So it turns out that a long time ago in a decade characterized by women's suffrage and prohibition, a certain movie was being filmed on Catalina Island. The motion picture was a Western (as is only fitting on this island dominated by Coastal Sage Scrub ecosystems) called The Vanishing American. The film was based on a novel of the same name by a popular Western author named Zane Grey. Zane Grey actually lived on the island for years, so it makes sense they'd film the movie out here. For a shot in this movie, 14 bison were shipped out to the island to serve as animals in the background. After the movie wrapped, they ended up cutting the scene with the bison, and for one reason or another decided not to remove the bison from the island.
And so, 90 years later, we have about 150 of the inbred creatures on the island. Their population is managed by the Catalina Island Conservancy through a rather ingenious technology, which a cousin of mine once suggested be used on promiscuous humans. The contraceptive dart rifle. Basically they load up darts with some sort of chemical that breaks down the linings of Bison eggs so they cannot be fertilized, thus keeping the population growth at a paltry 3%. Despite their invasive presence and impact on the shrubs and plants of the island, they have become far too much of a tourist attraction to remove, and so they have become a part of the island.
The vast majority of the Catalina Bison herd (which according to Wikipedia isn't really composed of pureblood bison, with 45% of them having cow ancestry) is found on the larger Eastern half of the Island, toward Avalon. However, there is at least one Bison on the West End. We in Riptide have named this solitary and rebellious beast Marc Antony, in honor of our favorite character from the TV show Rome.
From time to time our friend Antony will make an appearance within the borders of camp, and so it was that on a pizza night, shortly after I had scooped up my two slices of steaming pepperoni from the Dining Lodge, the voices of all the children in camp raised into one great scream, and as I looked out across the upper Boys Camp field, I saw that Marc Antony had decided to join us for dinner. I would like to challenge the reader to imagine what it is like to see 150 children witness the arrival of a wild animal renowned for its goring habits. Everyone was on their feet, yelling all sorts of idiotic suggestions about how to deal with the buffalo or merely making high pitched panic noises. I considered with a creeping dread the possibility that one of the younglings might decide to make a run at Antony, thus provoking him into a less than amiable response. It was this same impression that had Rasheed on his feet, urging kids with a somewhat maniacal tone to stay calm and remain seated. The great beast actually ended up ambling by the dining hall, crossed the lower boys camp field and rolled around in the fine sands of the beach volleyball court before deciding to abandon this valley of screaming children and make its way up the deer trail, disappearing around the first curve of the road to Two Harbors.
It certainly made for an interesting evening.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
A day worthy of remembrance
So yeah, I haven't said much in two weeks. In the words of Inigo Montoya (envision Spanish accent), "Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."
The first session of camp went very well, as before, my sailors are all top notch, performing their duties at the highest level of competency. However, I was sad yesterday to see many of the campers depart, Monsoon in particular. I took up my customary position on the middle of the pier with few staff members around to maximize space for farewell hugs. I said something to Maria Horner (aka Benevolent Dictator) as I approached the dock and she pointed out how annoying it is when children stop to hug me on the pier and slow down the boarding process for the entire camp. I replied, "Maria, it's not my fault that the children adore me", she shot back, calling that comment the most narcissistic thing I've ever said. It is also untrue, I work hard to make these kids worship me, and as arrogant and self-absorbed as it might be, I relish the opportunity to build myself up in their eyes. I'm not really sure if this even makes me more effective as a camp staffer, but I am very good at it. Case in point, I convinced about half of the kids at camp this past session that my previous employment had been as an FBI Agent working in the Behavioral Sciences division (it is amazing how effective it is to just rephrase the words of Thomas Harris). Props to Barbara Radford for the idea, and to Becky for refining it.
While the session was a lot of fun, from the perspective of this blog it went almost too well, with no particularly harrowing stories of daring and adventure that screamed out to my hands, "WRITE ME DOWN" (any director reading this has just cursed me for tempting karma) aside from a mutiny in miniature that happened early in the session. Today was entirely different.
This day began slowly, and most mornings in Riptide seem to have unfolded at a sloth's pace over the past few days. We need to get to bed earlier. Last night we checked out one of the new episodes of Futurama, and Phillip and I cried twin oceans of tears as that once great show proved for a second episode that whatever spark that had made it so fun in days of yore had been thoroughly extinguished when Fox canceled it the first time. I suspect that the show will continue to exist, much like Family Guy or a zombie; dead and decaying but still mobile.
