The Speed Trap

The main drag that runs through camp is a dirt road.  It is actually in pretty good shape, but it is still a dirt road.  There is a lot of engineering that goes into designing roads, you want to make sure that the road drains correctly and that there is adequate line of sight so that you see oncoming traffic in plenty of time.

The camp road did not adhere to these standards, it really couldn't.  Consequently, there were lots of blind turns, the conditions could change rapidly depending on whether it had rained, etc.  When it came to traffic rules, there were really only two.  1.  No riding in the back of a pick-up truck; 2. The camp speed limit was 10 mph.  Amazingly, almost everyone followed rule #1, it was strictly enforced and for the most part followed.  Not by these people, but otherwise, typically followed.  The speed limit was not followed by anyone except John C.  Different people disobeyed it to different extents, but no-one regularly drove at 10 mph.  I think the idea was if you set it at 10, you would hope people would mainly do 20-25 mph.  Which, for the most part was safe.

One of the unique features of driving at camp was you were always on the look out for someone coming the opposite way to put an arm out the window.  This was the universal sign for a road side chat.  Road side chats were one of my favorite parts of camp, because you had no idea whether it would be a quick 30 second talk, or a full blown 20 minute conversation.  The procedure was always the same.  Both vehicles would come to a stop, window to window.  If it was to be a quick chat, you would simply stay in the vehicle, but the extended chats involved everyone getting out of their respective vehicle and gathering around the bed of a pick-up truck.  The bed of a pickup truck is the perfect height to lean against with your elbows at about chin height and shoot the breeze.  The other unwritten rule was that the vehicles were left with the ignition on.  I think this was due to never knowing how long the convo was going to be, so it made little sense to take the fraction of a second to turn off the ignition.  This is where the true business of camp was done, under the sun, surrounded by the mountains, around the bed of an ancient pick-up truck.  You would think that with two trucks blocking traffic in either direction it would be a problem, but more often than not, other vehicles would simply stop and join in on the conversation.  Because you may encounter a couple vehicles in the road at anytime, it was another reason to take her easy on the camp roads.

I can't remember which summer it was, but on one weekend, M.L. and I decided to set up an informal speed trap.  We were missing a few key elements: (1) Any authority to do this; (2) Any equipment to measure the speed of oncoming vehicles; (3) Any way to indicate to other drivers that we were cops for the day.  We also chose an odd vehicle for our pursuit vehicle.  It was a 1984 dump truck, 4 speed manual transmission, not exactly a speed demon.  For some reason, I loved that old truck.  There was one summer where I didn't take out many trips and mainly helped out with maintenance around camp.  I think I was informally assigned that vehicle as my own - I have to guess that is why M.L. and I were using it.  Generally, the camp road went past the Ranger house, up a hill, past Camp Waubeeka proper, then past Lake Waubeeka, past the old wood dump and Old Farmhouse, to Camp Buckskin, Past Central Office and then to Summit Base.  As I write this, I realize Central Office really wasn't very central at all.  But, for whatever reason, that was the name given to it.  Near Lake Waubeeka, there was a little pull off that was kind of hidden.  I am not sure what the real purpose of this was, but M.L. and I decided it would be perfect for our speed trap.  The thing is, we did this on our day off, a Saturday.  There is never much traffic on the camp road, but particularly on a Saturday after all the scouts have left there is even less.  So, we spent most of the time talking.  Every so often a vehicle would come by, we would decide it was speeding or perhaps was not up to some other code and would do our best to pursue it.  The problem was, the old dumper was pretty slow.  It topped out at about 5 mph in 1st and you had to get into 3rd before you were even at 30 mph.  Still we thought it was great fun.  We would come tearing out of the hiding space (in reality, we would leave it as a brisk walk pace) and get behind whomever was driving and flash the lights and honk the horn.  Every so often they would pull over and generally would play along with the game.

Looking back, it was stupid, but it was lots of fun at the time.

90 Miler Pics

Turns out my brother from another mother is quite the photog.  Here are some pics from the 90 miler.

Very Crowded Start.  Note the fancy wheels in the canoe in the foreground

Getting the Oar locked in

Maneuvering to the Starting Line

Still Waiting for the start

You can see the very pretty cedar guideboats here.  Again, note the wheels for faster carries

Add caption

I think this is the finish - off in the distance

Passing the buoy that marks the end of 90 miles

Letting the boat glide

35-30-25 (Day 3)

The Load and I plan to do a series where we talk about the various treks that we typically went on along with the highs and lows of each one. When it comes to the Saranac trek, I think we will almost certainly have only positive things to say about it.

