Fun with Blackpowder

The scene...

Sunapee Lake, May of 1985.

The characters....

Me, a pound of blackpowder and a pack of matches.

The result.....

a trip to the hospital

Here is my story....


First, a little background. My family has owned two houses on Sunapee Lake up here in NH for 30 odd years now. My grandparents built one and my uncle built the other. Now that my grandparents are gone, their house is owned by my other uncle. The houses have been the "family" vacation spot forever. We would always go up for Memorial Day, Labor day, and most importantly....The 4th of July.

The 4th of July was always the "can't miss event" of the summer. All the grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles etc. never missed that one. We all went there for one thing....blowing shit up. That's what we did and we did it well. We actually had people drive their boats over to our place just to watch. We blew up everything that you can think of....

toy boats
toy trucks
telephones
radios
the dock
a 12 foot aluminum rowboat
toy airplanes, among other things...

... pretty much anything that you could pack blackpowder into.

Led by my crazy Uncle Bob we used to all sit around the table and create mostly multi-stage rockets and "yinga's" (big ass firecrackers). You know, good wholesome family fun.

I just want you guys to understand the general environment that I was in. That environment and the fact that I'm a moron led up to my failed experiment as a demolition expert. Did I mention that I'm a moron? Ok, just wanted that to be clear.

So one morning I get up quite a bit earlier than everyone else in the house...right around 5am. I wander down to the dock, get in my morning fishing fix and then find myself back at the dining room table bored after having had breakfast. So as I'm siting there my eyes wander around the room and something red catches my eye. Yes!! It's two 1 pound cans of gunpowder!!

My thoughts went approximately like this.....

Wow! Someone left the gunpowder out. That could be dangerous.

I can't believe that no one is awake yet.

Jesus, I'm bored. (walking out to the deck)

What is this pack of matches doing out? Must be from the BBQ last night. I'll put them in my pocket so they don't get lost.

I still can't believe that no one is awake yet. I wonder how soundly that they are sleeping? They do have their doors closed...

(walking back in the house) That gunpowder is still there. I should move it to a safer place.

(reaching for the cans) I'll do the right thing and put the gunpowder away.

(lifting the 1st can) Wait a minute, isn't this the can of powder that just fizzles and sparks instead of blowing up?

Boy, there is an awful lot of powder left in this can.

It sure is quiet in here.

I wonder if anyone will notice if I take some?

Nah, I shouldn't use any without proper adult supervision. (ok, I made that last part up)

Where does Grandma keep the plastic bags?

And off I went outside with the better part of a pound of what I didn't know was blackpowder in a ziploc and a pack of matches. The houses are at the bottom of a fairly steep hill that is cut out of some rocks. Very similar to what you would see on the highway. I figured that if I went up over the top of the hill, the sound would be muffled.

So, I get to where I think is a safe spot and proceed to make a fairly sizeable pile of powder on the ground. Now, thinking that it is just going to fizzle and spark I didn't bring any cannon fuse (which we had plenty of at the house...we have cannons too, but thats another story for another time) with which I could have stood at a safe distance when the powder ignited. So I did the next best thing...I flicked a lit match at it. The first couple went out before they even hit the pile. I was trying to be safe afterall. The 4th or 5th one landed right on top of the powder and continued to burn until it was out. I then lit another match and made sure to drop it directly on top of the pile. That one also just sat there and burned on top of the pile of explosive powder. At this point, I thought that the matches and the powder had conspired against me and that they were openly mocking me. All it ended up doing is pissing me off and making me more determined then ever to have a pyrotechnic event of grand proportions. So in my infinite wisdom (did I mention that I'm a moron?) I bent over closely to help the explosion on its way by sprinkling some powder on top of the burning flame....

The next thing that I remember was that there was a loud foomp! noise and all I saw was white. The noise was probably quite a bit louder than that, but I was about 12 inches away from the explosion so my ears were ringing immediately. After my vision cleared, I realized that something was not quite right. I had a buring sensation on my arm.

Shit! My arm is on fire!

After expertly putting the fire out (I believe it blew out while I was running around in circles waving my arms like some sort of retarded sparrow) I noticed that there was a HUGE plume of smoke drifting perfectly down to both of the family houses where everyone had their windows open. It was as I ran down the hill back to the house to not only change my now scorched shirt but to also explain how "Those damn neighbors were lighting of fireworks so early and waking everyone up!" that I noticed that my hand had a funky coloration and stink to it. I didn't think much of it and added a quick trip to the bathroom to wash the funky colors and smell off of my hand to the mental checklist. That was until I got to the first step of the front door....

Then the pain hit.

Now, if you have ever been burned badly, I don't need to tell you that it FUCKING HURTS LIKE HELL!!! It literally feels like your burned area is in a constant flame. With no relief whatsoever.

Being 11 years old, I immediately panicked. Surprisingly, my instinct for self-preservation was still intact. Knowing that my mom was going to be P-I-S-S-E-D I decided to wake up my grandmother instead. As I banged on her door she said "Hold on a minute". My reply "But Grandma, I'm burned".

Now, this next moment was the only highlight of the day...

The door flew open, my grandmother was standing there with a look of concern and my grandfather was behind her in his underwear. If I wasn't hurting so bad it would have been funny as hell. I guess you needed to know him to understand that. I digress...

The rest of the day consisted of me keeping the pain bearable by having my hand in a bucket of icewater. When that didn't work, the icy glares from my mother were quite sufficent.

My mother and I ended up going home early so I could go to the hospital. While we were there she made me tell every nurse and doctor exactly what happened when they asked. Man, talk about feeling like a complete and total moron. It's one thing for me to know I'm stupid, but to pass it along to everyone else at the hospital was almost as painful as the burn itself.

I ended up having mostly 2nd, with a small patch of 3rd degree burns all over my right hand. I had bandages on my hand for 6 weeks. The only nice thing about it was that I got paired up with a couple of cute chicks to do my work for me at school and I was also exempt from homework. Which didn't matter that much because I didn't do it anyways, but the thought was nice.

I also burned half of my hair off (which really pissed me off, I had just received a great haircut 2 days earlier), all of my right eyebrow and eyelash, and about half of each on my left. All that and a ruined shirt. It wasn't one of my prouder moments.

Later on a couple of family members walked up the hill to the scene of the crime. A big piece of scorched pavement was all that remained. They said it was actually quite impressive.

In following, I wish I could say that I haven't burned myself again (and again) with various forms of explosives/fire but that would not be true. I guess "once a moron-always a moron" certainly applies here. My most painful burn received lately was when my spudgun wasn't closed all the way and it burned the shit out of my knee. But that's another post for another time....