This week has been a little slow. With less than 100 participants at PTC and only forty of them in family program, half of the staff has been on what we call work crew. Essentially, we haven't got groups and instead we are doing little things around camp that need doing. What's surprising about this is how much we've found to do and how much of it actually needs doing. I'll admit, I thought that we would be put to busy work, and in a sense we have, but we painted signs that really did need a touch up, we finished binding the GLHs (which at least two group leaders have been doing without), and we went through the tents that we use for overnighters and fixed the bad knots on them. It all had to happen at some point, and better now than Wednesday morning.
Speaking of Wednesday, it was truly a day of adventure for us all. I gathered Jenny, Tayton, and Jerica and we went out on a hike to the waterfalls. The trail seemed to cease to exist in many places, but we finally found our way to a (comparatively) huge fall with a small lake at the top. We spent rather a lot of time staring at the rolling snow melt before I put on my swim suit and carefully put a foot in - I may as well have plugged it into a power line. Then Jenny told me to check it at the bottom of the lake. Those not familiar with the check it game (ie almost everyone) might be a little confused at this point: when someone tells you to check it on something or someone, you put your hands on or in front of it and pump your legs. Thus, if I told you to check it on your monitor right now, you would place your hands on the monitor, but if I told you to check it on the sun you would just put your hands up toward the sun and check it from there. Checking it on the bottom of the lake meant wading in to chest height in freezing water and reaching down as far as I dared. Fortunately, there is an advantage to being told to check it somewhere absurd: instant retaliation. Jenny got to check it on the fall feeding into the lake. Jeri and Tayton also managed to get out there for pictures.
The hike wasn't hard, but was very draining, and most of us slept away the afternoon. Then the wind picked up. Elizabeth from ETC was coming back from Raton at the time and said that it looked like a tornado touching down on base camp. To me, it looked like my tent ripping free of all of the nails holding it to its base. My gear literally scattered to the wind; I later found most of it wrapped around a barbed wire fence, including my exercise ball. For an hour we tried desperately to hold and hammer the tents down until the wind slowed enough to stop knocking them to the ground.
Then we had the mystery dinner: it was a costume party in the dining hall. I thought myself too exhausted to dress up, but after seeing some of the other costumes, I felt I had to make the effort. I threw on the Lemming costume from the super villains program and joined the others. And a good time was had by all.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Week one adventures
Sometimes I wonder why I've worked here so long, why I keep coming back. This is not one of those times. Week one put me with Pam, Lindsay and the Ropers (8-10 girls). The girls were amazing: any game we played they could play for half an hour without stopping. Any song we sang they wanted to sing a hundred times more. One of the discipline techniques I use is that when I call for the kids to get in a line, I promise to tell them a Philmont story if they can do it in less than five seconds; these kids earned more stories than I had time to tell. On Thursday night I worked at handicraft and three of my girls tracked me down to give me a little pocketknife that they got for me at the trading post, emblazoned with my real name. I think I'm still speechless about it. We did the submarine skit for closing program, and I think it got the biggest laugh of anyone.
More amazing than the kids, though, was Lindsay. I am aware that with my years of experience I can be intimidating to work with. A lot of group leaders, when teamed with me, tend to stand back and wait for me to tell them what to do. Lindsay led games in every down moment. She had our gear ready every morning before I finished picking on the bosses in the office. She led songs before I was too tired to lead them myself - in my mind an act of service worthy of a medal. I would love to work with her again, but I doubt I'll get the chance; she's too good to put with me.
Elizabeth is waiting for a computer, so I'll be brief. Brenna, Pam, Cameron, Krista, Morgan and I hiked Hart's Peak this weekend. For those of you with a Philmont map, we started at Ponil turnaround, hiked to Ponil, over the peak, got lost in a beautiful valley about half a mile from IW and had lunch, found the trail again, hiked down into IW, entirely failed to see Dan Dan, and hiked out to Six Mile Gate. The plan from there was to hike the road back to Ponil turnaround, but as luck would have it, Nick was there with an RT friend of his. The RT drove me the five miles back to my car and I drove back to pick the others up. All told, we hiked about six miles, but that seems to be enough for one day.