We eventually dragged ourselves from our bunks (why Andrew even bothers with his alarms anymore is beyond my comprehension, since he arrived he has literally never successfully arisen from bed due to his alarm sounding), and reported to breakfast. We Riptidelings really need to get more sleep, I personally blame Phillip. In the past few weeks I have taken up the habit of filling out the whiteboard that used to inform campers of the menu at each meal, and this morning I chose to go with a Jedi Knight theme. (unoriginal for me, but I was tired) I inscribed the Code of the Ancient Order and threw in a Master Kenobi quote. Breakfast was pancakes, and Nick Osti ate five of them.
My first responsibility of the day was to assist Kate "McAwesome" Clover with lifeguarding the swim test. This passed quickly and without incident.
First period the sailors had nothing scheduled, so Shahar, Slater, and myself set to work refining a new era of sailing badgework: The Blue and Gold Star Sabots. Basically we were attempting to set up a sabot racing program, and we made a good deal of progress on it. It looks like we are going to split the sailing badgework program into Capri and Sabot sailing, much like Challenge is split between High Ropes and Climbing. We typed up the requirements and handed them over to Grand Admiral Smith.
Second period we discovered that Kate Clover doesn't know how to count, and thus I was called upon to lifeguard. I managed to use my sailor powers to make Zac "Twilight" Birkey (he read all four) take the paddleboard, thus allowing me to theoretically achieve minimal dampness via the use of the kayak. Unfortunately however, my embarkation aboard the kayak was a monumental failure, as a swell swept up and knocked me off my kayak into the frigid water, blue jacket and all. Now I will have to wash it and the inside will be unfuzzy, just like the Jacket of Jae-Zee. It was singularly unpleasant. While I am on the subject, this summer on Catalina has been characterized by distinctly unfavorable weather. It has been consistently cloudy on most days, and this past Sunday (ironically enough) it rained for the whole morning, transforming what might have been a chill three periods of free beach lifeguarding to a hellish nightmare of Bingo games and screaming children. Those lucky few readers who are following this should pray to their favorite God or Power That Be for more sunlight and wind. Nothing is worse than a cloudy day without wind.
Lunch was Make Your Own Wrap, which was awesome because it is like Sandwich Day but with tortillas. Also I was lucky enough to grab a seat next to one of my all-time favorite campers, a kid who shall remain nameless but is into film and film production and we had a great little chat in between bites of a swiss/turkey/tuna/tomato/onion wrap.
After lunch I had the privilege of taking Tommy Kern and Max Genovese out on a Capri. Now these two kids love sailing, are hilarious, and can feed off each other like baking soda and vinegar. What's more, they do their best to appear fearless, especially around each other. I admire this quality immensely, even if it is occasionally an illusion. On this particular adventure, Tommy and Max occupied their traditional positions aboard my mighty Capri; seated as far out on the bow as possible. This is the coveted spot aboard a CIC Capri, where the rider gets the distinct feeling that he is soaring across the waves, an impression supported by the consistent spray shooting over the deck onto exhilarated (or shivering) children. I took the boat Northwest beyond Inspiration Point, as I often do, and for reasons that to this day remain unclear, Max fell overboard. Before I had scarcely registered this event, Tommy fell in right behind him. During the investigation that followed this event, both Mr. Kern and Mr. Genovese asserted repeatedly that they had both fallen overboard purely through accidental causes, suggesting that some sort of smallish rogue wave had struck the boat and sent them tumbling into the sea. It is the opinion of this detective that while it is entirely possible that Max slipped off the deck due to legitimately accidental reasons, the chances that his good friend and partner-in-crime Tommy fell off accidentally a mere 5 seconds later are slim indeed. It is intriguing to note that during this mass exodus from the Bluto Capri (the sailboat I was steering), I had been in the middle of a radio transmission to the Howland's Tower lifeguard, and as the first two men-overboard I had ever experienced slid into the sea, I thoughtlessly spoke into the VHF receiver with the transmit button still depressed, "Oh my God..." I stared dumbly at the radio for a second, realized I had just revealed my mistake to anyone on the West End of Catalina who cared to tune into Channel 71, and set about the business of retrieving lost children from the clutches of Davey Jones.
