Maybe I was being hasty, but I thought spreading out the wee bag of kindling I purchased at the camp store over some crumpled up notebook paper would be sufficient to ignite a cheery blaze at campsite #26 on Mount Pisgah along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Humidity, it turns out is a bitch. So is incompetence in fire starting. After 20 minutes of cursing and coaxing, I managed only to singe my corneas and inhale a carton of Camel non filters worth of smoke.
Lacking a Vietnam era flamethrower, I resorted to placing three sticks of crooked firewood directly onto the burner of my Coleman gas grill. After thirty seconds, I used salad tongs to lift the fiery swastika into the fire pit. Then I sat basking in the glow, marveling at all the time I saved not earning an Eagle Scout badge.