The Spot

There is a spot, further than the outskirts of the city, but not quite in the boonies. You need a car to get there, and you can maybe hitchhike, but it’s not ideal. Most of us carpool.

This spot doesn’t have an address, only coordinates that you have to punch into your GPS. You almost always drive past it and have to circle back around and go down the pathway.

This spot is by a nameless river, not because it’s actually nameless, but because no one really knows what it’s called. You can see people in canoes and kayaks off in the distance drifting about. They can’t see you, though. No one really can, because you’re in the thick of the bushes, covered by layers of leaves and branches. There’s a small clearing - big enough for a few tents with all our friends, and a fire pit nearby, but nothing more. We put our coolers and portable stovetops in the grassy area near the cardinal shrubs. Not too close to the shrubs, though, because that’s also where we pee.

Cider and beer cans crack open as the sun shines down. The strong, thick trees keep us cool; its shade making outlines of the branches above. You start to hear beats - deep, techno with no vocals - and realize someone has put music on their portable speakers. The sound is a contrast to the serene, fresh surrounding of trees and shrubbery. Even with the music, you can hear the oars sweeping through the water nearby, making small splashing sounds as canoers pass by. But again, they can’t see us.

Someone has lit up the fire pit. There’s a lot of us gathered around, hot and a little sweaty from the day in the sun and now by the fire. Bags of marshmallows and tin cans pop open. Metal utensils clang against metal containers. Nobody really likes plastic here. Every now and then, you catch a faint hint of body odour, but you don’t even mind - it quickly gets lost in the open air. Either that or it gets lost the fire crackling nearby. The smell of the burning wood is intoxicating - it’s musky, but fragrant and makes you want to go sit in front of it. Even its flames dancing around puts you in a trance-like state.

We come to this spot as often as we can — usually on a long weekend.