Tina's Journal - August

August 16th

8/11/01 My muscles seem to have frozen in place. I'm sitting on a cooler full of lasagna (which, disappointingly enough, I couldn't eat, even if I were hungry...) at the junction of two dirt roads. The half moon is still high in the sky and the sun is shining, finally, on me. I've been watching it, longingly, since about 6:35 this morning, as it crept slowly across the valley in front of me. It's still too weak this early in the morning to make me feel hot inside my down coat, wool sweater and long underwear (plus no less than TWO hats). I'm hoping it'll dry out my shoes before it starts raining again.

I'm waiting for 17 more students to come down the hill behind me, on their way to finishing their "marathon" - a 10-mile final challenge to their 14-day Outward Bound course. I can't say they're actually thrilled by this opportunity, but I'm sure they will be, as soon as it's over.

[Three more just went by]

We've had 12 days of rain. Not that it's rained all day, but it's rained everyday. Usually accompanied by a severe thunderstorm. I must admit, 'though, that there's something about being tucked into a sleeping bag inside a tent (or a tarp) while it's storming outside that I find very appealing. I think it's the Being Dry part...

Despite the rain (and the slightly less scenic itinerary), this course was much better than the last, mostly because of the students. Four out of the nine students had paid for most of the trip on their own (remember, this is still 16-18 year olds - so that's a big deal!) and no-one was sent here or "persuaded" to come. We have one student who wanted to come so he could become a man. Interesting thought, eh? Does anyone really have any idea of what it takes to Become a Man in our society these days? At least he didn't arrive with the expectation that he needed to kill something, although he did take a good shot at a marmot that was hanging around chewing on our anchors. We (as a society) seem particularly inept at killing with our bare hands. With a joystick and computer maybe, but our bare hands, no.

[A few more students on their way to breakfast]

We did have a couple students (including the aforementioned one) eat live grasshoppers after my co-instructor, Steve, downed one. They even tried them stuck to peanut butter nougat on crackers. Apparently they taste like fish. The key, according to Steve, is to chew them quickly, since they feel really weird walking on your tongue. I'll keep that in mind...

We climbed two peaks; a simple, 'though steep, walk-up peak called Twin sisters (which the students nick-named "Tina and Steve" with Steve being the more masculine of the two - whose real name is Stephanie but she prefers to go by Steve...). The other mountain was the 14,000 foot Wilson peak, which was also a walk-up...until the last couple hundred feet. This last bit was a steep 4th and easy 5th class scramble up a loose choss pile (with a drop off of several hundred feet on with either side). The students were pretty well gripped, since we weren't using ropes (due to the fact that there were about 30 other people also climbing it that day). Unfortunately, the entire summit was ensconced in clouds so we didn't get the promised view of Arizona and Mexico off to the South.

[I'm finally warm enough to unzip my down jacket. Only six more students...]

We also had a couple of rockclimbing days, the last of which involving the Webbing-Eating Marmot. This marmot was inperturbable, he didn't even move when Steve lobbed rocks at his head. He just sat on his haunches with a piece of green webbing in his paws, chewing. The students we sent up to guard the anchors also enjoyed tossing snowballs (made from piles of leftover hail) down on the students sitting below. Ah, teenagers.

We spent the rest of the 12 days backpacking (AKA slogging around). Our students, on day 5, managed to lose us on their first day of navigating on their own. We thought it was a very straightforward route - just follow the trail around one side of the Twin Sisters (which we had been base camped at for the previous three nights), turn right at the trail junction and follow the trail around to the other side of the mountain. They, however, got to the trail junction and turned left. Then they walked around a completely different mountain, showing up 6 miles and 6 hours later at the bottom of a different pass. Steve and I got to spend the afternoon scouting the various paths, in the rain, looking for them. In total they hiked about 9 miles and moved camp two. Needless to say, after that, they looked at their map a lot more and learned not to depend on human trails when using a map that was last updated fifty years previously.

Our students were a lively and fun group, although they still maintained the requisite complaining and procrastination attributes of a Outward Bound patrol and had the tendency to swarm like mosquitoes around our mega-mid (tent) whenever we had food out. They, unfortunately, became a well-tuned band of sarcastic campers after hearing enough of our flippant answers to their questions. It's hard not to be sarcastic 'though when they ask questions such as, "should I put on my raincoat?" as the skies open up or the fiftieth version of "are we there yet?"

I read Ishmael, which, 'though similar to The Story of B, also by Daniel Quinn, was a little more accessible and straight-forward. It had one point - that the prevalent culture in the world now is under the impression that the world was made for man and man was meant to rule it. And, as a result, we are not only destroying the world in our attempt to control it and make it a paradise, but we are well on our way to destroying ourselves. One of the more interesting points was that unlike other (aboriginal) cultures, our culture had decided that it knows The One Right Way to live and, instead of letting everyone (and everything) else live the way they want, everyone must live the way we do. Curious.

The author does a very eloquent job of describing just what I've always felt was wrong with our culture, but I could never quite put my finger on it. I still don't understand why we think it's so important to "convert" other cultures to our way of life. Why can't they just live as they please? Anyway, I highly recommend the book.

