Thursday, February 27, 2014
The Dart
We had a good quality dart board in the rock house, one I had brought with me from home. It was placed on the wall, and like most dart boards there was a ring of holes around it where people (not KW) missed. There was no dartboard in the corner, as 90 deg. angles don't make for a good place to hang things flat. This did not stop us from throwing darts at the corner. Usually these were thrown from distance, backwards, through the legs, blind, or from a sitting position - anything to make it challenging. Readers becoming familiar with this blog, or those familiar with camp, will not question why I was sitting in the recliner underneath the target corner. I just was. It was there and it was easier not to move than move. Darts were being thrown and I was being warned. I shrugged it off because masculinity required it and we were all so scared to show fear in front of each other thinking that made us strong. If i had taken one to the forehead - with accompanying blood - sympathy may have been forthcoming, but my luck was much funnier. In what must have been slow motion, a dart hit the wall, hung precariously for a few seconds, then fell out and adhering to the laws of gravity it careened point down towards me. Into the top of my head it went, not hard enough to cause serious injury, but hard enough to stick and stay standing up. The pain was not too bad and so I kept my wits about me, waited for the comedic pause, and then casually asked, "There's a dart sticking out of my head, isn't there?" I slowly felt across my head for it, plucked it up, eyed it for a moment, threw it against the opposite wall and sat back down.
Drilling for Bathers
Once a week at camp we would have something called a Lost Bather Drill. The two main camps each had a waterfront. Camp Buckskin's swim area was immediately adjacent to the boating area, and was a pretty small pond. Camp Waubeeka had one lake that was used for both swimming and boating, but the swimming area was roped off from the rest of the lake.
Every scout took a swim test when he arrived at camp and was assigned a "buddy tag". The buddy tag had the scout's name on it and a color coding to indicate the level of proficiency. It was a small circle of cardboard. Any time a scout went swimming or boating, he hung his tag on the buddy board. The buddy board was just a piece of wood with a series of hooks on it. The idea was that once the scout had finished his aquatic activities, he would take his buddy tag off the board. If there were tags left over after all scouts had left either someone had forgotten their tag or they had drowned. We always presumed the worst.
Every week there was a mock lost bather drill. The siren would sound and all the staff would hightail it to the waterfront. We would form a line and jump in the water. Noone was given a mask or any other equipment. The water was murky. Nevertheless, given the command, we would dive down about 10 feet, attempt to see without a mask in dirty water, take a couple of strokes forward and resurface. Everyone would then take a couple of strokes backwards and give it another go. Usually after 15 minutes we would find the mock body, typically a buoy weighted down with a brick; because that is what a body most resembles. These drills were always in the swim area, essentially a rectangle 100 feet long by 75 feet wide or so. Then there was the other one...
One Saturday, after all the scouts had left for the week, we heard the siren. This was strange because we never did drills on Saturday. There were a few scouts who were staying over the weekend because they were spending another week at camp, but it was mostly deserted. We quickly realized that the siren was coming from Waubeeka and so we all drove incredibly recklessly to get down there.
Ostensibly, this was not a drill. There was a buddy tag on the ground and a life jacket in the water. The most likely explanation was that both had become dislodged during the storm the night before and the high winds. Nevertheless, we were the boy scouts and we were not going to take logic for an answer. Additionally, this search was not going to be limited to a swim area, we had to search the whole lake. And, ostensibly it was real. Keep in mind, that the last time there had been any authorized boating or swimming was more than 12 hours ago. We were either going to find a body or a mermaid. Regardless of the fact that it would take only another 30 minutes max to determine if there truly was a body in the lake, and we were going on 12+ hours anyway, the decision was made to launch the most uncontrolled rescue ever.
Everyone ended up doing their own thing. The only guidance given was "search the lake". This would be similar to a General ordering his troops to "Win the War", with no additional guidance at all. I remember grabbing a canoe with some other guy and paddling to random spots and jumping in to have a look. Unlike the swimming area, this area was considerably deeper in parts. Also, unlike the drills, this was complete chaos. I am amazed no one drowned during this "rescue". To the untrained eye, it looked like just a random bunch of people jumping out of small boats and splashing around. To the trained eye, it was exactly the same. I think we ran out of canoes and row boats at one point so there were a couple searchers using a sailboat. The element of a regatta really added to the fun!
In addition to the general buffonery of the entire endeavor, two of the staff members had decided that the best way to rescue someone is to make yourself as streamlined as possible, i.e. sans pantaloons. So it was also a bit of naked swim. Through pure chance, the two naked dudes ended up in the same canoe. Unfortunately that never made the official picture of the boy scouts, two naked men in a canoe having a frolic.
At some point, logic prevailed and the supposedly missing scout was located. Just as you might have expected, he had left camp that morning and was very surprised to find so many people eager to know about his whereabout. Perhaps not as surprised as he would have been to see two naked men in a canoe looking for him though.
Every scout took a swim test when he arrived at camp and was assigned a "buddy tag". The buddy tag had the scout's name on it and a color coding to indicate the level of proficiency. It was a small circle of cardboard. Any time a scout went swimming or boating, he hung his tag on the buddy board. The buddy board was just a piece of wood with a series of hooks on it. The idea was that once the scout had finished his aquatic activities, he would take his buddy tag off the board. If there were tags left over after all scouts had left either someone had forgotten their tag or they had drowned. We always presumed the worst.
Every week there was a mock lost bather drill. The siren would sound and all the staff would hightail it to the waterfront. We would form a line and jump in the water. Noone was given a mask or any other equipment. The water was murky. Nevertheless, given the command, we would dive down about 10 feet, attempt to see without a mask in dirty water, take a couple of strokes forward and resurface. Everyone would then take a couple of strokes backwards and give it another go. Usually after 15 minutes we would find the mock body, typically a buoy weighted down with a brick; because that is what a body most resembles. These drills were always in the swim area, essentially a rectangle 100 feet long by 75 feet wide or so. Then there was the other one...
One Saturday, after all the scouts had left for the week, we heard the siren. This was strange because we never did drills on Saturday. There were a few scouts who were staying over the weekend because they were spending another week at camp, but it was mostly deserted. We quickly realized that the siren was coming from Waubeeka and so we all drove incredibly recklessly to get down there.
Ostensibly, this was not a drill. There was a buddy tag on the ground and a life jacket in the water. The most likely explanation was that both had become dislodged during the storm the night before and the high winds. Nevertheless, we were the boy scouts and we were not going to take logic for an answer. Additionally, this search was not going to be limited to a swim area, we had to search the whole lake. And, ostensibly it was real. Keep in mind, that the last time there had been any authorized boating or swimming was more than 12 hours ago. We were either going to find a body or a mermaid. Regardless of the fact that it would take only another 30 minutes max to determine if there truly was a body in the lake, and we were going on 12+ hours anyway, the decision was made to launch the most uncontrolled rescue ever.
Everyone ended up doing their own thing. The only guidance given was "search the lake". This would be similar to a General ordering his troops to "Win the War", with no additional guidance at all. I remember grabbing a canoe with some other guy and paddling to random spots and jumping in to have a look. Unlike the swimming area, this area was considerably deeper in parts. Also, unlike the drills, this was complete chaos. I am amazed no one drowned during this "rescue". To the untrained eye, it looked like just a random bunch of people jumping out of small boats and splashing around. To the trained eye, it was exactly the same. I think we ran out of canoes and row boats at one point so there were a couple searchers using a sailboat. The element of a regatta really added to the fun!
In addition to the general buffonery of the entire endeavor, two of the staff members had decided that the best way to rescue someone is to make yourself as streamlined as possible, i.e. sans pantaloons. So it was also a bit of naked swim. Through pure chance, the two naked dudes ended up in the same canoe. Unfortunately that never made the official picture of the boy scouts, two naked men in a canoe having a frolic.
At some point, logic prevailed and the supposedly missing scout was located. Just as you might have expected, he had left camp that morning and was very surprised to find so many people eager to know about his whereabout. Perhaps not as surprised as he would have been to see two naked men in a canoe looking for him though.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Don't You Know I'm Loco?
There's a better prank, but this is the quicker story, so I'm writing this one while I have a short time window. Reveille happened every morning before breakfast. All troops would line up in a big semi-circle around the lawn in front of the dining hall. The lawn was slightly sloped, green and grassy, and if the morning sun was out it could be quite beautiful. The head of Buckskin (the camp where this occurred - there were three camps on the Read reservation) would call out the number of each troop and the senior patrol leader of that troop would reply, "All present and accounted for, sir!" This went with each troop until they all had responded; incidentally no troop ever reported any scout missing, but still.... tradition. A staff member would then yell out, "Salute!" and someone in the Bucksin office would press play on a tape player connected to a PA system. Reveille would blast out while all scouts saluted and the flag was raised. Troops would then be dismissed to the dining hall for breakfast. Usually.
