What a great story. Thanks for the memories. When I got stationed back in the states when my kids where pre-teen, I too took them camping. The ex was not impressed with the birchbark splint I had made to keep my middle daughters index finger straight, so that she wouldn't open the laceration. A result of tomahawk practice. I can still hear the high pitched, shrill squeeking voice as I tried to explain ablut stitches and 100 mile dirt road, not one of my best moments, I hate when my voice does that.