More amazing than the kids, though, was Lindsay. I am aware that with my years of experience I can be intimidating to work with. A lot of group leaders, when teamed with me, tend to stand back and wait for me to tell them what to do. Lindsay led games in every down moment. She had our gear ready every morning before I finished picking on the bosses in the office. She led songs before I was too tired to lead them myself - in my mind an act of service worthy of a medal. I would love to work with her again, but I doubt I'll get the chance; she's too good to put with me.
Elizabeth is waiting for a computer, so I'll be brief. Brenna, Pam, Cameron, Krista, Morgan and I hiked Hart's Peak this weekend. For those of you with a Philmont map, we started at Ponil turnaround, hiked to Ponil, over the peak, got lost in a beautiful valley about half a mile from IW and had lunch, found the trail again, hiked down into IW, entirely failed to see Dan Dan, and hiked out to Six Mile Gate. The plan from there was to hike the road back to Ponil turnaround, but as luck would have it, Nick was there with an RT friend of his. The RT drove me the five miles back to my car and I drove back to pick the others up. All told, we hiked about six miles, but that seems to be enough for one day.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Let the games begin
It's day one of week one and as of eight o'clock in the morning, nothing is happening. I would call it a tense calm, but to be honest everybody's still asleep. I wonder how my new staff feels about it, or will feel about it when they wake up. They leave a few hints: Brenna is chomping at the bit, Nick seems a little nervous about the particulars but ready overall, little things like that. What's strange to me is that the staff isn't hopping up and down in anticipation or bracing themselves like sailors before a wave; they seem to be facing the unknown with a sense of mild curiosity.
Training week seems to have flown by. Everyone knows a few games and songs and we even picked up some new ones, courtesy of British Jenny from England. Yes, our goofy collective sense of humor is in full swing now, too. Our hikes went well and quickly, our boring, mandatory lectures were absorbed and our special duties have been outlined. Let's get some kids in here already.
Tonight we face our first - no. It's not our first challenge. I was going to psych myself up for opening program by calling it our first true obstacle or some such rot, but to do that would be to ignore the baptism by fire that was the Window Rock hike. And opening program is really only a challenge for a few - all of them capable. Alex (playing the stranger) could work on his volume, but he knows his lines. Brenna's already changing Acuma to be a little less hokey/Tonto. Steve and Valarie delivered the traveler and matron perfectly at practice. I coached Nick a little in the farmer yesterday, I'm sure he'll be fine on stage. So as long as the lawman (Dan) doesn't explode out of his vest we should be good. As for me, I'm playing a part that seems made for me (possibly because I wrote it): the old codger.
Training week seems to have flown by. Everyone knows a few games and songs and we even picked up some new ones, courtesy of British Jenny from England. Yes, our goofy collective sense of humor is in full swing now, too. Our hikes went well and quickly, our boring, mandatory lectures were absorbed and our special duties have been outlined. Let's get some kids in here already.
Tonight we face our first - no. It's not our first challenge. I was going to psych myself up for opening program by calling it our first true obstacle or some such rot, but to do that would be to ignore the baptism by fire that was the Window Rock hike. And opening program is really only a challenge for a few - all of them capable. Alex (playing the stranger) could work on his volume, but he knows his lines. Brenna's already changing Acuma to be a little less hokey/Tonto. Steve and Valarie delivered the traveler and matron perfectly at practice. I coached Nick a little in the farmer yesterday, I'm sure he'll be fine on stage. So as long as the lawman (Dan) doesn't explode out of his vest we should be good. As for me, I'm playing a part that seems made for me (possibly because I wrote it): the old codger.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Mistakes, Missteps and the Nature of Being Impressed
I am often impressed when I meet new people. Perhaps my standards are low, but I like the feeling of being surprised when I meet someone and they are more than they could be. Three days into training week the new PTC staff are already amazing to me.
On Thursday we had a semi-official hike to Window Rock. In my mind, it is and always has been eight miles round trip, but last year Anna and I got the official numbers and I knew that that number was off by two. Silly me, I told everybody we were going about six miles. It was 9.8. We didn't find out until the next day. This is how the day began.
We piled into a bus and set out for Cito turnaround. Of course, Kari and I sang songs to the crew, including "Mary had a little lamb" - our version may be a little different from the one you know; the lamb is eventually blown apart with dynomite and made into a sandwich. As is my custom, I punched the top of the bus for emphasis until I chanced to look up and spotted the blood staining the ceiling. Yes, it was mine. Then it turned out that the gate was locked and we had to call Greg to unlock it. The hike hasn't even begun yet.