The Buckskin office was a small building split in two halves, a staff lounge and a sort of business like area where the reveille stereo was and I'm sure some other type of business occurred, though I couldn't tell you what it was. The office side was locked while the lounge was always open. The two halves were connected by a locked door, but the wall between the two sides didn't go all the way up to the ceiling. Don't ask. One afternoon when nobody was about, a few of us entered the lounge and while most of us acted as lookouts one lithe youngster scaled the wall and dropped into the office. He ejected the reveille tape (apparently nothing else was played on that stereo) and jumped back over the wall. Those of you who are young and reading this may not know about recording music from a source (record, CD, radio) onto a tape, but that's what we used to do. So into town we went to find the same exact blank tape, which we amazingly were able to do given the scarcity of stores, and then back to our camp, Summit. We then recorded Insane in the Membrane by Cypress Hill onto the new blank. We took one of those little stickers that came with blank cassettes, wrote reveille on it in the best approximation of the original handwriting we could find, and stuck it to the cassette. Last step of the operation was to place the new cassette in the stereo. We accomplished this in much the same way as before and then waited until morning.
All the troops were lined up, present and accounted for of course, everyone saluted the flag, the signal was sent to the office to play reveille and instead of the short sharp tones of a bugle, one of the catchiest most memorable mid 90's hip-hop bass line you could imagine blasted out following B-Real's rhetorical question, "Don't You Know I'm Loco?"
Good times.
The Buckskin office was a small building split in two halves, a staff lounge and a sort of business like area where the reveille stereo was and I'm sure some other type of business occurred, though I couldn't tell you what it was. The office side was locked while the lounge was always open. The two halves were connected by a locked door, but the wall between the two sides didn't go all the way up to the ceiling. Don't ask. One afternoon when nobody was about, a few of us entered the lounge and while most of us acted as lookouts one lithe youngster scaled the wall and dropped into the office. He ejected the reveille tape (apparently nothing else was played on that stereo) and jumped back over the wall. Those of you who are young and reading this may not know about recording music from a source (record, CD, radio) onto a tape, but that's what we used to do. So into town we went to find the same exact blank tape, which we amazingly were able to do given the scarcity of stores, and then back to our camp, Summit. We then recorded Insane in the Membrane by Cypress Hill onto the new blank. We took one of those little stickers that came with blank cassettes, wrote reveille on it in the best approximation of the original handwriting we could find, and stuck it to the cassette. Last step of the operation was to place the new cassette in the stereo. We accomplished this in much the same way as before and then waited until morning.
All the troops were lined up, present and accounted for of course, everyone saluted the flag, the signal was sent to the office to play reveille and instead of the short sharp tones of a bugle, one of the catchiest most memorable mid 90's hip-hop bass line you could imagine blasted out following B-Real's rhetorical question, "Don't You Know I'm Loco?"
Good times.
One flew over the Cuckoo's Nest .... Way Over
I have briefly written about cranky Roger. This story is about another Roger, perhaps older than cranky Roger, certainly crazier, certainly more entertaining.
I wish I knew more of the back story on this guy. He was probably late 70s early 80s and he just sort of appeared one day. Most people show up at the beginning of the summer, but not this guy. I can't explain it any better than just waking up and he was there. The thing that caught my eye right away was his collection of old school hilarious t-shirts. In particular he had one that advertised a small chain of hotels on the front and the back simply read "IT STINKS". I don't think he designed the shirt. I think the owners of those hotels were just as crazy as him and thought that "IT STINKS" would be catchy and would make people want to stay at the hotel. They were half right.
He was assigned odd jobs around camp. Relatively straightforward jobs. For instance he was assigned to paint the side of a white barn. He came up with a paint scheme where he would paint a given plank half white and half off color green. The thing is, I don't think anyone even knew that we had any off color green paint. Certainly he was only provided with the white paint. Perhaps, like him, the off color green paint just appeared. He got fairly far into the project before anyone noticed. He had that rare gift where because he did work on something, he actually created more work for others than if he simply had not worked on it at all!
That summer, I did not have my driver's license. Hell, he probably didn't either. For whatever reason, he was assigned a vehicle though and would let me drive it. That made him extra special in my mind. He had some delightful turns of phrase, referring to people as jackals and angry birds (perhaps he was simply ahead of his time and knew that one day Angry Birds would be a thing). He also was wonderfully inefficient. Regardless of the job, he would always forget a key tool or piece of material. This meant driving back down to the maintenance shop, over and over again. The main road through camp was a dirt road that was relatively well maintained. It could support traffic driving at 20 mph or so. Crazy Roger did not trust these roads. He made us take the back roads. These really were back roads, really poorly maintained with huge rocks and ruts. They were more like trails that you could drive on. You had to drive at 5 mph maximum on these roads and you still feared you would break something. Due to his Rainman like fears of regular roads and his penchant for forgetfulness, we accomplished very little. We did spend a great deal of time driving without covering any distance.
He may or may not have been involved in some litigation. We never saw him at lunch. It turned out the two may have been connected. There was really only one building that had a working phone that could dial long distance. That building was our central office where the camp big-wigs worked. Typically someone was always in that office. But, not at lunch. Towards the end of the summer, they got the phone bill. Crazy old Roger had been calling someone, every day for months. Ostensibly it was his attorney. That, unfortunately was the straw that broke the camel's back. Just as mysteriously as he arrived, he was gone. Perhaps he wasn't crazy, but a genius. Maybe he was both. I miss him.
I wish I knew more of the back story on this guy. He was probably late 70s early 80s and he just sort of appeared one day. Most people show up at the beginning of the summer, but not this guy. I can't explain it any better than just waking up and he was there. The thing that caught my eye right away was his collection of old school hilarious t-shirts. In particular he had one that advertised a small chain of hotels on the front and the back simply read "IT STINKS". I don't think he designed the shirt. I think the owners of those hotels were just as crazy as him and thought that "IT STINKS" would be catchy and would make people want to stay at the hotel. They were half right.
He was assigned odd jobs around camp. Relatively straightforward jobs. For instance he was assigned to paint the side of a white barn. He came up with a paint scheme where he would paint a given plank half white and half off color green. The thing is, I don't think anyone even knew that we had any off color green paint. Certainly he was only provided with the white paint. Perhaps, like him, the off color green paint just appeared. He got fairly far into the project before anyone noticed. He had that rare gift where because he did work on something, he actually created more work for others than if he simply had not worked on it at all!
That summer, I did not have my driver's license. Hell, he probably didn't either. For whatever reason, he was assigned a vehicle though and would let me drive it. That made him extra special in my mind. He had some delightful turns of phrase, referring to people as jackals and angry birds (perhaps he was simply ahead of his time and knew that one day Angry Birds would be a thing). He also was wonderfully inefficient. Regardless of the job, he would always forget a key tool or piece of material. This meant driving back down to the maintenance shop, over and over again. The main road through camp was a dirt road that was relatively well maintained. It could support traffic driving at 20 mph or so. Crazy Roger did not trust these roads. He made us take the back roads. These really were back roads, really poorly maintained with huge rocks and ruts. They were more like trails that you could drive on. You had to drive at 5 mph maximum on these roads and you still feared you would break something. Due to his Rainman like fears of regular roads and his penchant for forgetfulness, we accomplished very little. We did spend a great deal of time driving without covering any distance.
He may or may not have been involved in some litigation. We never saw him at lunch. It turned out the two may have been connected. There was really only one building that had a working phone that could dial long distance. That building was our central office where the camp big-wigs worked. Typically someone was always in that office. But, not at lunch. Towards the end of the summer, they got the phone bill. Crazy old Roger had been calling someone, every day for months. Ostensibly it was his attorney. That, unfortunately was the straw that broke the camel's back. Just as mysteriously as he arrived, he was gone. Perhaps he wasn't crazy, but a genius. Maybe he was both. I miss him.
Sundays
Sundays were always a bit of a laugh. Although we did not make much money at Camp, it was still a great experience. One, we didn't work that hard. Second, all your food and lodging was taken care of. Your day to day expenses were essentially zero. Particularly if you were pretty loose on your personal hygiene. There was no need to shave and a swim in the lake worked just as well as a shower.
Mon - Sat the routine was pretty similar. Breakfast at 0730, lunch at 1200 and dinner around 1800. Although the boyscouts is in no way affiliated with the military, there definitely were some aspects that were military like. Prior to breakfast and dinner the flag was raised and lowered, respectively. We saluted the flag. But, since we definitely were not a paramilitary organization, we used a different salute. Instead of extending all four fingers, you only extended the index finger and the middle finger. You curled the ring finger and pinky finger under the thumb. Unlike the military, we did not salute each other. Also, unlike the military there was a lot more freedom given to how you wear the uniform and whether you needed to wear all the different components. You would often see a scout in the official uniform shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. This may have been at least in part due to the fact that the official uniform shorts would have made Daisy Duke proud. They were pretty damn short.
Sundays were different. There was no breakfast and lunch, rather, there was brunch that kicked off around 1000. The rationale was that most troops left on Saturday and the new troops would not get in until late Sunday morning to Sunday evening. By skipping lunch, there was plenty of staff on hand to assist with the arriving troops. The load and I enjoyed drinking a ton of coffee on Sunday mornings. There was always a few of us who would show up a couple of hours before the meal was to begin. There was always plenty of coffee. You needed to make many trips though because the camp coffee mugs were only a bit bigger than a typical espresso cup. That was all part of the routine though. You would pass the time with all sorts of pointless conversations about life in general, and the last week in particular. It was a wonderful way to unwind, while getting ready for the next week. Perhaps it was this routine that was quite appealing. Although each week would be a bit different than the one before it, the routine was the same. Those Sunday mornings marked the end of one week and the beginning of the next.