Day 3 started in the Saranacs. Day 3 was to be the shortest day, with only 3 carries, and two of them very short. However, we knew something was a bit different when the race organizers told us that we had to wear our life jackets for this leg of the course. Up until today, it was only necessary that the life jacket be in the boat. It didn't make sense at the time because it seemed very calm at the start. Nevertheless, we followed the rule. To an extent. One of the fastest guideboats, that had led consistently since day 1, came up with a unique solution. He simply tied the life jacket around his waist. I think he was concerned that if he wore the life jacket it could interfere with the rowing. When you are going as fast as he was, I think it was a legitimate concern.

Jim and I were in good spirits because we had moved up 2-3 spots in the rankings. I think it was a combination of a very slow first day and a better than average 2nd day. We had found our rhythm at this point and it was like we were back in college again. The start was uneventful, we separated into our respective groups. But, after 30 minutes or so of paddling, we left the sheltered confines of fish creek pond and entered Upper Saranac Lake. This was a big lake, and we now saw why the life jackets were required. The wind was shipping pretty good, there were whitecaps with 2-3 foot waves. Fortunately, we were heading straight into them, which is a lot safer than having them come across the bow. Personally, this was my favorite part, I would routinely get a good soaking as the bow would come crashing down off one wave and encounter another. A number of boats capsized or swamped here. When you build a boat for speed you sacrifice stability. Some of the really fast boats simply couldn't handle the waves. It was heartwarming to see teams that were obviously racing, take time to help the capsized boats. Even though it was a race, people never forgot that we were all out to have a great time.

For whatever reason, Jim and I seemed exceptionally good at rough water paddling. We probably had about 5-6 miles to do along Upper Saranac Lake. At the end there is a carry to Middle Saranac Lake. Unbelieveably, we actually reached the carry a few yards ahead of the leaders. Our guideboat was the only one not made of wood, it may have been a bit heavier than the other crafts. I tend to think that this additional weight was an advantage in the rough water and made the boat more stable and better able to handle the high waves. This was definitely the roughest water I had taken her out in. A couple of times I would travel from the Chicago River, through the locks to Lake Michigan, but only if it was calm. Mainly I had stuck to smaller bodies of water.

We were feeling pretty good reaching the carry first, but our lead did not last for long. The usual leaders simply picked their boat up, put one end on each shoulder and took off at a jog, while we took off at a fast walk. I lost sight of them about 1/2 way through the carry. Midway through the carry, there is a relatively steep hill. Although I didn't know it at the time, there is a guy who comes out every year to play bagpipes to motivate people along. It worked. Perhaps it was because it was so unexpected, or perhaps it is because bagpipes are inherently awesome, but I felt like I glided up the hill. This was to be the last carry of any real distance, the next couple were about 100 yards each.

We continued on through the rest of the Saranacs, Middle Saranac and Lower Saranac. At this point, the wind had died down but it was still very gray with bouts of rain and occasional winds. The Saranacs have a number of islands that dot the various lakes, which makes for extremely beautiful scenery. Although Jim and I were still pushing hard, we admired the scenery a bit more than we had in the past.

There are two small locks that you have to go through to get from Middle Saranac to Lower Saranac Lake. These locks are a lot of fun, because you get to operate the smaller one yourself. But, since this was a race, we had to carry around the locks. The first one was easy, it was probably 50 yards or so. The second one was a bit trickier because even though it was only 200 yards, you went up and down a steep hill. I was at the front of the boat and Jim was at the rear. I noticed he was struggling going up the hill, but he didn't complain or ask to stop. Once we started going down I realized why. There were several gallons of water in the boat. Going up the hill, it had all sloshed down to Jim so he was carrying an extra 40 pounds or so. I immediately noticed it on the way down, and realized how much more difficult it was. But, I was going downhill, it had to be particularly difficult on the way up.

From that point on, it was smooth sailing to the finish. The finish line is at the end of Lake Flower in the village of Saranac Lake. It is an exceptionally pretty town, so it made the finish even more special. Also, as you reached the finish, the race organizers would call out your name and everyone would cheer so enthusiastically that you thought you had won! There was an after race picnic and a few other events, but it was still cold, raw and windy, so we didn't stick around for too long.

