There’s hope if they’re finally ditching light beer

Can it be that the root cause of declining outdoors participation isn’t Nintendo, nor the warm confines of the couch, rather it’s a lack of appreciation for straight liquor?


Campfires and the out-of-doors have always been associated with a return to the simple, unsophisticated life of our adventurer-hunter-gatherer ancestors, and the measure of what we can do without is stressed as the new masculinity.

… or at least that was my Poppa’s take on his Poppa’s lectures …

It didn’t matter if it was battery-operated, solar-powered, or threw off enough BTU’s to render tents and bags unnecessary, unless it was hand-cranked and raised blisters, you didn’t get to bring it.

What we didn’t take into account was how the younger crowd would be so much smarter than us. Our generation watched Gus Grissom punch out early, a president take the rap for covert misdeeds, and discovered that John Wayne wore four inch lifts, and we unknowingly communicated our mistrust of authority to our kids …

… who question everything taught them by Poppa, including dumping both beer and the out-of-doors in preference for faux-sophistication and exotic cocktails.

Baby boomers prefer wine, while millennials like exotic cocktails. Compared with those beverages, light beer is about as exciting as a glass of milk.

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It’s not rocket science to understand that juggling Grenadine while filching a fistful of capers out of a darkened container at the campfire, could wind up as a finger full of Pautske’s dipped in the last of the good liquor, and “shaken not stirred” won’t prevent your pals from spitting up all over their sleeping gear …

Start by giving your child an appreciation for straight liquor, then work your way up to mosquito bites, skinned knees, and sandwiches with sand in them …

5 thoughts on “There’s hope if they’re finally ditching light beer”

  1. I don’t care what kind it is, I just like booze, at my local bar they call me the garbage disposal. Although one time Alex and I were in the south Platte and I slipped off a grassy sandbar backwards and before I could even get up Alex was dangling a Jager shooter over my head, that picked me up like Popeye’s spinach. I do have a huge appreciation for strait booze, But when you are in Arizona and it’s 110 degrees out there is something awesomely refreshing about holding a can of light beer that is so cold it burns your hand.

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