It started 420 million years ago around the late Silurian Period when I first invented fire...And if you believe that you're bonkers. I'm old, but not quite that old. I didn't invent fire at all but the Neanderthal man in me loves it; fire is so pleasingly orange-red and wobbly!
I've had a fascination with fire from a young age and whilst I certainly don't have pyromania I've always been attracted to fire; lighting it and watching it, which for many years has happened around countless camp fires.
If you've never camped in the wilderness and sat behind a low-burning campfire looking up at the thousands of stars overhead at night then you'll not understand, and I pity you...It's wondrous to sit beside a fire, a primal element that has helped to sustain life for so long and I do it a lot...I did it as a kid too, just not always as safely as I do these days. Here's a short, and very true, story about fire and me as a kid...I'm fortunate to be able to tell it considering the possible ramifications of this lamentable event. Here's the story...
It won't go
The fire wasn't the glorious orange-red wobbly thing I'd envisaged. I looked with dismay at my dunce older brother who stared at the pile of wood and wispy tendrils of smoke that wafted upwards. It was cold, dark and not very cheery at all - Campfire glory had eluded me, but I was never a quitter.
We'd spent a couple days planning for this camp, on the property where we lived with our parents and maternal-grandparents - a large rural property - that allowed a couple of adventurous kids a lot of room to play, and find trouble. It was 1978, I was eight and my cretin-brother just over twelve; good boys mostly, but boys nonetheless so trouble seemed always around the corner.
Back to the story...
I decided, in my Neanderthal fire-boy wisdom, that the wood was too thick; we needed more tinder. I stood there contemplating this problem and the fact that we'd already scoured the property for what we could find. We set out with the one torch we had for another scrounge though and came up with a few twigs and sticks that would suit. Back at the fire to place the new tinder and a few match-strikes later we had fire...But it failed again...More smoke, very little flame and no heat to catch the larger wood we'd placed.
I'm sure you can imagine the disappointment considering all the hard work we'd put into finding the wood, gathering our camping things [matches, makeshift sleeping bags, food stolen from the kitchen, a tarpaulin and a few sticks to make a lean-to shelter and so on]. All of which had to be carefully hidden from the adults. I just wanted fire!
Back to the story...
Where there's smoke there's fire
I was getting impatient. Standing over the fire willing it to light wasn't working, I was getting cold [it was winter] and my fire-making skills were clearly not up to scratch. My brother, somewhat of a dimwit, made a few suggestions which I vetoed quickly by way of my eight year old withering stare that said, you're such an idiot, quite clearly; I used it on him quite often because he was; about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.
No! Your foolish suggestions of scrumpled-up newspaper are not productive and clearly won't work; and your incessant babbling is putting me off my thinking-game is what I was thinking. I was FIRE BOY - Don't tell me how to make fire you daft fool!
What we needed was petrol! It was pretty obvious really.
It was about this point where remembering a quote my nana told me once would have come in quite handy. We were in a rural area you see and bonfires to burn off the annual collection of clippings, rubbish and anything burnable that was no longer required was usual; they were quite spectacular and always very large. It was around one of these as a kid, maybe six years old, my nana delivered her sage advice, 'where there's smoke there's fire,' - I just didn't remember it on this particular occasion.
Back to the story...
We need petrol
I ran off to the shed where the ride-on mower/slasher was stored and managed to drag back a half-full jerry can of petrol to the campsite. After a few moments of rest and recovery I determined what was required.
Put petrol on wood then light it was the sum and total of my plan.
I struggled to open the cap of the jerry can; it was one of those old-school original metal ones and was on tight, as it should be. My halfwit-brother tried to do it first but it was left to me and my massive eight year old muscles to get the cap, one of those flip up ones, off. Those trusty muscles never failed me. Ah the sweet smell of benzene-based gasoline, I thought as it wafted into my nostrils. I grinned like a Titan of fire and proceeded.
All was in readiness; this fire was going to be the best fire ever.
I'll be honest here, my muscles weren't quite as developed as I've indicated above. I was a pretty typical eight year old and so idiotic enough to think I could heft and control ten litres of fuel pouring out of a metal jerry can...Pouring out onto wood that had already had fire lit underneath it twice.
Back to the story...
We have fire
I hefted the can whilst my weakling-ignoramus older brother watched on in awe.
I struggled closer to the fire, left hand on the handle of the jerry can, right hand beneath the base to the back end, and bent my back into it upending the spout onto the fire.
Petrol flowed.
Petrol splashed onto the piled wood and the ground around it.
Petrol poured down to the previously lit kindling.
It all took only a second or so and as I kept pouring my mind swam with images of the glorious orangey-red wobbly thing called fire that would soon warm my cold body...Or maybe my mind swam with benzene-induced hallucinations, I couldn't tell. Neanderthal fire-boy just cared about fire; #firelife, although hashtags didn't exist back then.
Some of you may see the problem here but engrossed in my Neanderthal-fire-boy moment I failed to see the flaw in my plan; not for about a second or two anyway, and then things became pretty clear.
Back to the story...
We have fire! I felt a split second of satisfaction but then the fire seemed to explode...There was fire everywhere. I wish I could say my satisfaction endured but it was swiftly replaced by abject fear. I wasn't engulfed as I'd stepped back from the fire as the petrol made that WHOOF sound and ignited but I was close enough to get some singed eye-brows. [I blame that fire for having eye-brows like caterpillars now - They grew back with a vengeance.] But that fire...It was making its way up the petrol pouring from the jerry can to the spout.
I didn't even have a moment to look over and blame my ninny-brained older brother as it all happened so quickly. I flung the jerry can into the air and ran away as did my older chump-brother. When far enough away we turned and watched a large portion of the ground engulfed in flames as the overturned jerry can spilled out its remaining contents. Part of me thought, now that's an awesome orangey-red wobbly thing, other parts of me wanted to shit my pants.
It burned.
And burned.
And burned.
And...You get the idea.
When the petrol finally burned out we were left with a very pleasing fire...Although it was in the middle of scorched earth reminiscent of what's left after a bushfire. My simpleton-brother thought it was great...But I was thinking about the flogging I was going to get when mum and dad found out what had happened; my only solace was the thought that my clod-boy-brother would also get punished, although he rarely did to be honest.
True to form your favourite Australian, G-dog, was mercilessly punished; it wasn't my finest hour. The adults ranted and raved, my brother blamed me and got off scot-free [a Scandinavian phrase as it turns out] and me? I toughed it out during a series of punishments designed to instil a fear of lighting fires and most of which included spankings, food nd freedom deprivation. [Back in the good days when parents could administer corporal punishments with impunity.]
It didn't work though, I still oved fire, I just know how to do it properly now.
Ok, so clearly this is one of those moments from my youth in which I could have found myself in a whole world of trouble. It was incredibly stupid and dangerous and I could have been killed or so badly burned I'd wish I'd died. I've tried to make it sound funny but in truth it's not at all; playing with fire isn't funny at all. I survived though and I learned a valuable lesson...
Don't get caught.
Throw the jerry can, don't pour.
Use a SIP grenade (self-igniting phosphorus) to light campfires.
Frame my dullard older brother for the transgression.
Hmm, maybe it's best if I let you find your own moral to this lamentable story.
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default - Tomorrow isn't promised so be humble and kind
Discord: galenkp#9209
The image is my own - Olympus macro.