All in all, it was a great experience. There are trophys given out at the end, but even more impressive they hand out pins for number of 90 milers that you have participated in. Jim and I were in the 1st group, towards the end, they handed out pins for 25 90 milers. I can see why people come back year after year, and I would Love to do it again. Particularly, I would like to enter the father daughter division!

35-30-25 (Day 2)

I was very familiar with the course we were to travel day 2.  In fact, over the course of that day, I was to cover the same distance as I had done in 5 days in A Not So Brady Sequel.  Even if my oars had been replaced with tooth picks, I am confident that this would have been a better trip then the adventure with Brady.

This was a perfect day.  It was bright and sunny as we started and Long Lake is one of my favorite lakes in the Adirondacks.  Per its name, it is about 22 miles long.  Although there are some houses, most of it is designated as wilderness so there is a lot of shoreline with forests. The lake is also plenty wide enough that there is ample room to pass other slower boats.    This was one of those perfect days where the lake stayed almost glass smooth the entire morning.  So it was fast travelling. 

I don't know if this is from the year we did it, but coincidentally, you can see a guideboat in the foreground of the picture in the bottom left corner.  The boats are travelling away from the photographer, so even though the guideboat is in the foreground, it is actually behind all the other boats in the picture!

Jim and I had learned our lesson from the day before, so we made sure that we took a couple of minutes on every hour to munch on some trail mix and stay hydrated.  We reached the end of Long Lake and then transitioned to the Raquette river.  There had been a bit of a drought that year, so the river was a bit lower than usual.  We were travelling with the current, which is always nice.  It is a pretty gentle current, but it is nice to take a small break and notice that you are still making forward progress.  Unlike Brown's tract, the raquette never got so narrow as to make it uncomfortable.  The biggest obstacle today was the carry.  There was only 1, but it was 1.5 miles and particularly the beginning involved a fairly steep climb.  So steep, that there was a rule that you were not permitted to run during this part.  It was only for a race like this that you would need to have a rule like this.  In all my other times doing this carry, it was just a push to get people up the damn hill!

The payoff for this carry is that the end of it is very pretty.  The carry is around a set of waterfalls and the end of the carry goes no further than necessary to avoid these falls.  Usually, we would have lunch here and swim in the rapids.  Today, we had to push on.

Not the best picture, but this is the put in at the end of the carry.  It is usually very crowded, even on non-race days.  

This last part of the river I always think is shorter than it is.  I knew we were on a lookout for a parking lot called "The Crusher".  I never knew why they called it that.  It was a small unassuming lot.  My buddy thought it might have been because it was not paved, but rather had crushed rock.  I don't know. So we would pass bend after bend, but no crusher.  We were involved in a bit of a race against a fellow guideboat.  We had not been in contention with them the day before because of the big slow down.  Each time we would pull within passing distance, they would pour on the coles and surge ahead.  But, you could tell it was getting to them.  Finally, we made a big effort and pushed hard, and we were buy them.  At first it looked like they would challenge us again, but we put some distance between us.  The beauty of the guideboat was that Jim could see what was ahead, and I could see what was behind.  Perhaps it added a bit of motivation to my rowing to see the distance increasing.

Finally, we made it to the crusher.  Once again, it was all class.  They had volunteers in the hip deep water who would help you out of your boat and guide you to shore while your boat was whisked away by some other volunteers.  Unlike the day before, there was a relatively small area, so it was necessary to move quickly to avoid congestion.  Day 2 was far better than Day 3. I was tired, but not exhausted.  I looked forward to day 3.  See you tomorrow!

35-30-25 (Day 1)

I realized a couple of things. 1. The post entitled 35-25-20, was originally supposed to be about the Adirondack 90 miler, and the numbers represented the miles paddled/rowed on each day. However, like a good engineer, I got basic addition wrong and only accounted for 80 miles. 2. I never changed this already wrong title to reflect the actual story. We'll take another crack at her then.

Every September, there is a great event called either "The 90-miler" or the "Adirondack Canoe Classic". I think most refer to it as the 90-miler because of the way it rolls off the tounge and is pretty descriptive. "Adirondack Canoe Classic" is a bit prettier. I think 90 miler won out, much like "The Load" won out over "The Well Dressed Waterboy" (Although, it is pretty impressive that both nicknames contained the definite article "The".)

