The campground was total mayhem. Drunken revelry exceeded all expectations. And then some Paul Bunyan penis-envy rabble rousers started throwing double bladed axes at a nearby tree. We had entered some level of the Inferno without Virgil or Dad.
The accuracy of the “woodsmen” was deteriorating as they sucked down more beer. A smart thing to do would have been to run for cover…but our car was gone and the tents did not really offer much protection. So the best strategy seemed to be to track the flight of each deadly weapon and duck if necessary.