On we went, across the stream and into the backcountry. The wife of one of the chaplains was with us, a sweet sixty-seven year old woman named Amanda who had a medical history longer than the scar down my leg. We kept her at the front of the pack and rested when she needed it, but she just couldn't make it. By the time we hit the road again I had to call Greg for the second time, this time for an evac at the reservoir. Including these delays, if took us four hours to get from PTC to Window Rock.
This is where I become the villain of the story. I've got a gift for calculating time (if not distance) on hikes and even with a forty five minute lunch break, we had time to take the long way down through Hidden Valley - just barely. At a strong pace, with few stops, we would make our 3:30 pick up time with time to spare. We could even pad it more by hiking back on the road partway.
Then Christy blew out her knee about a mile from the turnaround. I honestly don't remember when I saw her wrapping it with an ace wrap, but somewhere in my mind it was perfectly okay and I had dismissed it out of hand. Now she could barely stop herself from screaming when she tried to put weight on it. Bless her stubborn heart, the poor little thing wanted to try to hike herself in, but there was just no way. In the end, Dan, Shawn and Kevin took five minute shifts carrying her back the last mile.
I was hurting pretty badly too by then, though I would rather have ripped my own leg off than admit it after letting so much go wrong. I had slipped in some mud at the reservoir and my leg felt like it had dropped a gear. By the time I got to the bus (only ten minutes late) I was dragging my leg like a damaged Mechwarrior Mech. Needless to say, there was no singing on the way back.
With everything that went wrong on the hike, I suppose I should be discouraged. I am a little embarassed around the points where I can blame myself, but somehow I take this great failure as an incredibly good sign. No one complained, not once while we were on the trail. Not Amanda when she nearly fell over from pain and exhaustion over and over on the trail. Not Christy when her knee went sideways on her. Not the boys as they had to sling a hundred plus pound girl across their shoulders and walk on like St. Christopher. Where did we get this staff, that they can endure so much and keep such a positive attitude? Whatever called them all together here, I'll take them, and look forward to finding out just how much more they can impress me.
On Thursday we had a semi-official hike to Window Rock. In my mind, it is and always has been eight miles round trip, but last year Anna and I got the official numbers and I knew that that number was off by two. Silly me, I told everybody we were going about six miles. It was 9.8. We didn't find out until the next day. This is how the day began.
We piled into a bus and set out for Cito turnaround. Of course, Kari and I sang songs to the crew, including "Mary had a little lamb" - our version may be a little different from the one you know; the lamb is eventually blown apart with dynomite and made into a sandwich. As is my custom, I punched the top of the bus for emphasis until I chanced to look up and spotted the blood staining the ceiling. Yes, it was mine. Then it turned out that the gate was locked and we had to call Greg to unlock it. The hike hasn't even begun yet.
On we went, across the stream and into the backcountry. The wife of one of the chaplains was with us, a sweet sixty-seven year old woman named Amanda who had a medical history longer than the scar down my leg. We kept her at the front of the pack and rested when she needed it, but she just couldn't make it. By the time we hit the road again I had to call Greg for the second time, this time for an evac at the reservoir. Including these delays, if took us four hours to get from PTC to Window Rock.
This is where I become the villain of the story. I've got a gift for calculating time (if not distance) on hikes and even with a forty five minute lunch break, we had time to take the long way down through Hidden Valley - just barely. At a strong pace, with few stops, we would make our 3:30 pick up time with time to spare. We could even pad it more by hiking back on the road partway.
Then Christy blew out her knee about a mile from the turnaround. I honestly don't remember when I saw her wrapping it with an ace wrap, but somewhere in my mind it was perfectly okay and I had dismissed it out of hand. Now she could barely stop herself from screaming when she tried to put weight on it. Bless her stubborn heart, the poor little thing wanted to try to hike herself in, but there was just no way. In the end, Dan, Shawn and Kevin took five minute shifts carrying her back the last mile.
I was hurting pretty badly too by then, though I would rather have ripped my own leg off than admit it after letting so much go wrong. I had slipped in some mud at the reservoir and my leg felt like it had dropped a gear. By the time I got to the bus (only ten minutes late) I was dragging my leg like a damaged Mechwarrior Mech. Needless to say, there was no singing on the way back.
