Going Way Back

I have pretty much demonstrated that I really don't keep to my self imposed rules of limiting this blog to camp. This post does talk about a boy scout camp, but not the one in the Adirondacks that all the other posts talk about. Rather, this is a post about a camp that I attended as a camper. I am not too sure where it was located. At the time I couldn't drive so I just got in the car and one of my parents would drop me off.

Regardless, many boy scout camps used to employ a lot of European staff members. The idea was that these Europeans were willing to work for potentially low wages in exchange for seeing America for a bit. Most were college age or perhaps a bit older. There are a few that still stick out in my mind. There was an Egyptian that taught me pioneering (essentially knot tying and lashing). Of course, what I remember about him was that he could crack one of your knuckles that I didn't even know existed. He would shake your hand and somehow pop your thumb but at the very base of it, near your palm. There was also a Scottish guy who really loved wearing his kilt as part of his boy scout uniform.

Then there was the welshman. He ran the rifle range and I think he had been part of the Welsh army at some point, perhaps as an MP. He was a big dude probably 6'6" and 250 pounds. He taught me a lot of police style submission holds, i.e. how to twist someone's arm so that you can potentially cause a good deal of pain and keep them from moving about. He ran his rifle range with an iron fist. He wasn't prepared for Peter Whelan.

Pete was a scout in my troop and was a bit weird. He was very bright, but not the most sociable guy. It probably didn't help that he was an only child and his parents were a bit odd. He was lanky with very little muscle and had a shock of red hair that was too long and almost always not brushed. To top it off, he wore very thick glasses. He was not the type that you would expect behind the barrel of a gun.

The boy scouts used low powered rifles, .22 cal, at the range. They were real weapons, but the type that you would use for hunting rabbits or squirrels. All safety precautions were followed and it was a safe place. If you were shot, it was unlikely that anything too bad would happen, but unlike the rest of camp, most safety protocols were actually followed. Pete and I were both doing the rifle merit badge that summer. Over the course of the week you learn how the rifle works, how to clean it and disassemble it and also how to sight it and shoot accurately. Since the round is so small, there is almost no kick to the rifle and once you learn to sight it in correctly you can get pretty accurate.

To pass the badge, I think you needed to shoot 5 shots and all five shots had to be close enough together that you could cover all 5 shots with a quarter. You fire from a prone position, lying on your belly, because that gives you the most stability. The Welshman was very patient and understood that you needed to take your time to make sure that your shots were accurate. However, it was still a live firing line.

Towards the end of the week, Pete and I were both qualifying and I noticed that in order to keep himself calm and ensure accuracy, he had taken to singing to himself. At least he thought it was to himself. The problem is that you wear ear protection on the range, so it is kind of like someone who is singing to themselves while listening to a walkman, they have no idea how loud they really are. I thought nothing of it. All of a sudden I see the Welshman striding towards Pete with a fierce look. He walks right up, pulls one of the ear cups off of Pete and shouts at the top of his lungs "THIS IS NOT A BLOODY CHOIR, BOY"! The singing instantly stopped. In the end, I think we both qualified.

Easily one of my favorite staff members. Hopefully he is still tearing it up in Wales!