Mon - Sat the routine was pretty similar. Breakfast at 0730, lunch at 1200 and dinner around 1800. Although the boyscouts is in no way affiliated with the military, there definitely were some aspects that were military like. Prior to breakfast and dinner the flag was raised and lowered, respectively. We saluted the flag. But, since we definitely were not a paramilitary organization, we used a different salute. Instead of extending all four fingers, you only extended the index finger and the middle finger. You curled the ring finger and pinky finger under the thumb. Unlike the military, we did not salute each other. Also, unlike the military there was a lot more freedom given to how you wear the uniform and whether you needed to wear all the different components. You would often see a scout in the official uniform shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. This may have been at least in part due to the fact that the official uniform shorts would have made Daisy Duke proud. They were pretty damn short.
Sundays were different. There was no breakfast and lunch, rather, there was brunch that kicked off around 1000. The rationale was that most troops left on Saturday and the new troops would not get in until late Sunday morning to Sunday evening. By skipping lunch, there was plenty of staff on hand to assist with the arriving troops. The load and I enjoyed drinking a ton of coffee on Sunday mornings. There was always a few of us who would show up a couple of hours before the meal was to begin. There was always plenty of coffee. You needed to make many trips though because the camp coffee mugs were only a bit bigger than a typical espresso cup. That was all part of the routine though. You would pass the time with all sorts of pointless conversations about life in general, and the last week in particular. It was a wonderful way to unwind, while getting ready for the next week. Perhaps it was this routine that was quite appealing. Although each week would be a bit different than the one before it, the routine was the same. Those Sunday mornings marked the end of one week and the beginning of the next.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Our mountain
Per Wikipedia:
Our camp was surrounded by 6 much smaller peaks. The tallest of these was Mt Stevens. For such a small peak, it got a lot of traffic because you could climb it directly from camp. As a result, there were three separate trails to take you to the summit. It was not a long climb, probably about a mile with 1000-1500 feet of elevation gain. The unofficial record to climb it was something ridiculous like 15 minutes, set by a cross country runner we had on staff one year.
A lot of the troops that came through camp would climb it as a 1/2 day trip and some would even camp out overnight. Our camp offered a week long course of instruction in "Wilderness Survival", and the final night involved climbing Mt Stevens and constructing a shelter. The interesting aspect of this idea is that the summit of Stevens is bald, just rocks and grass. There is not much wood at all. There is certainly not enough for 20 or so campers to put together any form of shelter. It made for extremely good views, but extremely poor shelter building. Fortunately, all you needed was a sleeping bag. Even without one, you would be cold, but it was not life threatening in any sense.
There was one adult who broke his ankle on the summit and had to be rescued via helicopter. I was not there for that, I only know about it second hand. I was involved in another quasi rescue though. It is a bit of a stretch to call it a rescue. One morning, two junior staff members did not report for breakfast. They had signed out of camp the previous eveving that they were going to climb Stevens. We determined that they were most likely lost. I think there were about 8 of us who split up on the various trails trying to find them. While it was ostensibly a search, we all decided that it was also a race to see who would get to the summit first. Consequently, there was not a lot of searching going on. As luck would have it, when I reached the summit there were our two "lost" staff members. All that had happened was they slept in. When we arrived they were sitting around a fire and having a good time. They were quite surprised to see us. It was a fun start to the day.
I did have my own close call on Stevens. Near the summit, it is pretty important to follow the marked trail because there is a section where the rocks are quite steep. Too steep for me to climb comfortably without a rope. I had set out alone one evening and was rushing to make it up before nightfall. Like most situations that escalate, this could have been prevented with some planning. I could have started earlier and I could have brought a flashlight. I could have turned around as soon as I realized I was off the trail. Instead, I pushed on. At some point I realized that I was stuck. I had gone too far to safely move up or down and it was quickly getting dark. The rock was not vertical, but it was steep enough that I had my body pressed against it.
The transition from day to night is quite gradual. However, the transition from dusk to night is not. This was the first time I had been really scared on this mountain. I knew that I was not going to be able to find my way. I found myself passing from scared to panicked. I began to worry that it would rain even though there were plenty of stars. I realized that I had not signed out, so no one would know where I was. This probably passed in a few moments, but it felt much longer. Once I could think clearly, I managed to get to a section where I felt relatively secure. Then I waited. Waited for morning. In the end, I got lucky. It was not super cold and it didn't rain. Once the sun came up I was able to make my way off the cliffs and back down. I didn't tell anyone about it because it was my own fault. It is not a grand adventure when your own stupidity is to blame.
The Adirondack High Peaks is the name given to 46 mountain peaks in the Adirondack Mountains of New York, USA that were originally believed to comprise all of the Adirondack peaks higher than 4,000 feet (1,219 m). However, later surveying showed that four of the peaks in the group are actually under this elevation, and one peak that should have been included was overlooked. Due to tradition, no mountains were removed from or added to the group as a result of the revised elevation estimates.
Our camp was surrounded by 6 much smaller peaks. The tallest of these was Mt Stevens. For such a small peak, it got a lot of traffic because you could climb it directly from camp. As a result, there were three separate trails to take you to the summit. It was not a long climb, probably about a mile with 1000-1500 feet of elevation gain. The unofficial record to climb it was something ridiculous like 15 minutes, set by a cross country runner we had on staff one year.
A lot of the troops that came through camp would climb it as a 1/2 day trip and some would even camp out overnight. Our camp offered a week long course of instruction in "Wilderness Survival", and the final night involved climbing Mt Stevens and constructing a shelter. The interesting aspect of this idea is that the summit of Stevens is bald, just rocks and grass. There is not much wood at all. There is certainly not enough for 20 or so campers to put together any form of shelter. It made for extremely good views, but extremely poor shelter building. Fortunately, all you needed was a sleeping bag. Even without one, you would be cold, but it was not life threatening in any sense.
There was one adult who broke his ankle on the summit and had to be rescued via helicopter. I was not there for that, I only know about it second hand. I was involved in another quasi rescue though. It is a bit of a stretch to call it a rescue. One morning, two junior staff members did not report for breakfast. They had signed out of camp the previous eveving that they were going to climb Stevens. We determined that they were most likely lost. I think there were about 8 of us who split up on the various trails trying to find them. While it was ostensibly a search, we all decided that it was also a race to see who would get to the summit first. Consequently, there was not a lot of searching going on. As luck would have it, when I reached the summit there were our two "lost" staff members. All that had happened was they slept in. When we arrived they were sitting around a fire and having a good time. They were quite surprised to see us. It was a fun start to the day.
I did have my own close call on Stevens. Near the summit, it is pretty important to follow the marked trail because there is a section where the rocks are quite steep. Too steep for me to climb comfortably without a rope. I had set out alone one evening and was rushing to make it up before nightfall. Like most situations that escalate, this could have been prevented with some planning. I could have started earlier and I could have brought a flashlight. I could have turned around as soon as I realized I was off the trail. Instead, I pushed on. At some point I realized that I was stuck. I had gone too far to safely move up or down and it was quickly getting dark. The rock was not vertical, but it was steep enough that I had my body pressed against it.
The transition from day to night is quite gradual. However, the transition from dusk to night is not. This was the first time I had been really scared on this mountain. I knew that I was not going to be able to find my way. I found myself passing from scared to panicked. I began to worry that it would rain even though there were plenty of stars. I realized that I had not signed out, so no one would know where I was. This probably passed in a few moments, but it felt much longer. Once I could think clearly, I managed to get to a section where I felt relatively secure. Then I waited. Waited for morning. In the end, I got lucky. It was not super cold and it didn't rain. Once the sun came up I was able to make my way off the cliffs and back down. I didn't tell anyone about it because it was my own fault. It is not a grand adventure when your own stupidity is to blame.
20 Shots
We have doubled the number of authors contributing to this site. Check out the load's inaugural post below.
We all live inside our heads to some extent. I certainly did in my mid-20s. Thought I was invincible and the cat's meow and a golden boy. This was based on the somewhat dubious criteria of receiving great ratings from trek groups, hooking up with the limited female staff at Scout camp, and generally breaking every rule I could while still excelling at my job. Of course the last happened in my head, so I basically had a self reinforcing loop of meta something going.
This rather convoluted introduction is an attempt to explain why I showed up at the end of Ranger week (when some staff would come up a week or early to do manual labor for very little money) wearing a really tight pair of brown polyester pants, a shirt that John Travolta (Stayin' Alive John Travolta) would have been proud of and some Kangol style hat, all of which I picked up earlier that day at a thrift shop in my hometown. I was so sure of my awesomeness that I felt I could wear and/or do anything and still have everyone love me. And it worked. When I arrived everyone laughed and enjoyed the joke and I felt right at home. Of course the 5 hour drive from Long Island and my late leave time, meant I arrived just about dinner. After a quick meal at the dining hall it was time to hit the previously posted about P-House. Being that this was the Friday before the weekend when all staff arrived from the 3 camps in the tiny little village of Brant Lake the bar was quite busy (though not mid-season capacity filled) with it's usual triad: 18-24 year old staff members, Summer time residents of Brant Lake and the year rounders (definitely a separate post there). Filled with confidence, a very youthful energy, and a desire to let loose and have some fun, I sat down at the bar and ordered 20 shots of tequila, which in this strange, not-NYC, not-Long Island bar, only cost me $40. Well me and the Voyageur knocked back some shots, as did a friend or two from staff, acquaintances from the bar, and people I didn't know. However that still left me with about 4 more shots, which I happily downed quickly. Let the party start. I know I kissed at least one female patron from the bar that night as I continued to drink and party. I remember in my ego and arrogance I held her at arm's length thinking to myself that I didn't want to get tied down at the very beginning of the Summer, but also really excited that I had somehow pushed out past the boundaries of my ridiculous outfit (yes I still had it on) and got a cute girl to hook up with me.