With everything that went wrong on the hike, I suppose I should be discouraged. I am a little embarassed around the points where I can blame myself, but somehow I take this great failure as an incredibly good sign. No one complained, not once while we were on the trail. Not Amanda when she nearly fell over from pain and exhaustion over and over on the trail. Not Christy when her knee went sideways on her. Not the boys as they had to sling a hundred plus pound girl across their shoulders and walk on like St. Christopher. Where did we get this staff, that they can endure so much and keep such a positive attitude? Whatever called them all together here, I'll take them, and look forward to finding out just how much more they can impress me.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Boy day/girl day
Life continues in the pre-season at Philmont. Somehow I had it in my head that training week started two days ago (ie last Friday); as it turns out it starts next Friday. It's a good thing that there are so many cool people here. Brenna from Michagan and Katie from Illinois have been inseparable since they got off the train together. Dan, Anton and Kevin (the COPE boys) have already established a rule that if they say anything that should offend Christy (also from COPE) they have to do ten push ups; for her part Christy insists that she is impossible to offend. I don't really know the other PTC staff all that well yet, but so far there isn't a person under Greg's command that I would have any problem working with.
Also very nice is that the other departments seem downright eager to hang out with us. We eat almost every meal with Dory from the Seton and Alisha from the Wranglers. There are a couple of other Wranglers that will call out to say hello to us from the other side of the dining hall. The first couple of days we played games with the Ranger Trainers (this kind of stopped afterward, but I think it's mostly because they're working pretty hard right now). Yeah, we've got a couple of creepers around hanging out just because PTC tends to get the cutest girls or because we tend to be nice to people even if they are annoying, but for the most part everyone is genuinely trying to break down the barriers between our side and theirs.
There is one major problem out here right now, and that is what to do with time off. The backcountry's closed, only about four of us have cars and the people you play with are still the people you work with. A couple of us, when faced with the prospect of the three day weekend we're on, wondered if there might be any work we could be doing. Yesterday we discovered that if you want to go bowling anywhere on the 25, you've got to call ahead.
Today, however, was Boy Day/Girl Day. I took the COPE boys to Trinidad while the girls all went out to Taos. We shopped at Walmart and had lunch at Wendy's, and then we followed the testosterone. We went to a tack and hunting store every bit as big as the Walmart: we tried on leather jackets and chaps, we looked at guns and played with things probably meant to do unspeakable things to horses. Then, being men, we headed out to the pub for a beer. That's right, Trinidad CO has a brewery (I reccommend the Strong Scottish Ale). The conversation turned to topics that should have had us doing push-ups until our arms fell off, but that's what being manly is all about. Then I drove home to the ranch with the boys sleeping soundly to the soft melodies of Enya.
What more can I say after that?
Also very nice is that the other departments seem downright eager to hang out with us. We eat almost every meal with Dory from the Seton and Alisha from the Wranglers. There are a couple of other Wranglers that will call out to say hello to us from the other side of the dining hall. The first couple of days we played games with the Ranger Trainers (this kind of stopped afterward, but I think it's mostly because they're working pretty hard right now). Yeah, we've got a couple of creepers around hanging out just because PTC tends to get the cutest girls or because we tend to be nice to people even if they are annoying, but for the most part everyone is genuinely trying to break down the barriers between our side and theirs.
There is one major problem out here right now, and that is what to do with time off. The backcountry's closed, only about four of us have cars and the people you play with are still the people you work with. A couple of us, when faced with the prospect of the three day weekend we're on, wondered if there might be any work we could be doing. Yesterday we discovered that if you want to go bowling anywhere on the 25, you've got to call ahead.
Today, however, was Boy Day/Girl Day. I took the COPE boys to Trinidad while the girls all went out to Taos. We shopped at Walmart and had lunch at Wendy's, and then we followed the testosterone. We went to a tack and hunting store every bit as big as the Walmart: we tried on leather jackets and chaps, we looked at guns and played with things probably meant to do unspeakable things to horses. Then, being men, we headed out to the pub for a beer. That's right, Trinidad CO has a brewery (I reccommend the Strong Scottish Ale). The conversation turned to topics that should have had us doing push-ups until our arms fell off, but that's what being manly is all about. Then I drove home to the ranch with the boys sleeping soundly to the soft melodies of Enya.
