It was Goodbye

It was one last night in my cozy camp room...

It was one last time of brushing my teeth in the woods...

It was making one last french press with the electric tea kettle in my room...

One last walk down dirt trails...

...by which we commute around camp, "our house".

It's like the entire camp is our house. So I'd leave my things in, say, the office - water bottle, sunglasses, jacket - and walk off. But rather than going into the other room like in a normal house to retrieve the forgotten item, I have to walk ten minutes across camp and possibly climb a substantial hill.

It was one last time of entering numbers into the computer at "my" desk...

(with many a' interruption, such as collaborating with Ducky and Bomb to get the chipmunk out of the other room)

...in the office...

...where Tiny always left his shoes in a corner, and Mauli the Dog hid under my desk during thunder storms and stank to high heaven, and Odin photoshopped our faces into funny pictures...

 ...the office where the Magnificent Seven (management) hung out, making daily office polls on the whiteboard about whether the office had gotten dirty enough for Gypsy (i.e. me) to go crazy and clean it up and throw everything away again, or whether Buck or Gypsy would get back first from town, or which troop would arrive last on Sunday and what time, or whether Ducky's truck would break down next or the trap thrower.

It was one last look up that road...

It was one last laugh.

It was hugs all around.

It was goodbye.

Small, dark places in the deep

Today on the menu: Caving.

I joined Cracker and his boys at Rushmore Cave today, which is very unlike Bethlehem Cave.

There were some

Very.
Small.
Spaces.

Below is pictured the entrance to the crawl spaces from the main cave via a ladder.

(These pictures of course don't do justice, since I had to use the flash it makes the cave seem well lit.

It wasn't.)

There was a tour going on of the main, commercialized portion of the cave at the time, and they all stopped, amazed, to watch us shimmy through the crack and the tour guide made us part of the tour. We felt like celebrities.

We took the boys in two groups, as the nature of the cave had us crawling through worm holes for extended periods of time where each person nary saw any but the feet of the one in front of them. Each person was expected to make sure they knew the person behind them was still there.

Some of these spaces were so narrow you had to slide in sideways.

Some were so low you lay flat on your belly with your arms stretched in front of you, and there wasn't enough room to lift your head to see where you were going so we lay cheek to the ground and squirmed forward.

I brought up the rear of the group, so there were those times when the last one had gone into the hole in front of me and I was waiting to give myself enough space so that he wouldn't kick me in the face, and there was this moment when I was all alone in the darkness with my lonely little headlamp, left behind.

What a sensation.

And even though you know the boys in front of you (seem) to have made it through the miniscule opening and you know they're bigger than you, your brain starts looking at that small, dark, unknown hole and saying things like "Um, I'm really not sure this is going to turn out well for us, here. Probably, you're not going to make it."

These boys were a great bunch. At one point, Cracker has us turn all the headlamps off to experience complete, unadulterated darkness. Everyone's quiet, alone in the blackness, until one voice says "This would be the perfect place to kill someone." And of course after that I hear from time to time voices drifting back through the tunnel saying things like "I found the murder weapon! It's a shovel!" (They're still digging to try and meet up with other passages in the cave, so occasionally we'd stumble across tools).

Boys.

During a long stretch where we didn't see the front of the group for a good half hour, I could hear the boy in front of the boy in front of me saying things like "What, Bob? Can't you see the person in front of you? You don't KNOW for sure if they went left or right??"

THAT is a frightening thing to hear in a cave.

So there was a time when I really wasn't sure if we were still part of the group.

We were ready to use the shovel on Bob.

It was a good deal of exhilarating fun. A different sort of challenge than, say, mountain biking, to be sure. More mental than anything. 

When we were done we went outside to hang around while the second group went in. We ate lunch and played cards and Catch Phrase, which was a good time because little Bob started out every time with "What happens when..." which didn't usually produce good results. And the boys wrote me a haiku to get my name. It went like this:

Eating Bob was fun

Because he lost us in caves

Canibalism

Where have all the pictures gone?

Found 'em.
Here's another random smattering, playing catch up with my pictures and stories. 

A few years ago, I started this thing where every year (or so) I'd take up a new hobby for a year. I may or may not keep up with it, but I had to at least give it a shot.

First it was snowboarding (which I haven't done now in about five years, but hope to get into it again this year).Then it was mountain biking.Then running.

This year it's rock climbing.
I tried it once as a teenager and it freaked me out and I never tried it again. I didn't know if I could really get into it, as it's a completely different activity than what I'm usually into. But decided to give it another shot this summer. We haven't gone climbing as much as I'd hoped here at camp, but enough to know I can love it after all. It's a completely different challenge, which is exciting.

