How to start a fire in snow is a mystery (From Watford Observer)

How to start a fire in snow is a mystery

2:45pm Friday 10th February 2012

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Nobody is indifferent to snow. It matters to us in a deep-down, visceral sort of way. When you wake up and see snow, you react.

It’s the only weather that truly does this. Sun is great, of course, rain is so commonplace as to be uninteresting, even fog and mist aren’t that interesting.

But snow. Well there’s something out of the ordinary.

Kids love it. Adults bemoan it. We all end up throwing it at each other, then complain when it turns to slush.

Ice makes our pavements treacherous and enlarges our plague of potholes even more.

In Chorleywood, there is a pothole so large that it now looks like a small swimming pool, randomly placed in the middle of the road. The problem is that the water reflects the light, so it’s hard to see there’s a whacking great hole there.

Locals now know it, slow down and go all single-track-road to get around it, waving each other on and offering cheery palms of thanks.

Others, less familiar with the road, end up driving straight on obliviously, bracing themselves for nothing more than an innocent looking puddle, and emerge with a dazed look on their faces, both car and spine shaking.

When the snow and ice have gone, I reckon this king of potholes is going to be so big, it’ll start showing up on relief maps.

But when the snow came this past week, I wasn’t driving down the road, or sitting at home watching out of the window.

No, I was at a Cub Scout camp in the middle of some woods in Chandlers Cross.

My son is an enthusiastic Cub and so, when it came to asking parents to volunteer to help out at his pack’s winter camp, my name was lobbed in early on. I’d love to say I was chosen because of my unmatched ability to start fires, forage for berries, tie knots and survive in the wild, but I suspect there were more prosaic reasons.

For one thing, a fair few parents probably had the werewithal to work out that camping in February – even if sleeping in a wooden hut – was likely to be a chilly affair. And yes, it was. Very.

For another – you couldn’t be blamed for being terrified of spending the weekend with two dozen over-excited, soon to be sleep-deprived eight, nine and ten-year-olds.

Really, if I’d thought this through, I would have run a mile. But I’m glad I didn’t.

Because what we had were two inspirational leaders in the shape of Richard and John.

If ever there were people who were born to run groups like this, then it’s them.

They are the sort of people who can calm a group of children with a single look, then start a safe, warming, roaring fire in the blink of an eye, then whittle chairs out of fallen logs. All the while chatting away and dealing with three separate problems.

Fires are a big deal in the Scouting movement, by the way.

On the first night I was despatched off alongside Neville, the other volunteer Dad, with instructions to “get the campfire going”.

It was said as if this was the simplest thing in the world.

Well let me tell you – it isn’t.

After 10 minutes of matches, paper, kindling and broken up wooden pallets, Neville and I stood back and surveyed our fire empire – a rapidly diminishing collection of embers, and a substantial pile of ash.

What was worse was that there were 20 boys running over, eager to drink their hot chocolate in front of the flames.

John walked in, beaming as ever, and ignored the temptation to belittle our efforts.

“Not easy when it’s cold and wet, is it?” he said in a mollifying way, before proving that, for him at least, it wasn’t that hard, either. By virtue of using a lot more wood and fanning the flames with a large bit of card, he had an inferno going in five minutes.

So, on Saturday night, with snow driving down, there was another campfire burning thanks to John’s pyrotechnic ability.

How exactly you light a fire when it’s snowing is one of those scouting mysteries that I am now sworn to protect, but it was a stunning sight.

Swirling snow flakes, tall flames and a group of kids, exhausted after a day and a half of running round, all beaming with excitement.

Scouting hasn’t always had the best of reputations.

People deride it as outmoded or militaristic, as an anachronism in modern society.

Certainly it does have its roots and inspiration in another era, and there was a time when it was slow to bring itself into the modern world.

But the modern movement does one thing brilliantly – it inspires kids to put down games consoles and get some fresh air, to be active, to show initiative, to challenge themselves, respect each other’s differences, and to enjoy nature. Bear Grylls and Ray Mears have recently brought adventure into the mainstream.

Grylls, indeed, has been named as the Head Scout and would, no doubt, be able to light a fire underwater given enough time.

The joy of all this, though, is that you don’t have to be an explorer, or a Wolfman, or a soldier, to enjoy yourself.

You just need a sense of adventure, decent planning and a warm sleeping bag.

And next time, I promise we’ll get the fire going properly…

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