I can't honestly tell you exactly what happened next. I have two separate memories and to this day I'm not sure if they happened during the same night, different nights or even in different Summers. See it was typical to arrive at camp, meet your friends, and go out to the bar, before figuring out which tent or building you were going to sleep in that night. So after getting dropped off at the dining hall I recall thinking the back of the blue Ford pick-up was a good place to sleep as there was a lot of cardboard there. However I woke up in a ditch on the side of the road covered in the cardboard. At least that's my memory - I'm sure it's wrong somewhere. At least it was a warm Adirondack June night/morning. So that weekend staff comes in and everyone starts to get to work. I wasn't on staff that year. I had served as a guide for three seasons and director of Summit Base for one (in my head) glorious season, but this was my Summer to float around the Adirondacks on my own . Not tied down to anyone or anything - hiking and climbing where and when I wanted. Again, that's me living in my head. What I really wanted to do was hang out with my friends at camp helping to set up during staff week. I figured at some point I would roam away and have an adventure. Of course I wasn't nearly as independent as I thought or I would have split camp after the weekend. As it turns out I didn't have a choice. The director had a few words with me and very casually told me he didn't want me around during staff week as he thought I was a bad influence on the staff. He was right of course, I was unpaid, on my own, and up there to have fun and adventure - in my own mind the free labor I was offering plus my previous work at the camp earned me a place that week, but he was having none of it. So off I went.
I stayed a few days at the house of an older couple, one of whom had worked at the camp and been a member of the council for decades. That was nice of them. I chopped some wood in exchange for room and board. I camped out at the Reality Walls, climbed Moxham Dome with a friend of Rick's (more on him later) and then it was off to Pharoah Lake. Pharoah Lake is one of the nicest places in the 'Daks. It's the largest unsettled lake up there. (I've read the guidebook a lot.) If you hike up to it and then out to Beaver Pond, you can use map and compass to find your way up Mt. Stevens - which borders camp. Of course this means you're in the wilderness on your own hiking up a mountain without a trail. After one night at Pharoah, I set up the mountain. After a while in the trees and brush one mountain looks like another. After a few hours I was pretty freaked out thinking I was totally lost. After 4 hours I was at what looked like the top and certain I was lost because none of it looked familiar. What I didn't realize is Stevens is flat on top and there's a good bit of the top that I hadn't explored in the previous 4 years. After some exploring, during which I was sure I was hopelessly lost on the wrong mountain, I ran into some boy-scouts. I stupidly asked them what mountain I was on and they answered Stevens. I felt dumb and relieved. Camped on top for a few nights, burned my sleeping bag drying it out by a fire, snuck down the trail side of Stevens into camp, left cryptic notes for my friends at Summit and eventually took off for the Daks. I did get to spend my time having my adventure. I went up to the High Peaks and bouldered a lot, climbed more than a few 4,000 footers, and eventually took off for Maine where my friend Chris was a whitewater rafting guide. I hung with him and drank and climbed and rafted and then headed back to the Daks. I decided to check in at Four Corners. This was an area in a town (can't recall the name) near Moxham Dome that was named because there was a store on each of four corners and nothing else. One of these stores owned by a guy named Rick and run by him and his family; it sold hiking and climbing stuff along with a lot of basic Adirondack tourist stuff. It was the closest place to camp to buy climbing gear and Rick knew of a lot of local areas to climb not yet in the guidebook so we often found ourselves there on weekends. When I checked in, Rick looked up and searched his brain and claimed he had a note for me. Which was strange. The note said that I was needed at camp to run a few treks. Which was not strange. I suppose it was the most typical thing of the way camp (and perhaps all Scout camps) was run that I would be kicked out for possibly being a bad influence on staff after sleeping in a truck/ditch one night, and then several weeks later a note would be left at a store 30 miles away, hoping I would stop in there, asking me if I could lead some treks. I went back to camp, met with the Summit Base director, he confirmed that they were short a few guides for August and needed me. So I ended up back at camp working once again.
We all live inside our heads to some extent. I certainly did in my mid-20s. Thought I was invincible and the cat's meow and a golden boy. This was based on the somewhat dubious criteria of receiving great ratings from trek groups, hooking up with the limited female staff at Scout camp, and generally breaking every rule I could while still excelling at my job. Of course the last happened in my head, so I basically had a self reinforcing loop of meta something going.
This rather convoluted introduction is an attempt to explain why I showed up at the end of Ranger week (when some staff would come up a week or early to do manual labor for very little money) wearing a really tight pair of brown polyester pants, a shirt that John Travolta (Stayin' Alive John Travolta) would have been proud of and some Kangol style hat, all of which I picked up earlier that day at a thrift shop in my hometown. I was so sure of my awesomeness that I felt I could wear and/or do anything and still have everyone love me. And it worked. When I arrived everyone laughed and enjoyed the joke and I felt right at home. Of course the 5 hour drive from Long Island and my late leave time, meant I arrived just about dinner. After a quick meal at the dining hall it was time to hit the previously posted about P-House. Being that this was the Friday before the weekend when all staff arrived from the 3 camps in the tiny little village of Brant Lake the bar was quite busy (though not mid-season capacity filled) with it's usual triad: 18-24 year old staff members, Summer time residents of Brant Lake and the year rounders (definitely a separate post there). Filled with confidence, a very youthful energy, and a desire to let loose and have some fun, I sat down at the bar and ordered 20 shots of tequila, which in this strange, not-NYC, not-Long Island bar, only cost me $40. Well me and the Voyageur knocked back some shots, as did a friend or two from staff, acquaintances from the bar, and people I didn't know. However that still left me with about 4 more shots, which I happily downed quickly. Let the party start. I know I kissed at least one female patron from the bar that night as I continued to drink and party. I remember in my ego and arrogance I held her at arm's length thinking to myself that I didn't want to get tied down at the very beginning of the Summer, but also really excited that I had somehow pushed out past the boundaries of my ridiculous outfit (yes I still had it on) and got a cute girl to hook up with me.
I can't honestly tell you exactly what happened next. I have two separate memories and to this day I'm not sure if they happened during the same night, different nights or even in different Summers. See it was typical to arrive at camp, meet your friends, and go out to the bar, before figuring out which tent or building you were going to sleep in that night. So after getting dropped off at the dining hall I recall thinking the back of the blue Ford pick-up was a good place to sleep as there was a lot of cardboard there. However I woke up in a ditch on the side of the road covered in the cardboard. At least that's my memory - I'm sure it's wrong somewhere. At least it was a warm Adirondack June night/morning. So that weekend staff comes in and everyone starts to get to work. I wasn't on staff that year. I had served as a guide for three seasons and director of Summit Base for one (in my head) glorious season, but this was my Summer to float around the Adirondacks on my own . Not tied down to anyone or anything - hiking and climbing where and when I wanted. Again, that's me living in my head. What I really wanted to do was hang out with my friends at camp helping to set up during staff week. I figured at some point I would roam away and have an adventure. Of course I wasn't nearly as independent as I thought or I would have split camp after the weekend. As it turns out I didn't have a choice. The director had a few words with me and very casually told me he didn't want me around during staff week as he thought I was a bad influence on the staff. He was right of course, I was unpaid, on my own, and up there to have fun and adventure - in my own mind the free labor I was offering plus my previous work at the camp earned me a place that week, but he was having none of it. So off I went.
I stayed a few days at the house of an older couple, one of whom had worked at the camp and been a member of the council for decades. That was nice of them. I chopped some wood in exchange for room and board. I camped out at the Reality Walls, climbed Moxham Dome with a friend of Rick's (more on him later) and then it was off to Pharoah Lake. Pharoah Lake is one of the nicest places in the 'Daks. It's the largest unsettled lake up there. (I've read the guidebook a lot.) If you hike up to it and then out to Beaver Pond, you can use map and compass to find your way up Mt. Stevens - which borders camp. Of course this means you're in the wilderness on your own hiking up a mountain without a trail. After one night at Pharoah, I set up the mountain. After a while in the trees and brush one mountain looks like another. After a few hours I was pretty freaked out thinking I was totally lost. After 4 hours I was at what looked like the top and certain I was lost because none of it looked familiar. What I didn't realize is Stevens is flat on top and there's a good bit of the top that I hadn't explored in the previous 4 years. After some exploring, during which I was sure I was hopelessly lost on the wrong mountain, I ran into some boy-scouts. I stupidly asked them what mountain I was on and they answered Stevens. I felt dumb and relieved. Camped on top for a few nights, burned my sleeping bag drying it out by a fire, snuck down the trail side of Stevens into camp, left cryptic notes for my friends at Summit and eventually took off for the Daks. I did get to spend my time having my adventure. I went up to the High Peaks and bouldered a lot, climbed more than a few 4,000 footers, and eventually took off for Maine where my friend Chris was a whitewater rafting guide. I hung with him and drank and climbed and rafted and then headed back to the Daks. I decided to check in at Four Corners. This was an area in a town (can't recall the name) near Moxham Dome that was named because there was a store on each of four corners and nothing else. One of these stores owned by a guy named Rick and run by him and his family; it sold hiking and climbing stuff along with a lot of basic Adirondack tourist stuff. It was the closest place to camp to buy climbing gear and Rick knew of a lot of local areas to climb not yet in the guidebook so we often found ourselves there on weekends. When I checked in, Rick looked up and searched his brain and claimed he had a note for me. Which was strange. The note said that I was needed at camp to run a few treks. Which was not strange. I suppose it was the most typical thing of the way camp (and perhaps all Scout camps) was run that I would be kicked out for possibly being a bad influence on staff after sleeping in a truck/ditch one night, and then several weeks later a note would be left at a store 30 miles away, hoping I would stop in there, asking me if I could lead some treks. I went back to camp, met with the Summit Base director, he confirmed that they were short a few guides for August and needed me. So I ended up back at camp working once again.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
My friend Tony
This story did not happen to me, I only know about it second hand. However, M.L. is a great story teller and even though this is all hearsay, hopefully it amuses.