What more can I say after that?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Philmont round ten begins
I'm here! Okay, I don't know if it deserves an exclamation mark just yet, but I'll take the leap. Of course, I stopped in with the Halters on the way to Philmont and played nerdy games, watched Star Trek, generally lazed about and baked in the Arizona sun. That's not all that different from what I usually do, except for the heat and the movie, but somehow doing it on a kind of vacation makes it fun and relaxing rather than the tedium of everyday life. Having good friends around helps a lot.
Star Trek was good, but it was good enough that it made me want to criticize it, and I'm not sure if it quite held up.
I arrived at Philmont at about eleven local time and moved into a tent which I later discoved was slated to be my own anyway. The next day was planting day - the elementary school kids from Cimarron came out and planted flowers around PTC. This time around I worked with the first graders; cute, but there was one that decided she was my boss all day.
Set up has begun. So far there're only a few group leaders but we've been compensating by hanging around with a few wranglers and rangers. I'm really hoping we can keep this up all summer, but our track record speaks otherwise; once work starts it gets hard to hang out with anyone who doesn't live two tents away.
I found some photos from last fall recently, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to get them up. Stay tuned.
Star Trek was good, but it was good enough that it made me want to criticize it, and I'm not sure if it quite held up.
I arrived at Philmont at about eleven local time and moved into a tent which I later discoved was slated to be my own anyway. The next day was planting day - the elementary school kids from Cimarron came out and planted flowers around PTC. This time around I worked with the first graders; cute, but there was one that decided she was my boss all day.
Set up has begun. So far there're only a few group leaders but we've been compensating by hanging around with a few wranglers and rangers. I'm really hoping we can keep this up all summer, but our track record speaks otherwise; once work starts it gets hard to hang out with anyone who doesn't live two tents away.
I found some photos from last fall recently, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to get them up. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Never hear the end of this
A while ago my mother brought a pile of boxes to me claiming that all of the stuff in them was mine. This happens fairly frequently, and I find that my best defense against this is to leave the boxes lying everywhere so that she doesn’t bring any more. Occasionally the boxes contain fond remembrances of times long past, such as the red suspenders presented to me as employee of the week at Hual-Cu-Cuish. More often they contain things like old retainer cases, pins and buttons from various travels, dream catchers made in handicraft, a mardi gras mask, a large rubber eraser shaped like a cat, patches from well loved and unfortunately entirely forgotten participants, and at least one petrified Gatorade packet (yes a great deal of that was an inventory of what was once in a box and is now on my floor). The trouble is that even the stuff I do want to keep I have no real place for, thus the boxes.
My mother also has a certain fondness for baubles and outdated technology. The family owns several dozen VHS tapes and audio cassettes. Our shelves overflow with angels, elves, pixies, authentic Norwegian trolls… all right, that last one is mostly mine, but you get the idea. And every box that I hesitantly look inside has a handful of 3.5 floppies. This time around I got sick of moving these from box to box and started shoving them into my (thank goodness) six year old computer to erase their contents and feed them to mom’s behemoth of a camera.
That’s when I found them: two discs from back when the whole world was a little leery about this whole “digital pictures” thing. Apparently I had taken a bunch of pictures with my good old film camera and brought them into a drugstore or Wal-Mart and received not only the photographs in question, but a disc containing the pictures as well. Ironically, I probably shoved them into a box myself; after all, I had the real photos. What did I need digital copies for? Now I have no idea where the old photos are but I have the digital copies on my computer. And a big serving of humble pie, of course.
My mother also has a certain fondness for baubles and outdated technology. The family owns several dozen VHS tapes and audio cassettes. Our shelves overflow with angels, elves, pixies, authentic Norwegian trolls… all right, that last one is mostly mine, but you get the idea. And every box that I hesitantly look inside has a handful of 3.5 floppies. This time around I got sick of moving these from box to box and started shoving them into my (thank goodness) six year old computer to erase their contents and feed them to mom’s behemoth of a camera.
That’s when I found them: two discs from back when the whole world was a little leery about this whole “digital pictures” thing. Apparently I had taken a bunch of pictures with my good old film camera and brought them into a drugstore or Wal-Mart and received not only the photographs in question, but a disc containing the pictures as well. Ironically, I probably shoved them into a box myself; after all, I had the real photos. What did I need digital copies for? Now I have no idea where the old photos are but I have the digital copies on my computer. And a big serving of humble pie, of course.
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