The triple bunk was legendary on all levels. The highest bunk was closest to the birds that liked to peck the roof. The top log was also a super highway for mice, and their chamfering and pitter-pattering could be heard all night. Also, the roof slope made the top bunk claustrophobic. If a person rolled to the left they’d face the corner where log met roof. If they rolled to the right? Well, prepare for a long drop.

Matt and his friends had played games designed around who got stuck with the top bunk. One of the games was called “Sucker’s Bunk.” This involved three or four shot glasses (depending on how many people you were with). When the glasses were filled with 7-UP (his father didn’t let him drink whiskey at the time), one person would count down from three. Participants had to pound the shot and slam it back down onto the table. The last person to slam their glass down was “awarded” the top bunk. This was of course followed by cries of horror from the owner of the slow hand. Losers of Sucker’s Bunk often opted to sleep on the grungy red couch instead. Matt wouldn’t tell them the couch was also a highway for mice. Perhaps the mice even preferred the couch to the top log.

A few seasons back his good friend Trent had lost Sucker’s Bunk and chose the couch. At two in the morning, Trent had woken, screaming. Matt had shone his flashlight in time to see a fat mouse perched atop Trent’s chest, staring right at him with beady eyes and twitching whiskers. The mouse did not move until Trent attempted to swat it.

It’s looking right into my eyes! Right into them! You guys see this shit? Trent had shouted.

The mice were no big deal to those who knew the shack well. But they made for amusing newbie fare. They’d all laughed their asses off as the mouse had climbed the wall and disappeared out the roof.

Other times guests rolled right off the top bunk, crashing onto the floor or swinging into the lower bunks with acrobatic moves of desperation.

Growing up, the triple bunk held Fart Wars, intentional freak-outs, and Burp-Fests. Matt remembered one childhood friend who was particularly good at fart-rattling the thin plywood that held each mattress. Eric Holmes was a big kid, real big. The theory was that Eric possessed a combination of bone density, flexible ass cheeks, and brute intestinal strength in order to produce such legendary farts.