Like I have said before, most of the time the second adult on the trip is pretty unremarkable. Occasionally they are amazingly good like the unstoppable German and unfortunately sometimes they fall on the other end of the spectrum.
M.L was a fellow guide and remains a great friend. He has climbed Mount Blanc, rode his bike from Canada to Mexico along the continental divide and climbed all 6 peaks surrounding our camp in a single day. M.L. and I once rode our bikes home from camp. It took about 3 days, to cover the 200 or so miles and it was great fun even though we encountered some crazy rain and traffic.
A trek begins on Sunday afternoon when the group arrives. You conduct swim checks, review medical records and distribute gear. Incidentally, the review of the medical records is pretty much a farce. None of us had much medical training beyond a crash course in first aid and CPR. Yet, we would collect the medical records and then read through them in front of the entire group. There was no attempt to keep anything private. If there was anything on the records that was out of the ordinary, I would ask two questions. First, what does this mean and second, is there anything we could do about it. We were then supposed to carry the medical records with us. Carrying around a sheaf of papers in a backpack that is likely to get wet and dirty does not work too well. Fortunately, we had an enormous building on the camp that used to serve as a kitchen and dining hall. The building is no longer at camp because it eventually collapsed. It was in the advanced stages of decay while I worked there. Even though much of the kitchen equipment no longer worked, it was still there. The walk in refrigerators were used to store dry goods and the load and I utilized the large industrial sized ovens for file storage. Once we had reviewed the medical records I would dutifully stash them in the oven for safe keeping. This was not officially endorsed.
Once you get the group set up, you will spend the rest of the evening making sure that you have all your gear and are ready to go. It is an early start the next morning because most of the trips involve a 1-2 hour drive from camp to the start of the trip. Most of the time this is a good time to get a nap in. The drivers are almost always the old retired guys. Once they drop you off you make a plan as to when you want to be picked up on Friday. Fridays are usually short days so that you are picked up in the morning and back in Camp right around lunch time.
My favorite driver was a guy we called Sarge. I would typically tell him to pick me up around 10 and then see how early I could get to the pickup spot. Sarge was sharp though and like most old guys enjoyed getting up really early in the morning. I could never beat him to the pick up. Even if I got there at 7:30 and the agreed pick up time was 11:00, he would be there waiting for me.
M.L. got off to a bad start on his trip. Sarge was not his driver. M.L.'s driver dropped off the group in the wrong location. I don't think this had ever happened before. Our trips were pretty standard and the drop offs were not difficult to find. Nevertheless, it happened. Because this was so out of the ordinary, M.L. did not check that they were in the right location. No one would have. You just assume that the driver would get it right. As M.L. tells it, he realized he was in the wrong location when he got to the end of the first lake. He was supposed to encounter a river that would lead into the next lake. There was no river. The lake just ended. There was a conduit, essentially a large drain pipe, but definitely no river. At this point, the driver had left and M.L. had a large group of immature boy scouts and Tony, his adult leader.
Tony loved to talk. Tony's didn't need to have anything to talk about, he just loved the sound of his own voice. He was the type of guy who would read the phone book aloud if there was silence.
When you realize that you are not where you are supposed to be, you need to come up with a plan, quickly. You don't need someone talking in your ear non-stop, but nevertheless, that is what M.L. got. M.L. was able to figure out where they were and was not that far from where he was supposed to be. So it looked like the trip would be a success, with a small hiccup.
The first night of the trip is the toughest. The scouts are not familiar with setting up the tents, working the stoves or purifying the water. Everything takes longer and you usually have less daylight because everyone travels slower the first day. This problem was compounded for M.L. because of the delay. Eventually, everyone was settling in and M.L. was setting up his tent. Typically we would set our tent up 100 yards from the group to get a bit of solitude. As M.L. was setting up his tent, Tony showed up and declared that he would set up his tent immediately adjacent to M.L. Tony then engaged in non-stop filibuster while setting up his tent and for much of the evening until he finally fell asleep. Amazingly, things would get worse.
Sometime that evening, Tony was bitten by a Spider. Tony was bitten on his upper leg, right near the buttocks. M.L. knew exactly where he had been bitten because Tony described it in vivid detail. Way too much detail, way too late at night. The following morning, perhaps believing that his description was not detailed enough, Tony dropped trow to show M.L. exactly where the Spider had bitten him. It was actually a pretty bad bite, there was a lot of swelling and Tony could not continue the trip. He needed medical attention. Now, M.L. had to arrange to get Tony picked up.
We did not carry cell phones then, and most likely you wouldn't be able to get reception. If you needed a phone you would have to find either a residence or business that would let you use the phone. People were friendly, but it typically took a few hours to find a residence or business. Then it would take a few hours for the driver to reach you. M.L. was able to arrange for Tony to be picked up, but not much got done that day. M.L. did receive frequent status updates from Tony about whether the bite had turned a slightly darker shade or purple or other inane details.
Also, he had to deal with a bunch of brats with too much time on his hands. Even though he was done babysitting Tony, he now had to babysit the group. This was not a good trip for M.L.
Tony received some medical attention and stayed around the main camp. He somehow assigned himself the job of keeping the soda machines at camp stocked up. True to form, he gave detailed updates at every meal regarding the status.
Like I have said before, most of the time the second adult on the trip is pretty unremarkable. Occasionally they are amazingly good like the unstoppable German and unfortunately sometimes they fall on the other end of the spectrum.
M.L was a fellow guide and remains a great friend. He has climbed Mount Blanc, rode his bike from Canada to Mexico along the continental divide and climbed all 6 peaks surrounding our camp in a single day. M.L. and I once rode our bikes home from camp. It took about 3 days, to cover the 200 or so miles and it was great fun even though we encountered some crazy rain and traffic.
A trek begins on Sunday afternoon when the group arrives. You conduct swim checks, review medical records and distribute gear. Incidentally, the review of the medical records is pretty much a farce. None of us had much medical training beyond a crash course in first aid and CPR. Yet, we would collect the medical records and then read through them in front of the entire group. There was no attempt to keep anything private. If there was anything on the records that was out of the ordinary, I would ask two questions. First, what does this mean and second, is there anything we could do about it. We were then supposed to carry the medical records with us. Carrying around a sheaf of papers in a backpack that is likely to get wet and dirty does not work too well. Fortunately, we had an enormous building on the camp that used to serve as a kitchen and dining hall. The building is no longer at camp because it eventually collapsed. It was in the advanced stages of decay while I worked there. Even though much of the kitchen equipment no longer worked, it was still there. The walk in refrigerators were used to store dry goods and the load and I utilized the large industrial sized ovens for file storage. Once we had reviewed the medical records I would dutifully stash them in the oven for safe keeping. This was not officially endorsed.
Once you get the group set up, you will spend the rest of the evening making sure that you have all your gear and are ready to go. It is an early start the next morning because most of the trips involve a 1-2 hour drive from camp to the start of the trip. Most of the time this is a good time to get a nap in. The drivers are almost always the old retired guys. Once they drop you off you make a plan as to when you want to be picked up on Friday. Fridays are usually short days so that you are picked up in the morning and back in Camp right around lunch time.
My favorite driver was a guy we called Sarge. I would typically tell him to pick me up around 10 and then see how early I could get to the pickup spot. Sarge was sharp though and like most old guys enjoyed getting up really early in the morning. I could never beat him to the pick up. Even if I got there at 7:30 and the agreed pick up time was 11:00, he would be there waiting for me.
M.L. got off to a bad start on his trip. Sarge was not his driver. M.L.'s driver dropped off the group in the wrong location. I don't think this had ever happened before. Our trips were pretty standard and the drop offs were not difficult to find. Nevertheless, it happened. Because this was so out of the ordinary, M.L. did not check that they were in the right location. No one would have. You just assume that the driver would get it right. As M.L. tells it, he realized he was in the wrong location when he got to the end of the first lake. He was supposed to encounter a river that would lead into the next lake. There was no river. The lake just ended. There was a conduit, essentially a large drain pipe, but definitely no river. At this point, the driver had left and M.L. had a large group of immature boy scouts and Tony, his adult leader.
Tony loved to talk. Tony's didn't need to have anything to talk about, he just loved the sound of his own voice. He was the type of guy who would read the phone book aloud if there was silence.
