If memory serves me -- sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't -- I remember how much I used to enjoy our summer family camping trips.

There was nothing fancy about the way we camped. The six of us would pile into one big tent for sleeping. If we were lucky, we were camped close enough to the outhouse so we could get to it in time to use it -- if not, we figured out how it was done before outhouses were invented.

Our days were spent fishing and swimming and laying on the beach. We'd either cook over a charcoal grill or mom would make our meals on an old Coleman cookstove. Our water supply came from the nearest pump faucet.

My most recent trip went a little differently than it did in those lazy days of my youth.

We were invited to Wyoming by a friend of Brad's to go antelope hunting. Instead of intruding on his privacy, we decided to take our camper.

Now granted, the camper is 42 years old. Some people might consider that pretty old, but considering it's two years younger than I am, I think it may just be in the prime of its life.

When we first got it, we replaced the water lines throughout. The propane heater in it worked fine, as did the air conditioning and electric heat. The dump tank was in good condition and the stove worked great. It was like living in a miniature version of home.

Granted, the hot water heater didn't work -- it almost burned Jer's hair off when he tried to light it -- but I was willing to boil the water necessary to do the dishes, and a cold shower every once in a while never hurt anyone.

We were taking off Wednesday, just as soon as everything was packed and we had checked everything out to make sure it worked -- like the propane furnace, the water system, the dump tank. We at least managed to get everything packed.

We stopped in Scottsbluff on the way to Gillette to visit Brad's mom and brother. We found a campground that allowed us to stay for the night. (They had planned on closing it down that night.)

We hooked up the electricity. No problems. We turned on the stove. No problems. We lit the pilot light on the propane heater. No problems. We turned the heat on. No heat.

While all this was going on inside, Brad was outside, hooking up the water to fill our tank. It wasn't until he turned on the water valve that we realized that the faucets had all been left open last year -- to allow the water to drain.

"Shut it off!" I yelled as I went running back to the bathroom to shut off the water faucets -- a task much easier said than done. When the guys packed they had thrown half our bedding and most of our clothes into the bathroom. Water was running everywhere.

I began throwing bedding and suitcases and boots into the sleeping quarters, while all the while the sink filled with water and overran and the hose on the shower did a little dance around the three walls surrounding it. I finally managed to get the faucets turned off, but still there was the distinct sound of water running.

I went outside to look around. It didn't take me long to discover that the water we were running into the tank was running out just as quickly. The valve was obviously broken.

We survived the cold fall night by turning on the oven and circulating the heat with the vent from our air conditioner.

Once we arrived at Brad's friend George's house, we knew exactly where we stood. We bought three cases of water, found the best shelter for our personal hygiene and stayed warm as we gathered around the cooking stove.

I have to admit it had to have been one of the most adventurous and memorable camping trips of my life, take that and add to it that we filled all seven antelope permits and I can honestly say -- I'm ready to do it again.