Now those of you who know sailing will be familiar with the process of the man-overboard retrieval operation, but I shall explain for the laymen. Or laywomen. For some reason laywomen sounds wrong...
Moving right along, the general idea is to come about, sail downwind of aforementioned floating eleven year-olds and then slowly come upwind, ending up in irons (pointed directly upwind) as you come alongside your targets. Now, I personally have never actually had to perform this procedure with live victims, and I don't believe I've ever actually practiced it on the ocean before, so I was somewhat apprehensive, especially as I witnessed the expressions of amusement fade from Max and Tommy's faces as they began to realize that they were two very small boys in a massive body of water. My first two attempts to rescue them failed, as Capris have a very difficult time staying directly in irons, but finally I got close enough and was able to let out my mainsheet and drift onto the now mildly upset children. Once I had hauled them aboard I proceeded to impress upon them the danger of jumping out of a sailboat. Both of them swore on all they held holy that their falls had been accidents, but I remain suspicious. Regardless, it was a true adventure that taught me a great deal about retrieving children from the open ocean, and about keeping a closer eye on the kids in my boat. Some other stuff probably happened that day, but it is lost to the winds of time.
Me: "Can anyone think of a word that describes an organism's role within an ecosystem? It starts with an 'n'..."
Some kid: "Necronomicon?"
Me: "Well I was going for 'niche' but if you want to talk about the Book of the Dead I am totally down with that.
The first session of camp went very well, as before, my sailors are all top notch, performing their duties at the highest level of competency. However, I was sad yesterday to see many of the campers depart, Monsoon in particular. I took up my customary position on the middle of the pier with few staff members around to maximize space for farewell hugs. I said something to Maria Horner (aka Benevolent Dictator) as I approached the dock and she pointed out how annoying it is when children stop to hug me on the pier and slow down the boarding process for the entire camp. I replied, "Maria, it's not my fault that the children adore me", she shot back, calling that comment the most narcissistic thing I've ever said. It is also untrue, I work hard to make these kids worship me, and as arrogant and self-absorbed as it might be, I relish the opportunity to build myself up in their eyes. I'm not really sure if this even makes me more effective as a camp staffer, but I am very good at it. Case in point, I convinced about half of the kids at camp this past session that my previous employment had been as an FBI Agent working in the Behavioral Sciences division (it is amazing how effective it is to just rephrase the words of Thomas Harris). Props to Barbara Radford for the idea, and to Becky for refining it.
While the session was a lot of fun, from the perspective of this blog it went almost too well, with no particularly harrowing stories of daring and adventure that screamed out to my hands, "WRITE ME DOWN" (any director reading this has just cursed me for tempting karma) aside from a mutiny in miniature that happened early in the session. Today was entirely different.
This day began slowly, and most mornings in Riptide seem to have unfolded at a sloth's pace over the past few days. We need to get to bed earlier. Last night we checked out one of the new episodes of Futurama, and Phillip and I cried twin oceans of tears as that once great show proved for a second episode that whatever spark that had made it so fun in days of yore had been thoroughly extinguished when Fox canceled it the first time. I suspect that the show will continue to exist, much like Family Guy or a zombie; dead and decaying but still mobile.
We eventually dragged ourselves from our bunks (why Andrew even bothers with his alarms anymore is beyond my comprehension, since he arrived he has literally never successfully arisen from bed due to his alarm sounding), and reported to breakfast. We Riptidelings really need to get more sleep, I personally blame Phillip. In the past few weeks I have taken up the habit of filling out the whiteboard that used to inform campers of the menu at each meal, and this morning I chose to go with a Jedi Knight theme. (unoriginal for me, but I was tired) I inscribed the Code of the Ancient Order and threw in a Master Kenobi quote. Breakfast was pancakes, and Nick Osti ate five of them.
My first responsibility of the day was to assist Kate "McAwesome" Clover with lifeguarding the swim test. This passed quickly and without incident.
First period the sailors had nothing scheduled, so Shahar, Slater, and myself set to work refining a new era of sailing badgework: The Blue and Gold Star Sabots. Basically we were attempting to set up a sabot racing program, and we made a good deal of progress on it. It looks like we are going to split the sailing badgework program into Capri and Sabot sailing, much like Challenge is split between High Ropes and Climbing. We typed up the requirements and handed them over to Grand Admiral Smith.