When you realize that you are not where you are supposed to be, you need to come up with a plan, quickly. You don't need someone talking in your ear non-stop, but nevertheless, that is what M.L. got. M.L. was able to figure out where they were and was not that far from where he was supposed to be. So it looked like the trip would be a success, with a small hiccup.
The first night of the trip is the toughest. The scouts are not familiar with setting up the tents, working the stoves or purifying the water. Everything takes longer and you usually have less daylight because everyone travels slower the first day. This problem was compounded for M.L. because of the delay. Eventually, everyone was settling in and M.L. was setting up his tent. Typically we would set our tent up 100 yards from the group to get a bit of solitude. As M.L. was setting up his tent, Tony showed up and declared that he would set up his tent immediately adjacent to M.L. Tony then engaged in non-stop filibuster while setting up his tent and for much of the evening until he finally fell asleep. Amazingly, things would get worse.
Sometime that evening, Tony was bitten by a Spider. Tony was bitten on his upper leg, right near the buttocks. M.L. knew exactly where he had been bitten because Tony described it in vivid detail. Way too much detail, way too late at night. The following morning, perhaps believing that his description was not detailed enough, Tony dropped trow to show M.L. exactly where the Spider had bitten him. It was actually a pretty bad bite, there was a lot of swelling and Tony could not continue the trip. He needed medical attention. Now, M.L. had to arrange to get Tony picked up.
We did not carry cell phones then, and most likely you wouldn't be able to get reception. If you needed a phone you would have to find either a residence or business that would let you use the phone. People were friendly, but it typically took a few hours to find a residence or business. Then it would take a few hours for the driver to reach you. M.L. was able to arrange for Tony to be picked up, but not much got done that day. M.L. did receive frequent status updates from Tony about whether the bite had turned a slightly darker shade or purple or other inane details.
Also, he had to deal with a bunch of brats with too much time on his hands. Even though he was done babysitting Tony, he now had to babysit the group. This was not a good trip for M.L.
Tony received some medical attention and stayed around the main camp. He somehow assigned himself the job of keeping the soda machines at camp stocked up. True to form, he gave detailed updates at every meal regarding the status.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Just the tip
One of the biggest perks of the guide job was that you left camp for the week, caused a bit of mischief on the weekends and then got out of Dodge for another week. Generally, provided that you didn't do anything too bad, no-one remembered what you did the week before.
Another perk was that you would often get tips at the end of the week from the group you guided. Nothing huge generally $50 or so, but still always welcomed.
As mentioned before, on most trips the second adult is typically the father of one of the scouts on the trip. Generally, the adults are pretty mellow. They go with the flow and don't interfere. There are notable exceptions, but this is not the post to discuss those exceptions. This is the post to talk about the German that I had on one trip. First, he had a very distinctive german name like Heinrich. Second, he had the german accent and was built like a stout bulldog. He was affiliated with the troop, but I think his kids had gone through scouting already but he still helped out. Heinrich had an old school external frame pack. There is nothing wrong with an external frame pack, they get the job done. The main drawback is that a lot of them are not very well made. In particular, the hip belt is usually pretty shoddy. The hip belt is one of the most important parts of a good backpack. It allows you to take most of the weight off of your shoulders and put it on your legs.
Most people would be limited by a poor hip belt, but not the German. A couple of hours into our first day, I noticed that he had not strapped his hip belt on. I asked him about it and he told me it interfered with his stride. I liked that answer, particularly since he demanded to carry as much weight as possible. Before any trek, we would conduct pack shakedown. Everyone would empty their pack and we would see what they had packed. The idea was that we needed to check to see if they had left anything critical behind.
Interestingly, if they had, there wasn't much we could do. There were no stores close by and we didn't stock anything useful. I guess it was similar to knowing your tires are bald before driving in the rain, at least you were not surprised. Not too much could go really wrong anyway. This was the summer and even though it was cooler than most parts of NY, it was not like hypothermia or frostbite were much of a risk. But, for whatever reason, we would do a pack shakedown and generally let people know that they did not need a change of clothes for every day and so on. At the end of pack shakedown we would distribute the group gear. This consisted of the food, stoves, tents and so on. I would have a big pile and hand it out evenly.
Most of the time this went pretty smoothly. This time I noticed that everytime I went to hand something out, the pile had shrunk quite quickly. Heinrich wasn't going to wait for me to assign him gear, he simply grabbed as much as he could, shoved it in his pack and then amazingly found room for more gear. This went on through the trip. Each morning we would redistribute the remaining load (as food was eaten and stove fuel burned). Heinrich always wanted more things to carry. I think he would have been happiest if someone had broken an ankle so he could have carried them too! Even though he was carrying the most weight, he was always at the front of the line charging ahead. He was like a damn freight train, it didn't matter what the terrain whether it was hilly, he just kept right on. Typically we would hike for 50 minutes and rest for 10. Most people would drop their packs and either lay down on them or sit on a log somewhere. Heinrich would stop, but that was it. The pack stayed on and he would tell some great off color jokes. He would also chide the slowest in the group for not being able to keep up with him.
It was a great trip and I was sorry to see it end on Friday morning when we got picked up. That evening, there was a group going to Panther Mountain and we invited Heinrich along. As much fun as he was on the trip, he was even more fun at the bar. He insisted on paying for the drinks and just like on the trail we struggled to keep up with him. After a couple of hours he had to head back but left a pile of 20s on the bar. Now that was a tip!
As mentioned before, on most trips the second adult is typically the father of one of the scouts on the trip. Generally, the adults are pretty mellow. They go with the flow and don't interfere. There are notable exceptions, but this is not the post to discuss those exceptions. This is the post to talk about the German that I had on one trip. First, he had a very distinctive german name like Heinrich. Second, he had the german accent and was built like a stout bulldog. He was affiliated with the troop, but I think his kids had gone through scouting already but he still helped out. Heinrich had an old school external frame pack. There is nothing wrong with an external frame pack, they get the job done. The main drawback is that a lot of them are not very well made. In particular, the hip belt is usually pretty shoddy. The hip belt is one of the most important parts of a good backpack. It allows you to take most of the weight off of your shoulders and put it on your legs.
Most people would be limited by a poor hip belt, but not the German. A couple of hours into our first day, I noticed that he had not strapped his hip belt on. I asked him about it and he told me it interfered with his stride. I liked that answer, particularly since he demanded to carry as much weight as possible. Before any trek, we would conduct pack shakedown. Everyone would empty their pack and we would see what they had packed. The idea was that we needed to check to see if they had left anything critical behind.
Interestingly, if they had, there wasn't much we could do. There were no stores close by and we didn't stock anything useful. I guess it was similar to knowing your tires are bald before driving in the rain, at least you were not surprised. Not too much could go really wrong anyway. This was the summer and even though it was cooler than most parts of NY, it was not like hypothermia or frostbite were much of a risk. But, for whatever reason, we would do a pack shakedown and generally let people know that they did not need a change of clothes for every day and so on. At the end of pack shakedown we would distribute the group gear. This consisted of the food, stoves, tents and so on. I would have a big pile and hand it out evenly.
Most of the time this went pretty smoothly. This time I noticed that everytime I went to hand something out, the pile had shrunk quite quickly. Heinrich wasn't going to wait for me to assign him gear, he simply grabbed as much as he could, shoved it in his pack and then amazingly found room for more gear. This went on through the trip. Each morning we would redistribute the remaining load (as food was eaten and stove fuel burned). Heinrich always wanted more things to carry. I think he would have been happiest if someone had broken an ankle so he could have carried them too! Even though he was carrying the most weight, he was always at the front of the line charging ahead. He was like a damn freight train, it didn't matter what the terrain whether it was hilly, he just kept right on. Typically we would hike for 50 minutes and rest for 10. Most people would drop their packs and either lay down on them or sit on a log somewhere. Heinrich would stop, but that was it. The pack stayed on and he would tell some great off color jokes. He would also chide the slowest in the group for not being able to keep up with him.
It was a great trip and I was sorry to see it end on Friday morning when we got picked up. That evening, there was a group going to Panther Mountain and we invited Heinrich along. As much fun as he was on the trip, he was even more fun at the bar. He insisted on paying for the drinks and just like on the trail we struggled to keep up with him. After a couple of hours he had to head back but left a pile of 20s on the bar. Now that was a tip!
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Ann's Brother
Generally, the staff members at camp fell into three age groups:
1. Those under 25, were typically either college or high school students who worked at camp as sort of a fun summer job;
2. 35-45: These people occupied the leadership positions at camp, some worked for the boy scouts full time;
3. 65 and over: Generally retired people, almost all worked as volunteers.
Then there was Landers (first name withheld, and because we typically referred to him as Landers). He was in his mid 30s, but was not in a leadership position. This was just one way he was a bit different. Landers had been initially hired to supervise the waterfront. However, on one occasion, he jumped into the water with his two-way radio still attached to his person and the radio did not survive.
Landers was fired from his position, but not from camp. I don't think this happens with most companies. Generally, if you screw up as an accountant, they don't just move you to sales. But, Read was not like a company. If it were, most of us would have been fired very early on!
Amazingly, once Landers was fired he was assigned as a "floater", he would move to different areas that needed him. I don't think camp had envisioned this position until the moment they created it on the fly. I had a number of adventures with Landers - all of them quite comical.