The Adirondack Guideboat was born, not surpisingly, in the Adirondacks. It is a beautiful craft. It combines the sleek lines of a canoe with the mechanical advantage of rowing. I first fell in love with this craft when I was 16 or so. Keene Valley is the gateway for the high peaks of the Adirondacks and there is a lovely store called "the Mountaineer". Although relatively small in size, there is a great deal of gear packed in there. If you need it for the outdoors, particularly backpacking, hiking, rock climbing or ice-climbing, you can get it at the Mountaineer. Most of the gear in the Mountaineer is on the first floor, but there is a small loft where they keep sleeping bags and tents and some other gear. Hanging from the ceiling is an Adirondack Guideboat. Ostensibly, it is for sale, but to my knowledge it has been hanging there for close to 20 years. The price tag, a cool $15,000! It is fashioned out of cedar and beautifully varnished. Completely handmade, it is as much a work of art as a useful craft. Each time we would visit the Mountaineer I would stare at it, but that was all I could do. At that point, I considered bottled beer quite a luxury, so it wasn't like I had $15k laying around.

Time passed, I deployed to Afghanistan and was able to save up a bit of money. Also, a company started to make guideboats in kevlar and fiberglass, rather than cedar. This meant that you could get a guideboat for about 1/5 the cost, which still not cheap, was more reasonable. So, I ordered a guideboat. I didn't tell my wife until it arrived in a large crate, but she was surprisingly understanding about it. I tried to sell it as a family craft, and indeed, we did enjoy taking it out with our daughter.

We haven't tried taking it out with both girls, you really need one adult to watch the kids full time, because the boat is pretty tippy.

At the end of the summer of 2010, I sent Jim an e-mail and asked him if would join me on the next 90-miler.  Even though we had not seen each other for many years, he instantly agreed.  It was a good 14-16 hour drive from Chicago to the Adirondacks, but the girls were troopers and we made it in one shot (mostly by driving at night).  Once we got settled, I got in touch with Jim, who had a much shorter trip.  When we finally met up, it was the evening before the race.  We figured we ought to get at least a little bit of practice in before the big event, so we set off on Lake Flower just as the sun was setting.  

When rowing the craft solo, you sit in the center of the boat.  When rowing with a partner, you row from the bow, and the paddler paddles from the stern.  The paddler provides some extra propulsion, but more importantly steers the boat.  When rowing, you face opposite the direction of travel, so when rowing solo,  you have to keep looking over your shoulder to see where you are going.  With a partner though, you can just focus on rowing.  Since Jim had a fair amount of canoeing experience, he figured it out extremely quickly.  We soon fell into a comfortable rhythm, but noticed that the light was quickly fading.  So we headed back to shore.  

It just so happened that we were staying at a house that was very near the finish of the race.  Consequently, it was a pretty long drive to the start line the next morning.  Luckily, my brother in law is always up for an insanely early start to the day and volunteered to drive us to the start line.  The race started in Old Forge.  This was the only part of the course I had never canoed before, but with hundreds of boats and a straightforward course, there was no real risk of getting lost.  This first day was to be the most challenging, both in terms of miles paddled and there were 4 "carries" where you had to get out of the boat and carry it anywhere between 1/2 a mile to 1 and 1/2 miles to the next lake.

There was a lot of excitement at the starting line, but since they had been doing it for more than 25 years at this point, it was extremely well organized.  There were various classes of craft, based on the type and number of paddlers.  The start was organized by heats depending on the class of the boat.  The guideboats started pretty late.  There were about 10 boats total, most of them with 2 people in each boat but a few that were paddled solo.  One boat that immediately caught our eye was paddled by a solo female.  She was the only female in the guideboat class at all, even more impressively she was paddling solo.  

Amazingly I was able to find this picture through a google search.  While the boat was fast it was still 70 pounds or so, a lot to carry on your own.

Finally, they sounded the starting horn, and we were off.  It was amazing how fast everyone went for the first 200 yards or so, just tons of adrenaline pumping.  I have never had the boat anywhere close to that fast before or since, but we had a nice little bow wave going and probably could have pulled a very small child on water skis!  Soon though, we settled into our cadence.  Unlike the canoes, Jim and I faced each other so it was very easy to talk to each other.  Additionally, particularly in the beginning of each day, you would either pass or be passed by a number of different boats, so it is pretty exciting.  We soon settled into the middle of the pack of the guideboats.  The fastest ones pulled away pretty early in the day and there were 3 of us that were kind of jockeying back and forth for position.  Similarly, there were a number in the back that were just taking her easy.  