A couple of weekends ago, a group of us went to Spearfish Canyon on a hot and muggy day.

This girl is now in Alaska. It was so great meeting her at camp. As I said when we hugged goodbye, "This summer wouldn't have been anything without you." And it's true. We pretty much did everything together, from laundry to sleep overs to climbing to Outpost to cooking dinner to reading to making weekend plans. It's not typical, once out of the college dorms, to be in a situation where one spends such time with someone because you want to. Camp presents many various opportunities not always available in the "real world".

So we had a great summer and now Sassy's in Alaska for a month, and when she's back camp will be over and real life will have resumed and we'll live 45 minutes apart, but we still have our plans for fall and winter, don't worry.

This here's Cracker: climber, mountain biker, slack line extraordinaire:

And here are some of the others:

The Spiderman move?

And then we went to Joe and Sassy's house, and there was some bike riding and dinner making and I slept on an easy chair in the living room.

Outpost in the night:

One night we were having a Directors meeting in the office at around 10 o'clock, and it comes to our attention that there are no adult staff, although there are adult troop leaders, on the hill with the scouts for Outpost. Buck's like "Umm, we need someone up there. Now." So Sass and I are all "Ooh, pick me pick me!" which really wasn't much of a contest since no one else was jumping to volunteer.

So in the middle of the night we grab our things and head up the mountain, throw down sleeping bags in the clearing at the top, and wake the next morning at 5:00AM to head back down.

A couple of days ago (sans Sassy, she was already gone :-( I wanted to go on Outpost but couldn't leave until I'd closed the Trading Post, at around 10PM. Ducky, HawkEye and Basher were thrilled to wait and hike up with me in the dark.

There's a forest fire about 30 miles south of us, and from the top of Medicine Mountain it looks like a volcano erupting. Here we'd paused to take pictures.

When we got up there, Lost was already asleep in his hammock so naturally we had to wake him up. First, I tried to wake him up by taking his picture with my really annoyingly bright flash...

...and when that didn't work Ducky and Basher jostled the hammock until he finally said sleepily "Oh hey, guys". I said "Wow, Lost, you look dead in this picture" and as soon as he heard MY voice he instantly says "Who wants chocolate?!" What the - ? So we all had a good laugh, and some chocolate.

I can't even tell you how much I love sleeping atop Medicine Mountain, down in "our spot" by the cliff's edge. Sassy wasn't there, of course, and it was hot and dry so I brought a tarp just in case, but knew I really wouldn't need a shelter. I found a perfectly flat spot, and read by the light of my headlamp for a while, and then lay watching the stars flicker and shoot across the sky. It was the perfect temperature, not hot or cold, just neutral and calm. I'm sure going to miss throwing down a sleeping bag and sleeping under the stars once or twice a week when camp is over.

And, of course, walking through the meadow I love in the morning:

Last Tuesday I took Bomb, the mountain bike director who doesn't really mountain bike, and his boys to one of my favorite trails so they could experience riding single track (we mostly have logging roads around camp).

It was pretty fun, and great to be back riding again. I haven't ridden much at all this summer, as I'd intended to. There are other things I haven't done as well, that I'd hoped to do. But there's enough great things that happened that it's all good. It's all a balancing act.

Oh, the night before Lost, me, Basher and Jazz randomly decided to go out riding, too. Jazz had never been so I had fun giving him the inside scoop, sharing tips and postures. We didn't get to go far as it started getting dark, and we ended up bush wacking our way down the hill in the near dark as it is. But I sure do love those kids.

Well, it's all I got.
More pictures to come.

Pranks in the night

I could write about the canoe/camping trip and the 4th of July.

Or about climbing in Spearfish Canyon. 

Or about why Sassy and I hiked up to Outpost in the middle of the night.

Or about polar plunge.

Or mountain biking with the Scouts.

And I probably will because those topics all include pictures.

But for now, here's a story with no pictures.

I think you'll see why.

Darkness is falling, almost complete, as six of us creep through the woods over the hill towards the lake. 

Into the gully. 

Burrow into the grass, backs pressed against the rocks, becoming part of the shadows, as voices are heard nearby. 

 Is it Ivy and Odin?

Five shadows hunker and wait while one goes ahead to investigate.

No, just scouts tramping about with flashlights.

Send them back to their campsites. 

Carry on, quietly – Can’t you stop talking, and singing, and laughing? No, for the record, the youngest one cannot quiet his whispered antics - across the dam, down the road, to Water Front. 

