I hadn’t camped for probably 10 or 15 years, not because I’d grown weary of the air mattresses with slow leaks or sleeping bags that don’t easily turn with you when you roll over in the middle of the night, or finding crude bathroom facilities in the dark.

It’s just that other pursuits, evolving lifestyle, kids growing up and leaving the nests pushed camping down the list of things there was time to do.

But, the tug to get outta town for more than a day trip hasn’t left. So, Marlene and I started discussing a while ago the prospects of tenting in the mountains for a few days.

Camping in the Rockies west of Calgary was part of growing up. The family had a heavy canvas tent with wooden poles – one up the middle – that five or six would sleep in beside a Kananaskis creek before the area became civilized. You learned not to touch the tent side because that would allow moisture to drip in somehow.

At scout camp along the Elbow River, you’d learn how to make a willow stave, makeshift lean-to or a fire with whatever you could find in the woods.

Camping was a thing families did to experience the outdoors and, perhaps make do without the comforts of home to more appreciate them. I’d gone from a tent, to a couple of VW campers to a tent trailer, to the back of a station wagon and back.

Much later, log cabins in the woods were good. One in particular stands out.  It had no electricity or bathroom, but a wood stove on which we cooked dinner and a wood-burning fireplace as the only heat source on a couple of frosty November nights.

The fireplace or fire pit outdoors was also an invitation to bring out the guitar for sing-a-longs, while stabbing marshmallows on a stick to brown or burn, depending on your preference.

A couple of times, the fire pit became a focal point for the wrong reasons, one when Mike found a discarded railway tie to use as fuel and smoked up the air around Alexander Creek.

Perhaps it was the memories that prompted Marlene to borrow a tent. We set it up in the front yard to see if it had all the pegs and poles. A lot simpler and lighter than the old canvas one.

I pulled the old green Coleman camp stove out of the garage corner it had occupied for 10 years, cleaned it up and noted it still had white gas in the tank. At least we’d have strong, perked coffee in the morning. Didn’t check for leaks in the queen-sized air mattress, but threw it in the back of the truck with the camp cot that fits neatly into a box.

One recent night at a safe acreage near Bragg Creek showed us the tent would withstand a heavy wind and rain. The air mattress held up, and the morning coffee passed the taste test. We were ready to consider the next step – perhaps a mountain campground.

But what about bears? Wouldn’t a trailer be better? Friends recommended a Boler.

Hmmm.