Most of my summers at camp were spent as a guide, taking out week long canoe and backpack trips. One trip that we often did was a portion of the Northville Lake Placid trail. This is a trail that not surprisingly runs from the town of Northville to the Town of Lake Placid. It did not have a lot of redeeming features. It took you from point A to B. The trail passes through the high peaks, but does not climb any of them. In fact, the trail kept to the lowest elevations. Consequently the trail was always wet and muddy, but generally flat. The entire trail is about 122 miles, but most trips covered between 35-50 miles.
One summer we had a group sign up to do the entire trail. The kids were all in good shape and about 14-15 years of age and it looked like it would be a fun adventure. Due to problems with child molestation in the Boy Scouts, there was a strict policy that there always had to be at least two adults on these types of trips. The guide was one of those adults and usually a father of one of the participants was the other adult.
On this trip, the other adult was the mother of one of the kids. She hadn't done much hiking before, but she assured me that she had walked around her town with her backpack on. The tough thing is that the amount of gear you need to carry doesn't really vary based on the person's weight. A 185 pound man needs roughly the same gear as a 120 pound woman. 45-50 pounds of gear is a lot tougher for a lighter person to carry though.
The trip started out pretty well, but it was clear who the slowest person was. It did not help that the rest of the group was quite a bit faster than normal. She may have been able to keep up on a regular trip, but not on this one. After the second or third day, she gave up. She later wrote a letter claiming that the entire camp was a testosterone fest and those that can't keep up are ground into trail dust. We adopted this as our creed.
Her departure left us one adult short of the magical number needed to avoid child molestation though. What we needed was someone who had experience hiking that could pinch hit. What I got was Landers. Landers had very little experience hiking. He showed up with gear that he had cobbled together from various people. He became the anchor of the group, but seemed to relish it. There are not a lot of places to get lost on the trail so there is no problem getting spread out. Landers really hated mud. He would take enormous detours to avoid even the smallest patches. The combination of him hiking slower and further than the group meant that we would only see him for portions of the day, but he was always a good sport at camp and enjoyed putting the youngsters in their place.
After this trip, he became an unofficial part of our camp. Even though Landers was older than all of us, we picked on him a lot. We would wrestle with him, hide his stuff etc. He did not tolerate this too well. He referred to a number of us as "knuckle draggers". His constant refrain was "that's taking a joke too far." Perhaps the thing I did that annoyed him the most involved some retro camp gear. Landers had some uniform items from the 80s, in particular a hat that he really enjoyed wearing. On one occasion, I managed to get his hat and I dumped it in the toilet. The toilet water was clean, at least as clean as a toilet can be, but this really got him angry. Even though the hat would dry out, I believe he threw it away. He must have said "that is taking a joke too far" many many times.
At one point, he had partied a bit too hard and was unable to make it down for breakfast. He gave me strict instruction that if anyone asked about him the verbatim response I was to give was "I don't know shit about Landers!" It worked suprisingly well.
Another great thing about Landers was his tenuous grip on reality. That year, someone had opened a liquour store in town. Not surprisingly it did pretty well. The owners, Ron and Cindy, were quite the characters. Particularly Ron. He enjoyed drinking at a bar called "country side" (The one with the Keno board) So much so, that he referred to himself as "Ron Countryside". Landers and I got to know Ron and Cindy pretty well. Ron was probably in his late 60s and Cindy was likely in her mid to late 40s. Although neither Ron or Cindy ever discussed it with Landers or even made any comments that could be interpreted that way, Landers got it in his head that Ron wanted Landers to sleep with his wife. He would constantly bring it up and explain how we were missing the obvious clues. These clues would consist of cryptic things like how she would order a drink, or Ron making some comment about how he enjoyed a certain town. Landers was sure he was right and we were just missing the obvious. As far as we know, Landers never did close the deal. I am sure he would have let us know.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Bringing Gasoline to A Fire
I imagine being a NYS forest ranger is a bit of a mixed-bag. On the one hand, it seems pretty low stress, you generally patrol the forests and go on hikes most days. On the other hand, the pay is probably not particularly good, it is lonely and you have to be outside even on days that you would rather not.
The Adirondacks typically do not get the large forest fires that you see out West. The forests are generally smaller and it tends not to get so hot and dry. However, there are occasional fires. Most of the time, the fires are caused by failing to properly extinguish a camp fire.
NYS forest rangers are assigned large territories and there just are not that many of them. If a fire does break out, they need additional man power. Curiously, this man power is provided by a mixture of convicts from local prisons and volunteers from our camp. My guess is that our camp got on this prestigious list because the caretaker (Ranger) at the camp was active in the local fire department.
I participated in fighting, though as you will see below I am using that term loosely, two fires. As you would expect, forest fires typically happen in the forest and may be a significant distance from the nearest road. Generally, you would get the word that you were needed to head out to a fire a few hours in advance. Prior to getting that word, at least in my case, you will have received absolutely zero training as to what to do or expect. Rather, you simply show up at the center of the camp, dressed in the attire of your choice and await further instruction. At some point the local NYS forest ranger will cruise into camp in his pickup truck outfitted with lots of lights and sirens. The lights are not turned on, the siren is silent and there is no big plume of dust following a speeding truck on a dirt road. Rather, the Ranger will drive up at about 10-15 mph, engage in some conversations with various individuals around the camp and eventually get around to the idea of heading back out.
I can't blame them, these Rangers probably encounter more people in these few hours than they have in the past few months. Once you are loaded in the truck, you proceed at the same leisurely pace to the fire. My first time (and every other time) I eagerly asked if we could turn on the lights and siren. The answer was always the same, no. Ostensibly it was because the lights and siren would drain the battery. Even though I knew this wasn't true, it was more gentle than a simple no. It was like the Ranger was agreeing with you that of course lights and sirens were needed when you were driving at 10-15 mph below the speed limit, but it simply wasn't in the cards.
Eventually you reached the nearest trail head and realized that this was essentially just like any other hike. Except you carried different things. You carried a tool that was like a very sturdy rake that could also be used to hack away at underbrush. Generally, you don't put out a forest fire, you contain it. The idea is to pull all underbrush that is the main fuel away from the trees and establish a perimeter around the fire. If there was a lake nearby you might bring a pump and hose with you to wet the ground as well. Really, it was glorified yard work.
A buddy and I, set out towards the fire and hiked for a few miles. When we got there, it was largely under control; the prisoners had gotten there first (maybe they got to use the lights and siren!) It was less of a fire and more like a giant smoking pit. Everywhere there was smoke just rising from the ground as if the forest had been transformed into the edge of a volcano. All green had been replaced by black soot. However, there were a few hot points still there. Since we did not have a pump yet, you would fill a five gallon bucket and dump it where you saw actual flames. It really was pretty awesome.
At some point, you move from establishing the fire line to watching the fire line. The goal here is to ensure that the fire is indeed contained. This part is quite tedious and there is a lot of downtime. I remember discussing why there were not more guards for the convicts. It turns out that most of them were not familiar with the woods and had no intention of running off lest they encounter a bear. Of course that scenario was extremely unlikely. But, no less likely than the siren and lights draining the battery.
At least we had some fun. There was another larger group from our camp that started out later. They drove in one of our camp vehicles to the trail head and had to carry the pumps, hoses and yes, gasoline to the fire. Once they got there, it was time to turn back and head to camp.
At some point, we would all receive a check from the NYS forest service. If I remember correctly, the pay worked out to about 27 cents an hour, probably what the prisoners got.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Rock on Roger
Lake George is an interesting place. Due to population distributions, most New Yorkers approach the Adirondacks from the South. Lake George is therefore an unofficial southern entry point of the dacks.
For younger staff members, a trip to Lake George is just something you do, at least once. There is no end of cheap shops, arcades and other ways to pass an evening. It is exciting your first time, but after your fifth or sixth time, it gets pretty routine. I have probably been to Lake George a dozen times or so. Generally, each trip was like the one before it with a few notable exceptions for other stories (borrowing a motorcycle, the pitcher place and adventures in boat rental).
There is another side to Lake George though. Roger’s rock. This is a different Roger than the one who got upset about unnecessary canoe carries and peanut shelling.
Roger’s rock is a very pretty multi-pitch slab climb. Multi-pitch meaning that you cannot simply lower a rope from the top and climb up. A slab climb is generally inclined at less than vertical so it is easier to climb than vertical or overhanging. The easiest way to reach Roger’s Rock is by boat from a state campground. Most people at camp are not in the socio-economic bracket where boat ownership is feasible. Camp does have a large number of aluminum Grumman canoes though. While Read was generally good at loaning the canoes, you still had to get the canoe from camp to the launch point. Most of us did not own cars and we were typically limited to transporting one canoe.
Generally, those canoes can carry two people and a week’s worth of gear relatively safely. We generally had more people interested in climbing than canoe capacity though. Consequently most trips involved 4-5 people plus the necessary gear in the canoe. The distance between the waterline and the top of the canoe (gunwhales) is referred to as freeboard. On these trips, there was almost no freeboard. The canoes were certainly overloaded. It is no exaggeration to say that the canoe trip was far more risky than the climbing. Lake George is a relatively large lake and can generate good sized waves. Additionally, those who could afford to rent or own powerboats delighted in operating at top speed with little regard for wake. To be fair, if had a boat that could produce a large wake, I would undoubtedly do so.
