trying to light a camp fire when it’s raining and everything is wet is a humbling experience, and not one that practicing in dry conditions prepares you for. Kim Stanley Robinson’s novel Shaman describes the process over more than seven pages without getting tedious.
I’m saying that as someone who has more experience than most people setting things on fire. Growing up in an overgrown park with no neighbors, no risk of wildfires and remarkably relaxed parents, I was able to start fires whenever and wherever I wanted. It was a good way to pass the time during weekends and vacations. Early on, I was maybe six years old, I set fire to a large pile of wet leaves. It smoked so much that a fire truck arrived to make sure everything was fine. I took care to avoid that afterwards. I got so experienced at starting fires that when I joined the scouts and they tried to teach me what I already knew I get confused because I assumed there had to be something I’m missing because what they taught me seemed too obvious.
Put the material that burns best at the bottom. Paper is good and so are the thin, dry branches from the bottom of pine trees. Make it as fluffy as you can. Add small twigs on top of that, shaped like a tepee. Take your time and add more small twigs that you think you need. If you don’t have small twigs, carve wood splinters off a larger branch with your knife. Have some larger branches ready. Now light the tepee from the bottom. Once the flame take hold, blow gently at first, then more fiercely. As soon as the twigs on the outside of the tepee start burning, add some more. Increase the size of the twigs you add and don’t relax until you have a solid fire.
As a kid, I didn’t limit myself to outdoors when it came to burning things. One of my earliest memories is setting fire to a plastic tray in the basement, the resulting smell earning me a stern warning from one of my sisters. Around Christmas time I set fire to a sparkler. When it went off, I got scared and dropped it on the floor, where it burned a hole in the wood. I covered it up by dragging a carpet over it and don’t remember ever being reprimanded about it.
I have passed some of this fascination with fire on to my kids. All three of them love to sit around the campfire, stare at its flames, poke or feed it occasionally, and roast marshmallows on it. But then again, they’re hardly the only ones.
Nehaveigur 