Soon we were coming to the first carry.  Up until now, the experience had been pretty similar to other experiences paddling in the Adirondacks.  Granted, people were pushing harder and we were certainly setting a far quicker pace than I would with trek groups.  In fact, we were scheduled to paddle 35 miles that day, which is about the same distance as we would cover over some of our shorter five day treks.  The carries were a different experience altogether.  

Most of the craft carried wheels that would affix to the center of the craft.  The wheels were pretty large, probably 2-3 feet in diameter and the boats would be perfectly balanced at hip level.  The crew simply needed to run along side the craft and guide it along.  The first few carries in particular were over smooth surfaces.  I had planned that we could use wheels too.  Unfortunately, I had purchased a very small set that went at the very stern of the boat. The wheels were  So our boat was not balanced at all, we had to lift up the front to waist level and fight it along.  About 1/2 way through the first carry we realized that this would not work, our forearms were burning.  But, we pushed on determined that we would change our method for all other carries.  Incidentally, the top performers in the guide-boat category simply took the boat out the water, lifted it up to shoulder height and took off at a jog as if they were carrying a pair of ski-poles.  The first day, particularly the first half of the first day, was about an hour of rowing and then a carry, and so on.  For all the rest of the carries, I carried the boat and Jim took the oars and all the other gear.  Because there was a yoke for carrying the boat it was not too difficult.  It was infinitely easier than that first carry.  We had a good pace and the weather was pretty good.  There was a bit of clouds and rain, but nothing too unpleasant at all.

At the end of the 2nd to last carry of the day, there is a section called Brown's track.  This is a very narrow very windy section.  It sucked.  It was so narrow that there were times when my oars could touch the banks on either side.  Fortunately, by this time, Jim was an expert navigator and he would direct me on which side and how hard to paddle.  This would have been by far the worst section to have done solo.  Once we finished with this,  we had a good amount of rowing to do across some pretty big lakes.  I didn't realize it at the time, but Jim and I had not taken even small breaks to eat or drink.  It caught up to me at the last carry, I tried to eat some food but it immediately came back up.  That carry, although short was a real struggle, I was just running out of gas.  We lost a lot of ground during this last part because I had to take frequent breaks.  The last chain of lakes, eagle lake to Utowana to Blue Mountain I have done many times.  Usually it is the start of our canoe trips and it seems to fly by.  People who passed us could tell that I was drained and they shouted encouragement.  So we pushed on and eventually made it to the takeout.  I sat by the side of the lake for a long time just resting.  

That was the end of day 1, certainly the hardest.  We had fallen a bit in the rankings just because the last few miles were so slow.  But, the hardest day was over, and it felt good.  

(Day 2 - tomorrow)

Voyageur: The Good, The Bad, and the Denver Omlette - Part II: The Voyageur's Perspective on Guide Safety Preparedness

 I had similar experiences to the Load at camp school. Perhaps they did away with the formal written evaluation when I went through, or perhaps I have forgotten about it, but I am sure that it was not a stellar evaluation. I did get a warning on the first day of the trek when I was zig-zagging all over the lake and purposely canoeing under low branches. I had viewed it as fun outing rather than a training course.

To be properly certified, we needed to get trained in first aid, CPR and a course called BSA Lifeguard. I don't know why the standard life guard certification that everyone else uses wasn't good enough, but it wasn't. Even more bizarre, our trips involved almost no swimming. In the rare instant a canoe capsized, everyone had life jackets on. Sometimes we would swim at the campsites, but typically people would not go very far from shore. Nevertheless, it was a requirement so we complied, sort of.

For as many years as I can remember, John C. ran the health lodge at camp. I think he was certified as an EMT, but he worked in this pretty big building and most of the time he was all alone. The crazy part was that this building had the capacity for 25+ beds, but typically no more than one was ever in use. If a kid got really sick or hurt he would be taken to the hospital. John C. was quite a guy. He was probably in his late 40s or early 50s when I worked there. Pretty normal looking guy. He had enormous hands though. He wasn't that tall, probably 6' or so, but he had the hands of a giant. You could always count on him to do his morning run around camp, precisely at 6 am every morning. He was the only one at camp who consistently obeyed the camp speed limit of 10 mph on the camp roads. He would just cruise around to wherever he needed to be. I think he was initially assigned the Wagoneer, certainly he treated it far better than anyone else.