Far on the horizon lightning flickers, silhouetting Vista and the surrounding mountain ridges. Thunder rumbles a ways off, but above us stars flicker and splay freckled reflections across the inky, smooth lake. 

A foreshadowing we shrug off.

After verifying there are no recalcitrant junior staff making out on the boat house’s covered patio, we congregate and discover, to our chagrin, that the boat house is locked, with the oars inside. 

Luckily we discover a garage-type door on the side of the building which we’re able to lift far enough to have someone crawl under, unlock the door and let us all in.  

The goal? Tie all the boats up to the floating dock anchored in the middle of the lake. 

ALL of the boats, you ask?
Yes, all.
Meaning one will have to swim ashore in the end. 

We each grab oars and converge on the beach in the darkness to assess the boat situation.

Between canoes, row boats, sail boats and paddle boats there are more than we expected.

But the prank won’t work as planned unless every boat is gone, requiring one of the Aquatics staff to swim out, with a paddle, in order to start retrieving the wayward boats.

And we’re committed now. 

Quietly, quietly, I and another lift the first canoe and carry it across the sand to the lake. 

Have you ever solo paddled a canoe? No? Kneel there, near the front, piece of cake.

Barefoot, I wade into the water and climb into the canoe. 

Send her out.

With a smooth heave, two send me sailing away into the blackness. I dip my oar smoothly, trying to avoid telltale splashing.

By the light of the distant flashing lightning, simultaneously illuminating our surroundings and ruining our night vision, I’m able to see well enough to steer towards the dock floating somewhere out there. On the opposite side of the lake lights from scouts camping on Indian Hill help keep me on course when lightning is delayed. 

Alone in the dark on the lake.

Somewhere off in camp someone plays Taps, a lonely goodbye sound in the night.
Ten o’clock.

Behind me now another canoe following, then another. 

We make it to the dock and wait for the one with the rope. Rope is distributed, weaved amongst the canoes, tied off to the dock. 

The one in the bigger rowboat arrives; lightning shows him standing holding the long oar, gliding silently to pick us up. Carefully step from one rocking boat to another, carefully keep balance.

Six in a rowboat, headed back to shore.

Lightning is near constant now. Thunder louder. Only a few brave stars flicker on the lake, not as smooth, roughened by a gusty wind.

The storm is nearing.
But not here yet.
There’s still time.

Round two.

Again I’m shoved quietly out into the night, straining my eyes to see the dock as it appears and disappears with the oncoming storm.

More quickly, not as careful to paddle quietly.
Wind and thunder mask revealing sounds.

Tie up the boats.
Five collected, six in the rowboat.
Back to shore.

Darkness would be complete now, stars cloud covered, were it not for the ever flashing, dancing, striking white lightning. Everything bright as day, then abruptly blackest black. 

Round three.

Have you ever rowed a rowboat by yourself? Or at all? No? Off you go, piece of cake.

To the floating dock, now extended by a long line of canoes and rowboats, tied together, drifting tersely in the wind. 

Sitting in the rowboat, tying off, waiting to be picked up. Five silhouettes blinking on and off in varying distances and poses. 

A sense of urgency alights. 

And then

HURRY! TIE OFF! WE HAVE TO GET OFF THE LAKE NOW! 

And suddenly we know it’s here, all around us.
Suddenly this is taking too long.
Suddenly we’re out of time. 

Sitting in my pitching rowboat, clenching the seat, still waiting to be picked up.

Wind howling. Thunder. Lightning ever present, everywhere, white and startling, striking somewhere not too off.

Hurry!

Pandemonium.
Disco ball silhouettes.
Clamoring from boat to boat.

Lightning.

Hurry! We have to get off the lake! 

Silhouettes on the jogging dock, frantically securing rope.
Boats rocking in the angry wind.

We have to get to shelter!

 

Silhouettes, anxious and tense, waiting in boats.

We’re coming to get you!

There they are!
Scramble into the rowboat.

Six in a rowboat on the lake in a storm.

Row, row, row!
Toward the shore, now you see me now you don’t.

And suddenly the storm can’t hold back any longer and chaos lets loose; the rain begins without preamble. Instantly drenched, we strain to see the beach through the deluge, shivering and soaking, the wind knocking us ever off course, the boat filling with water. Mayhem, shouting to be heard. No more attempts to shush one another. The tumultuous storm covers all sound that no one is out and about anymore to hear, anyway.

That way! Other side! Pull, pull! Other side, other side! Wrong way!

Hollering.
Shivering.
Laughing.
Oh, the adventure!

Finally, near shore, one jumps out, waist deep, into the wakened lake, pulling the boat the last distance.

Scrambling into the water, onto the beach.