Once you reach the climb, which rises directly from the lake it is relatively easy. Most people would use a rope, generally you did not slip, but if you did, it could be quite bad. Since the climb is not vertical, you would likely slide along the rock to the bottom with lots of scrapes. Though I never climbed without a rope, I knew of those who did. These were generally the car surfers. Also, since the climb was right on the lake, you would get a number of spectators in boats. It would be particularly embarrassing to fall with an audience!
These trips were always a success if K.W. was involved. K.W. had the most climbing experience of anyone at camp, having done some real climbing in Yosemite and the Gunks. He is also incredibly smart, always winning chess or card games. He is tall and lean and deceptively strong. Working with K.W. was not an effort in keeping up, it was generally a battle to limit how far behind you fell. Sort of like a track race where you are not fighting to win, but rather fighting to not get lapped!
Perhaps most importantly, for these types of trips, he made sure that a piece of critical gear was not left behind. If you did leave something behind, it was not until you were at the climb, a good ways from the car that you would realize it.
K.W. always made sure we were safe too. He would not tell you to tie into a certain piece of gear, rather he would simply grab you by your harness and clip you in, kind of like a parent strapping their child into a car seat!
One trip to Roger’s Rock stands out. It was a beautiful day, probably 80 degrees or so. I believe there were 5 of us and one canoe. We made the trip to the climb and suited up. The youngest member of our group, I will call him Tex, was very inexperienced and visibly nervous. Since we were all assholes at this point in our lives we made sure to add to his level of fear by making sure he always thought he was in far more danger than he was. My good friend M.L. was with us, and unfortunately was suffering from Lyme’s disease. The medicine that he took specifically warned him to stay out of the sun. Naturally, we took him to a lake, on a cloudless day, with no shade.
Though the climb was relatively uneventful, two interesting things happened. First, Tex lost the guidebook. This was not a real big deal, we all knew the climb. It was however $25 and that was a considerable sum to any of us then. The book belonged to a fellow called Indigo. Interestingly, Tex had no explanation as to how he had dropped the guidebook while at the base of the climb. The base is very safe, you can sit on a rock ledge and even if you did fall, you would simply fall into the water. In fact, we would frequently conclude a hot climb with a jump into the lake. Nevertheless, Tex argued that he was scared and dropped the book. No-one figured out how the two events were connected. So Indigo was already down a climbing book at this point.
The climbing book was not the only thing Indigo would lose though. Midway through the climb, M.L., suffering from Lyme’s disease, was getting too much exposure to the sun. Indigo was wearing a long sleeved shirt and loaned it to M.L. and Indigo was now shirtless. The thing with a climbing harness is that it is like wearing a very tight belt, particularly when you are rappelling. It is the opposite of flattering, it tends to emphasize any belly that you may have. Indigo, unfortunately while in good shape did have a belly and was rappelling from the top of the climb. Unbeknownst to him, there was another climber at the base of the climb. As Indigo was coming down, this climber pointed up and asked “who is that load coming down”. Though this was the extent of the conversation and Indigo would likely never encounter this climber again, this stranger had a profound impact on Indigo’s life for the next several years. Since we were who we were, we all decided that from now on the one we would call Indigo would be referred to exclusive as “the load.” Much to his chagrin, it took off like wildfire, with everyone in camp now referring to him as either “load”, “the load” or sometimes even “T” “H” “E” “Load”. He was an incredibly good sport about it and seemed to embrace it. Even when referred to as “the load” by people who were truly loads themselves. As is so often the case in life, this happened to the load when he was trying to do the right thing. He was not climbing shirtless to show off, rather, he had loaned his shirt because M.L. was not to be in the sun.
Regardless, it was a new era, the era of the load.
Friday, February 14, 2014
A Character
Some people who worked at Camp Read, a boy scout camp, looked and acted exactly like you would expect. This post is not about them. This post is for the characters. This post is about the Ragin Cajun.
The Ragin Cajun was from Louisiana and you could tell immediately. He had that thick Louisiana accent. He looked like he could be Groundskeeper Willie’s cousin with red hair and a goatee.
I didn’t work directly with the Cajun, but every time we hung out it was memorable. One night, we were drinking beer in the woods, away from the rest of camp. Camp had some strange rules, beer was absolutely forbidden. However, there were no rules against operating machinery and power tools that you were in no way qualified to operate. On a number of occasions I went off into the woods, in a pair of flip flops (Tevas) and shorts and cut down trees with a chainsaw.
There was nothing too wild about this evening, yet. Just a few guys, in the woods, with a small fire. The beer supply began to run low. It was a 12 pack that came in a cardboard box. Conveniently, the fire was also running low.
When we had started this little adventure there was still plenty of light. At this point, it was dark. We all knew our way around, but we did not have any flashlights and it was a little trip back to the main part of camp. None of us really gave it much thought.
At some point, the Cajun decided that it was time to head back. He didn’t say anything. Rather, he simply put the empty beer box in the fire. As soon as it caught fire, he speared it with a stick and held aloft his makeshift torch. Just as we were figuring out his plan, he tore off into the woods pretty damn fast.
We had trouble keeping up, but I still clearly remember that burning box streaking through the night. The embers and burning bits of cardboard that fell off left a trail not entirely unlike that of a comet.
We made it back with no real problems. At this point, I thought the evening was over. The Cajun did not agree. I still don’t know why he did what he did next.
He went into the tent of a fellow staff member (who fortunately was not in the tent at the time) and proceeded to upturn tables, pull the mattress off the cot and just generally act like a human hurricane. He gave no real explanation for why he did it. He had never expressed any ill will or negative feelings towards this person, if anything they were friends.
I am not sure if an explanation was needed. You or I would have to explain what we did. But, we are not the Cajun. And the Cajun was Ragin.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
A mountain with no panthers and surfing without an ocean.
Camp Read is in Chestertown. There is not a lot of nightlife there. There is more, but not a lot in either Lake George or Lake Placid, but driving there takes at least 30-40 minutes (more to Placid).
There is a place called Panther Mountain Bar and Inn, located quite close to Camp Read. Panther Mountain is an interesting establishment. During the late 90s, they were not shy about serving alcohol to minors. Consequently, business boomed in the summer time. The place was often completely packed even though there were no beers on tap and the bartenders were not attractive young females. It was close and allowed anyone in and really anyone to drink which catered well to the various summer camp staffs in the area.
A little bit later, they opened a bar up even closer to camp. While it tried to be a more upscale establishment, it was also the type of place where you could and did order eggs and beer for breakfast. What really made it great, to me at least, was you could play keno there. Keno is a big board of 80 numbers. On any given drawing, 20 of those 80 numbers are selected. You can choose to pick between 2 and 10 numbers. Depending on how many you picked and how many would match the payoffs could be quite good (though nowhere near the true odds). Also, you could play as little as $1 a game but if you hit three of three numbers that paid $23 which essentially paid the bar tab that evening.
Regardless, whether drinking at Panther Mountain or the closer bar, you had to get back to camp at some point. This is where car surfing came into play. Though never a participant in this, I was an observer. Generally the goal would be to get out of the vehicle while moving and transition to the roof. Once on the roof you could generally go spread eagle like you are the secret service and JFK has just been shot, or the truly crazy would even stand. Amazingly, very little went wrong. I know of only one incident of someone coming off the vehicle and likely his level of intoxication prevented serious injury.
Carrying Canoes and other assorted Tom Foolery
People are familiar with the term "portage" - essentially you balance the canoe on your shoulders and carry it along. In the dacks, the term portage is not used, rather they simply refer to it as a "carry". There is a canoe trip referred to as "Route of the Seven Carries."
Anyone that has done some canoeing is likely familiar with the standard Grumman Aluminum canoe. It is about 70 pounds, has very little paint, and is incredibly well built. Our camp used these canoes because much like a rented car, people did not treat these canoes very well. These canoes were often dragged across rocks, loaded carelessly etc. Typically they were fine, they may dent a bit, but they remained watertight.
Carrying a canoe is relatively straight forward. The trickies part is getting it on your shoulders. You balance it across your thigh, grasp the thwart and lift it. Provided that you have some padding around the thwart it is relatively comfortable.
Read is set up as three different camps, each located about a mile a part along a dirt road. Our camp was the furthest along the road.
One day, when we had a bit too much time on our hands, my buddy Mike and I decided it would be fun to carry canoes from our camp, down to the next camp. Our purported reason for carrying canoes was becuase we had to make a phone call and there may have been rain expected.
Roger was a pretty crotchety old guy who sort of volunteered at the camp. Mainly his work consisted of driving various vehicles around. He also did not find certain things as funny as we did. He was pretty upset about the carrying of canoes. It may have been because earlier in the day we had decided that we needed to shell some peanuts. By some, I mean thousands and thousands. We were not assigned to this work, and there was no reason that the peanuts needed to be shelled. Yet, we got together a group of 5 or 6 people and spent the morning shelling peanuts - and then we carried some canoes.
Overview
From 1993 to 2001 (Ages 16-24) I spent my summers at a Boy Scout Camp, Curtis S. Read Scout Reservation (Read). Read is located in the Adirondack Mountains of NY, it was a wonderful place. I was not popular in high school or college, I was very shy and did not form any close friendships. Read was different though.
I made a number of very close friends at Read. I have some vivid memories. The purpose of this blog is to share some of these experiences and relive them once more.
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