Second period we discovered that Kate Clover doesn't know how to count, and thus I was called upon to lifeguard. I managed to use my sailor powers to make Zac "Twilight" Birkey (he read all four) take the paddleboard, thus allowing me to theoretically achieve minimal dampness via the use of the kayak. Unfortunately however, my embarkation aboard the kayak was a monumental failure, as a swell swept up and knocked me off my kayak into the frigid water, blue jacket and all. Now I will have to wash it and the inside will be unfuzzy, just like the Jacket of Jae-Zee. It was singularly unpleasant. While I am on the subject, this summer on Catalina has been characterized by distinctly unfavorable weather. It has been consistently cloudy on most days, and this past Sunday (ironically enough) it rained for the whole morning, transforming what might have been a chill three periods of free beach lifeguarding to a hellish nightmare of Bingo games and screaming children. Those lucky few readers who are following this should pray to their favorite God or Power That Be for more sunlight and wind. Nothing is worse than a cloudy day without wind.
Lunch was Make Your Own Wrap, which was awesome because it is like Sandwich Day but with tortillas. Also I was lucky enough to grab a seat next to one of my all-time favorite campers, a kid who shall remain nameless but is into film and film production and we had a great little chat in between bites of a swiss/turkey/tuna/tomato/onion wrap.
After lunch I had the privilege of taking Tommy Kern and Max Genovese out on a Capri. Now these two kids love sailing, are hilarious, and can feed off each other like baking soda and vinegar. What's more, they do their best to appear fearless, especially around each other. I admire this quality immensely, even if it is occasionally an illusion. On this particular adventure, Tommy and Max occupied their traditional positions aboard my mighty Capri; seated as far out on the bow as possible. This is the coveted spot aboard a CIC Capri, where the rider gets the distinct feeling that he is soaring across the waves, an impression supported by the consistent spray shooting over the deck onto exhilarated (or shivering) children. I took the boat Northwest beyond Inspiration Point, as I often do, and for reasons that to this day remain unclear, Max fell overboard. Before I had scarcely registered this event, Tommy fell in right behind him. During the investigation that followed this event, both Mr. Kern and Mr. Genovese asserted repeatedly that they had both fallen overboard purely through accidental causes, suggesting that some sort of smallish rogue wave had struck the boat and sent them tumbling into the sea. It is the opinion of this detective that while it is entirely possible that Max slipped off the deck due to legitimately accidental reasons, the chances that his good friend and partner-in-crime Tommy fell off accidentally a mere 5 seconds later are slim indeed. It is intriguing to note that during this mass exodus from the Bluto Capri (the sailboat I was steering), I had been in the middle of a radio transmission to the Howland's Tower lifeguard, and as the first two men-overboard I had ever experienced slid into the sea, I thoughtlessly spoke into the VHF receiver with the transmit button still depressed, "Oh my God..." I stared dumbly at the radio for a second, realized I had just revealed my mistake to anyone on the West End of Catalina who cared to tune into Channel 71, and set about the business of retrieving lost children from the clutches of Davey Jones.
Now those of you who know sailing will be familiar with the process of the man-overboard retrieval operation, but I shall explain for the laymen. Or laywomen. For some reason laywomen sounds wrong...
Moving right along, the general idea is to come about, sail downwind of aforementioned floating eleven year-olds and then slowly come upwind, ending up in irons (pointed directly upwind) as you come alongside your targets. Now, I personally have never actually had to perform this procedure with live victims, and I don't believe I've ever actually practiced it on the ocean before, so I was somewhat apprehensive, especially as I witnessed the expressions of amusement fade from Max and Tommy's faces as they began to realize that they were two very small boys in a massive body of water. My first two attempts to rescue them failed, as Capris have a very difficult time staying directly in irons, but finally I got close enough and was able to let out my mainsheet and drift onto the now mildly upset children. Once I had hauled them aboard I proceeded to impress upon them the danger of jumping out of a sailboat. Both of them swore on all they held holy that their falls had been accidents, but I remain suspicious. Regardless, it was a true adventure that taught me a great deal about retrieving children from the open ocean, and about keeping a closer eye on the kids in my boat. Some other stuff probably happened that day, but it is lost to the winds of time.
Me: "Can anyone think of a word that describes an organism's role within an ecosystem? It starts with an 'n'..."
Some kid: "Necronomicon?"
Me: "Well I was going for 'niche' but if you want to talk about the Book of the Dead I am totally down with that.
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