A hurried effort to put the boat upside down.

Running up the beach through the torrent to the boat house’s covered patio. 

We make it just before the hail slams into the sand, the lake, deafeningly against the remaining canoes.

We don jackets and huddle under the shelter, laughing, shivering and congratulating one another.

Marveling at the massive and glorious storm that swells and rages around us.

The lake, the mountains, all is stunningly displayed in stark silhouette against the never-ceasing lightning. We watch, breathless, from our front row seats.

Eventually, gradually, the storm quiets, loses interest, wanders on into the night.

We wait until the night is blacker, the rain and lightning spent, to venture out and use oars to spell out “HA HA HA”, on the sand (a tactic used by pranksters of a lesser prank previously in the summer) to throw suspicion elsewhere, then lock the boat house behind us and head back to camp amidst much puddle splashing and antics.

We didn’t get to finish the prank quite as we’d set out to, but considered the entire venture highly successful. 

We were high on adventure.

Quiet and stealthy again as we arrive atop Staff Hill, whispers Goodnight, good prank! and to our separate ways and cabins.

Wet and shivering, thinking I’ll never be warm again!, I pull on long underwear and wool socks and snuggle deep into my blankets, exhausted but pleased.

As I drift to sleep, the rain begins again outside the open windows.

Somewhere out on the lake, a long string of boats bob and bump against one another.

The next morning there is a rumor spreading that Ivy and Odin pranked Water Front.

Just another day in Neverwood.

A smattering of people and places

I'm in town for two days, roasting coffee and running errands for camp.

I walked into my house yesterday.

And it felt glorious.

No matter how much you love where you go and where you are, it's always good to come home.

It's good to be alone, sometimes, too.

I watched an old movie in my bed.
And when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I didn't have to go outside in the cold (I realize it wasn't very cold last night in town, but it's always chilly at night up at camp).

I had breakfast and coffee on the patio at Bully's, as I usually do on weekends in the summer, reading a book. It was so nice and relaxing.

But one thing I love about being at camp is waking up in the morning and stepping outside into the woods. Before brushing teeth or listening to the news or taking a shower, there's the woods with the morning sun slanting golden through the trees, and the pine laden breeze, and the birds calling merrily to and fro.

(And sometimes there are scouts the next hill over, playing Revelry and hoo-hawing their youthful exuberance to the morning.

Boys.)

Some of the junior staff while on an Outpost hike: Squid, Platypus and Ducky.

My buds. They can always make me laugh.

It's easier than you'd think, however, despite the magic of the place, to begin taking things for granted.

So sometimes when I'm walking down the road for the umpteenth time that morning between the Trading Post and the Office, I'll take inventory of my sensory input, to remind myself to be aware and thankful.

There are flocks of butterflies everywhere! All kinds. Sometimes you'll be walking along and suddenly a cloud of pale blue butterflies bursts from the ground to say hello.

I love the smell of campfires in the evening.

Always a pal to be found.

Of the Finer Things Club:

We made homemade hot chocolate with milk we pilfered from the kitchen on a cold and rainy campfire evening.

I have an electric teapot I brought to camp, as well as my french press.

When the curtains to my room are open, that means people are welcome to stop by for coffee, or tea, and a chat.

The screen is such that I can easily pull open just a corner and pour coffee into an outstretched mug.

What the rest of camp eats:

What the Finer Things Club eats:

This past weekend, plans got a little wonky but ended up working out for the best.

The boys went climbing.

The girls went to Galena.
It was good to have girl time.

We show up on Ryan's Mom's doorstep and are greeted warmly.

We spent the afternoon lying in the shade on a blanket near the road as the Tatanka 100 bike race happened to be that day and passed through Galena. We offered beer and cheered them on as they went by, calling encouragement and telling each that they were the first we'd seen and were in first place.

Sassy's dog Wrigley, whom I call Rugby.

They might've been disappointed when they got to the end and found out otherwise, but meanwhile I'm sure it gave them the umph to carry on.

It's the thought that counts.

Eventually we moved to the front porch for some front porch sittin' and books.

I adore these pictures:

If no other good came from my time at camp save my having met Sassy and our becoming friends, it would be time well spent.

We hit it off from the start, a rare occurrence.

She's good people, this girl.

A keeper, for sure.

"Join me, let's read."

We moved to read aloud on the steps so as not to disturb Gwen just inside the screen door, listening to Prairie Home Companion.

What we saw directly in front of us:

And the view beyond the chickens:

 And that's an update.

A disjointed collection of pictures and happenings.

Happy trails out there.

Happy Wednesday.

Happy summer!
And don't forget to make the most of where you are.