One brief story about John and how calm he was. M.L. and I were riding our bikes down one of the trails and I wiped out. It wasn't that bad of a fall, but I got some nasty cuts and scrapes on my face because I happened to fall almost directly on a rock. I think it looked worse than it was, because cuts to the face tend to bleed a lot, even if not particularly deep. The story I heard is that someone relayed to John C. that I needed medical attention and he asked what had happened. Apparently, without even seeing me, he surmised that it wasn't that serious and said that he would come up after he finished his lunch. That is one calm guy.

John C. was responsible for teaching us the required first aid. John knew the first aid very well. He also understood that we were not super interested in the first aid, really just there to check a box. The first aid involved both a practical portion where you would demonstrate on a dummy and a written portion. During the practical portion if you put your hands in the wrong place, John C. would simply grab your hands with his enormous paws and put them in the right place. All that was necessary was to touch the dummy and John C. would take it from there. The written test part was interesting as well. Once John C. had distributed the tests he would inform us that he needed to leave and that he would be gone for at least 30 minutes. Strictly speaking, the tests were an individual effort. In practice, it was a bit different.

Finally, the BSA lifeguard section. It involved a lot of the usual skills, swimming, how to tow a swimmer in distress, how to right a canoe in the middle of the lake. Supposedly there are two ways to do it. First, if you have a second canoe, you can turn the swamped canoe upside down, approach the swamped canoe at a 90 degree angle and then lift it up on the second canoe so it is balanced across it making a big T. Then you turn it over and put it back in the drink, good as new. This method worked well, and was not that difficult. The trickiest part was breaking the initial suction and popping the end of the swamped canoe out of the lake. The second method was used if you only had one canoe. The idea was that two individuals, while treading water, could tip the canoe over (easy) and then lift the canoe high enough out of the water so that all the water drained out. Then while still holding the canoe over your head, you would flip it over. I never saw this pulled off.  Every time I tried, even with a life jacket I found that you ended up dunking yourself. If I capsized a canoe while traveling solo, I would have had to swim with it to the shore to empty it out.

Again, there wasn't much time, so the lifeguard course was kind of compressed. That suited me fine. The most absurd part of the training was that each time we came to an area in the wilderness, the lifeguard was supposed to spend a good hour inspecting the site for hazards before allowing anyone to swim. I think you were even supposed to maintain a log. Naturally, none of this was done. 

Added by the Load - One of the funnest things to do in a canoe, and one of the most frowned upon for safety reasons, is gunwale jumping. (Apparently 'gunnel' is an accepted alternate spelling of  'gunwale.')  Anyway, it's the act of standing up on the back of the canoe and pumping up and down with your legs; this action would lift the bow out of the water and when it slammed back down you would move forward.  You could really get a canoe moving swiftly for a bit!  Eventually it would start to turn and you would lose balance and fall.  Of course I never did this with my trek groups, but boy it looks fun!

 

Voyageur: The Good, The Bad, and the Denver Omlette - Part 1: Camp School

ed. note - the following post was originally part of a much larger one, we've split them up into separate parts so they don't bore you.

It really all begins at camp school, but for me it began a bit earlier than that.  First there was the hour long phone call with Ken Smith, who told me he and his wife worked at a boys' camp in the Adirondacks and were looking for guides.  I was at college at the time and President of the Outdoor Adventure Club, so this sounded like a good gig.  Luckily I had been a Boy Scout all my life; I can only imagine the surprise from people who went through this "interview" process, accepted the job, and then found out it was a Boy Scout camp when they received their contract.  Ken could be really persuasive on the phone.  I later found out he called  every college in NY State looking to be put into contact with their outdoor club leader.  He was a real trooper!

