We go to School for this?

The first few summers I worked at camp, there was no official training. The staff typically arrived at camp a week before the campers. During that week, you were responsible for getting the camp set up. The bulk of the work involved setting up the tents and putting cots and mattresses in the tents. Setting up the cots sucked. At the end of each summer, the cots were piled in the center of the campground and covered with a tarp. This was not exactly weatherproof. At the beginning of the summer, you would remove the tarp which had a thick film of grime on it and notice that the cots had rusted just a bit more. Since they were all piled on top of each other, somewhat haphazardly, it was easy to get your fingers pinched. The next opportunity for finger pinching involved unfolding the legs, it was not a smooth action. At the end of the day, it typically worked out OK though. The second part of the week involved working in your area and coming up with a plan of attack as to how you would accomplish your duties throughout the summer. Most of it done on the fly.

Certain positions involved going to Camp School. I think the closest analogy to the rigor of this school would be clown college. I only went to Camp School once, but it is an experience I won't forget. Prior to my first official summer as a guide, I was told to report to a different camp for some training. I thought it would be some sort of military style survival course to make sure we could handle things if everything went wrong. I could not have been more mistaken.

Our camp, like any other, had a series of rituals that only take place at camp. For instance, the "duck sketch". The duck sketch involves someone standing up in the middle of a crowded dining hall and asking someone if they "want to buy a duck". Instead of telling the person to fuck off because you are in the middle of your meal, you are supposed to reply "A what?" followed by "a Duck" followed by "Does it quack" answered by "Of course it quacks", the idea is to then ask a third person all the same questions, except this time the third person asks the second person the pertinent questions which are then relayed to the person who initially asked the question. And it goes on and on with a series of middle men. It is mildly amusing the first time. However, we are there for the scouts, so you go along with it. There are other similar events, songs about being a Beaver, going on wild cheese moose hunts, elaborate birthday celebrations etc. So the typical staff member accepts that this is part of the territory and goes along with it. Then you meet someone who works at Camp School. This is the type of person who takes something like the duck sketch incredibly seriously. Someone who has devoted significant time thinking about how to precisely capture the range of human emotions that one goes through when contemplating the purchase of a duck. These type of people live for a duck sketch and cannot understand why you do not. This set the tone for me. It only went downhill from there.

To start with, I arrived kind of late to camp school. I got there on the right day, it was just a lot further than I had thought it was. Our camp was located at the southern end of the Adirondacks. This school was way up in the northern end. I show up, and immediately get a polaroid taken as if this is America's next Top Model or something. I then learn that the class is in the middle of journal writing where they are supposed to reflect on the lessons learned the previous day. It seems that you cannot simply appreciate a beautifully done duck sketch at the time. You need to think back and peel back the onion to discover the many layers of beauty. I did not write much in my journal. The instructors were not happy. We were then supposed to get together in small groups and design the ultimate sketch. What we came up with was pretty good, I thought. However, it was definitely geared towards an irreverent 20 something audience. Complete with foul language, inappropriate inuendo etc. It was at this point that we were threatened that we may not graduate camp school. I didn't think it was a possibility. Apparently it was. If I had more time, I may have looked into what other options were available. Could you graduate with honors? Was it possible to be the valedictorian? The only thing I did learn was why the instructors all seemed cut from the same cloth. It turns out that if you did well at camp school, whatever that meant, you might get invited to return the next year. This ensured that they had a consistent flow of instructors who also saw deep meaning in silly sketches and were proud of this achievement. Interestingly, in addition to displaying this same rabid devotion to the absurd, most of these instructors took great pride in wearing the scout uniform. They did not take nearly as much pride in ensuring it fit properly. Most of the instructors resembled someone you may see at a dungeons and dragons convention. Their uniforms may have fit many years ago. Time had turned baggy shorts into daisy dukes.

It improved markedly during the second half of the week because we were supposed to go on a mini-trek. Once again, I thought it would be a marathon session where we attempted to cover 80+ miles in two days or so. As was par for the course, I was wrong. We did have some great instructors, true wilderness experts, and I learned a lot. I enjoyed this second part quite a bit and used what I had learned in future treks. We didn't cover much distance most days, but looking back that made sense. The canoeing and the backpacking is relatively straightforward. It is the teaching of fundamental wilderness skills that takes finesse. We did a number of lessons on navigating with a map and compass. I fear that this is a bit of a lost art, because of the wide spread use of GPS.

On the final morning, the instructors woke us up early. I had slept in my car that night, like many others because of the heavy rain and the poor quality of the tents. The morning was chilly and though the rain had relented a bit, it was still decidely damp. We canoed across the lake to a place I didn't even know existed. The paddle itself was great because it was one of those mornings where the water is completely calm, like glass. Tendrils of mist wafted up from the lake and the only sound was the paddles gently splashing into the water. We arrived at a medium sized log cabin and inside there was a nice fire going with coffee. This was exactly the place you wanted to be in during a morning like this. The fire gave off just enough heat to take off the chill, and provided a dancing light. There was a small ceremony where we graduated, and it was very well done. What had started off as such a negative experience was definitely a positive one at the end.

So perhaps we didn't need to go to school for this, but I am glad we did. I am also so glad that I didn't have to spend the entire week with the rest of the staff. If I am ever in the market for a duck, perhaps I will rely on the training though.