I also read most of The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibram, which, although it's full of words of wisdom, is written in a less engaging manner and is a prime example of how our culture always seeks out "prophets" who will tell us the One Right Way to Live instead of letting people/cultures live the way that works for them.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could just live in conjunction with nature instead of destroying or "managing" it?

[Six students, the last, just passed.]

Colorado Pics
Patrol 3 (San Miguels) Website

After a LONG night we made it to Erie by 11:30 AM, I bought a ticket, repacked my 4 bags into three and said goodbye to Steve. The bus showed up 45 minutes late and I brought my stuff over from where I had been waiting outside (not wanting to carry my bags inside, since they were so freakin' heavy). The bus driver rudely told me I needed to be inside and refused to take my ticket, pointing to the sign on the side door that said "please wait inside." I hadn't seen it, having entered through the other door. I just waited, confident that the guy who had sold me my ticket, the manager, would work things out. The driver then ignored me and entered the bus. I started towards it and he told me I'd have to wait to see if there was room. After about 10 minutes, he closed up everything and drove off.

I stood there in disbelief. Then I did what any sane person, who had just driven for 26 hours straight, speeding most of the way, stopping only 5 times, in order to catch this bus, would do. I burst into tears. Very effective. Not. The lady at the counter even tried to ignore me as I sobbingly demanded an explanation for why they would sell tickets when there were no seats on the bus. The next bus didn't leave until that night.

After putting all my stuff in the middle of the waiting room, right in front of the door, and sitting on it for a while, waiting for a "possible" extra bus to show up. I decided to make some calls. On their phone. I found out that I could rent a car for only $6 more than it would have cost for me to take public transportation to Massachusetts. Fine. I didn't want to give Greyhound my business anyway. AT ALL. So I sucked up the cost of the taxi to the airport, rented a car, and, after 27 hours of driving, drove some more. This time I headed to Ithaca, where I knew I could find a bed. I believe I got about 20 miles into NY when the police pulled me over. For speeding. My first ever ticket. I didn't tell him I was only speeding so I wouldn't fall asleep before I made it to Ithaca. He managed to forget that we were in a construction zone (not that anyone was working), so that brought the fine down to just over $100. So much for driving being just as expensive as the bus. I hit Ithaca at 8pm and what a joy it was.

The next morning I made it to the Worcester airport without any major mishaps, having located the cruise control and set it for 67 mph (55 in construction zones...). My mom picked me up and I happily got into the hot car (after being thankful the clerk hadn't charged me another $20 for being a 1/2 hour late) and we got about 5 miles before HER car broke down. I just smiled, got out of the car and pushed it across the intersection. My brother picked us up at 5pm, from the gas station where the grumpy, but trustworthy (as the fourth guy who stopped to ask if they could help, described him), mechanic promised he'd replace the alternator by tomorrow. I was home by 5:30.

Next time I'm flying.

They were camping. Which was lucky, since it appeared that everyone else was going to crash at Jon's family's house on Squam Lake (site of the wedding), much to the distress of Jon's mother. I hadn't brought a tent, figuring someone would have one, least of all my friend Jerimiah, who was to fly in from Seattle, but strangely never got on the plane (he's been found by the way, see Sept. 11th). Luckily Phil had erected two rather excessive Sierra Designs Expedition tents - strong enough to withstand Extreme Weather such as that found on top of 22,000 ft mountains. They looked rather out of place in the backwoods, plastic-gnome-infested campground where we were staying. The residents of the neighboring campsite appeared to have moved in permanently. We were serenaded until after midnight by their blasting boombox and had no trouble finding our way in the dark due to their 24-hour, 1,000 watt spotlight, trained on their tarp-enhanced camper setup, their gigantic tent enthroned on it's own platform, plus our campsite and probably 1/4 of the state of New Hampshire. The tent I was sharing luckily was in the shadow of a gigantic Oak tree. Phil and Trish weren't so lucky.

The next day saw Phil desperate for a cup of good coffee, so we went into Meredith to the Dunkin' Donuts (?!), then back out to the house where we snuck in a paddle and swim before the wedding. The wedding was quite nice, filmed in its entirety by Jon's professional TV crew friends (man does he have a lot of friends in high places). Xuehua was borne to the dock on Squam lake in a white canoe commanded by Jon's debonair cousin. The ceremony was translated into both Chinese and English and presided over by Jon's sister. There were letters read from their friends in China who couldn't make it (due to Visa problems) and addresses by family members. It all took place in front of an expansive picture window framing the woods and lake below.

Jon and Xuehua's Chinese friends were full of laughter and fun, livening up the ceremony, dinner and party with stories and activities. It was interesting to see how much humor is culture-dependant, as often the Chinese members of the audience would break out in laughter as the English-speaking contingent would look on, anxiously awaiting the translation, only to look about curiously as to why that comment was considered so humorous. After the dinner, Jon and Xuehua were hustled into the house for the "Chinese Ceremony" where they were required to perform feats of often embarrassing activites, such as sing a love song (in Chinese) or complete a chinese character missing four square shapes using only their lips and bright red lipstick applied to Xuehua's lips. Apparently the party lasted well into the night but Mark, Andrea and I retired to my grandmother's house relatively early. It was probably just as well since I believe the translations stopped as the night drew on and the crowd got rowdier.