My Mom (yes, my Mom) drove me up to the camp office in Westchester, where I met BJ (ed. note - unless they've given us permission to throw their name in here, the Voyageur and I are going with initials, this one is a bit unfortunate) and Big Bird.  He drove us the 4 + hours up to the Adirondacks and Curtis Read Scout Reservation where I quickly learned that you lift your feet up when going over the Troll Bridge and dark is dark.  I stayed in the Nature Lodge that night and being far removed from the comforts of home it was pitch black when the lights went out and I'll admit to being a bit scared.  The next morning I met Toph, and Ranger Bob and a few others.  Toph would be driving us to Camp School in the green army sedan.  That thing was so old it looked like something you would have seen on MASH.  Ranger Bob was Ranger Bob and I regret that my first year I did not give him the respect he so deserved.  I was a little arrogant back then.  My first interaction with Bob was sausages.  It's what he served up for breakfast.  There was also coffee and eggs, but sausages were really what he was pushing as the best and perhaps only food for you.  He ate a ton and kept exhorting us to eat more as well.  

Then it was off to camp school.  Another hour or so through the Adirondacks to another Scout Camp that was hosting camp school.  The peculiarities of camp school have already been documented, but needless to say it was full of quirks.  The Voyageur section had been set up because Boy Scouts had been traipsing around the Adirondacks for quite a while causing damage, harm, litter, etc.  A week's worth of training was supposed to help cure that.  We would be licensed to lead Boy Scouts in the Adirondacks (a state park) but could not professionally guide others through the park.

I recall 2 1/2 days of lecture on wilderness survival, first aid, orienteering, paddling a canoe, leadership philosophy, cooking, swimming, lifesaving, setting up tents, etc.  Anyone who was sent to Voyageur training was supposed to be well versed in most if not all of these topics.  I did not do particularly well on the initial solo canoe test, but otherwise felt up to par.  It was clear there were quite a few though who were sent by their camp with the hopes they would pass, but without any experience or prior knowledge in the outdoors.  People who seemed baffled at how to set up a tent, enter a canoe, put on a life vest, make a splint, etc.  It was really quite comical, because if they failed -  and some did - their camp lost the investment of sending someone to camp school, and had to look for a new guide to hire without much time at all before the season started.  

After that it was on to mini-trek.  We got to spend 3 days and 2 nights in the wilderness putting to use what we had learned during the lecture time.  This was really cool and helped add to my arrogance.  While everyone else was still stuck in camp, wearing uniforms, attending meals singing songs designed for 12 year old boys and sweating in those damned red-topped green socks, we were canoeing and hiking around the Adirondacks.  This was a lot of fun and I thought I was doing a good job.  When I got my evaluation however I got slammed.  Unless all Voyageurs are horrible guides, I have gotten the impression over the years that most are rated kinda low on their initial evaluation, kinda to knock us down a peg.  Anyway I passed, but I remember being taken to task for going exploring of a little inlet when I was supposed to be "leader for the 1/2 day."  There were two other canoes of Voyageur candidates all over the age of 21 and our instructors in another canoe.  I just wasn't seriously taking the idea that I had to do much to be a leader on a flat pond in this instance.  So my partner and I explored a little inlet and were a few feet out of sight of everyone.  I got slammed for that.  Oh well, turns out I was a pretty awesome guide (and that's not arrogance, that's all the ratings I received from my trek groups).  

So I passed, but didn't pass.  I had not yet done my 1/2 mile swim or American Red Cross Standard First Aid.  So on Saturday morning at 4 am all Voyageur candidates were woken up by clanging pots and pans and marched around a lake to a campfire and a ceremony, which was kinda cool - especially since I had not been drinking the night before, otherwise it could have been ugly.  I was asked to stand aside at the ceremony and was next to the two guys who were not going to graduate.  The leader made a comment about some of us passing, but not completing our other requirements (me) but I think everyone looked at the three of us and assumed we all hadn't made it.

I'll never forget the ride back to camp.  Toph had gone for camp director or something and BJ and I had been in Voyageur training.  It was only early June but we had had several days of 90 + weather and rain and we stunk.  No showers for a week and, except on trek, the same unflattering Summer Scout uniform.  Including the red-topped,  green, knee-high socks.  Ours were so stinky and full of sweat and muddy rain water that we held them out the window of the green army sedan and closed the window so that only the tops were inside and the rest were outside.  I can imagine the sight of us cruising down route 28 and Interstate 87 in a green army sedan with 3 pairs of socks flapping out the window.  

Epilogue:  The Voyageur and I will write about how easy it was to pass Standard First Aid later, but I got my half mile swim done being followed in a rowboat by a lifeguard; she was also director of the horse program and also showed me that Boy Scout camp did not mean you couldn't find a girlfriend if you tried.