The pace of camp quickens dramatically when children arrive. As any reader of this blog will note, shortly after the appearance of campers my blog entries waned and ultimately ceased. Sometimes it seems as if this camp caters to tiny vampires, and at the end of the day I feel like I've lost a lot of blood, which is a condition that allows minimal extra energy for the subtle science of writing bad comedy. I love it, but those shouting matches with 11 year-old boys on the finer points of first-person-shooter design over dinner really take it out of you. In short, I apologize for my long silent streak, and tip my hat to the illustrious Greg Pierce for consistently pestering me via facebook to update this blog. It is good to know that someone out there is starved for my words of pretentious wisdom. So, moving right along as if there were no interruption in bloggage...
When I awoke, there was only thirst. My throat was as cracked and dry as the parched and endless deserts of Arrakis, but I took comfort in the absence of Shai-Hulud (sandworms). I cracked open my eyelids and stared blearily at my new wristwatch, mailed to me (thanks mom!) after a child broke my old one during second session. The cold, sharp numbers stared pitilessly back at me, informing my dehydrated brain that it was only 6:50, meaning it would be more than an hour before the rest of camp crawled forth from their bunks. I was torn between the options of getting up and quenchifying or staying put and remaining warm. The latter concern won out in the end, and so I lay in my feeling very much like the Man with No Name about halfway through The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly for an hour until the breakfast bell rang. At that instant I sprang out of bed, surprising Andrew with my alacrity in the face of a prior late evening. I strode rapidly over to the dining hall, snatching my nalgene out of my ancient (had it since 7th grade) Brenthaven pack on the way. I spun off the lid and smashed the bottle against the water cooler, and the sound of flowing liquid was like music to my ears. I rose the vessel to my lips and essentially drank half of it right there, the clear fluid seeming to penetrate my innards like rain making its way down through the boughs of a great cedar. I instantly felt much better, and went about the business of obtaining breakfast.
Today was one of those rare and cherished days when I have the morning off, so I was able to move through the dining hall first to obtain me vittles. Dominating the menu this morning was french toast, a worthy solution to all the demands of the morning meal. I loaded up my plate and proceeded to the back of the staff lounge where I sat down at a table by myself to read a book. The tome tucked under my arm was a volume entitled Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett, which I had borrowed from that most infamous of Waterfront Directors, Miah Smith. The book centers around the building of a cathedral during the 12th Century, and does a superb job of making that era come to life. I'm not a religious fish, but I do appreciate large, pretty churches. Gothic architecture is beautiful in the extreme, and this book is really just a monument to that school of construction. I read in silence, ignoring the invitations of other staff members for me to join them at their table (my book is too good to be abandoned in favor of small talk), and was reminded vaguely of something Indy once said to his dad, "What you taught me is that I was less important to you than people who'd been dead for 500 years in another country!" and then I giggled.
After breakfast I retired to my cabin, planning to spend the morning meditating on the composition of the back side of my eyelids, but along the way I noticed the surprising potency of the wind. I felt it threading its way through my hair, and watched as it moved through a curtain of Eucalyptus leaves, casting them aside with ease. Suddenly I realized that the moment I had awaited for over a year had arrived. Finally, on a morning off, the sun was out and the wind was strong, and the expedition I had conceived of long ago was within the realm of possibility.
A mile off the coast of the West End of Catalina, on the Channel side, is a rather impressive rock that rises some 30 feet out of the waves. It looks kind of like a Gibraltar in miniature, and is known as Ship Rock. According to legend, it is a breeding ground for great white sharks during the colder winter months, but I myself have been unable to determine if this is truth or merely the tale-weaving of the old salts from Harbor Patrol. Whether or not the rock is infested with Carcharodon carcharias, it is a fantastic snorkeling location, something about ocean currents makes it awesome. Also sea lions like to swim around out there so you're quite likely to run into them. These factors contribute to make it one of my favorite locations on Catalina (or near Catalina I suppose)
Additionally (and somewhat more importantly) Ship Rock plays a role in my sailing program. Sailing out to Ship Rock and returning is the primary requirement to attain the highest and most prestigious award given during camp badgework (system of achievement in activity areas); the Sailing Gold Star. I feel like I need to re-examine that name, maybe call it the Miah Smith Award, or the Mariner's Trophy. Nomenclature aside, sailing to ship rock is often challenging because of constantly shifting wind conditions in that area. But as noted above, on this particular day, the wind was just right, and I had the morning off. It was time to sail to Ship Rock, anchor, snorkel, and sail back for lunch.
So it was that instead of falling asleep, I gathered up sailing and snorkeling gear, snatched an anchor from the boneyard (do all summer camps have a place called the boneyard?) and asked for volunteers to join me on my voyage. The brave souls who stepped forward were cabin counselors Barbara Radford and Ike Wallace, and within half an hour we had shoved off of the Howland's dock and were making good time toward the Rock.
The wind poured into our sails, filling them up and thrusting our hull forward through the waves, we made our way to Ship Rock, and I brought the boat in close so we could anchor. My anchoring experience is lacking, but the sea nymphs smiled upon my endeavor (which is good, because when they frown upon endeavors it usually means Cetus is inbound) and somehow I managed to lodge the anchor securely. We launched ourselves over the side of the Capri and set about the business of swimming 'round the rock. Along the way we saw massive schools of fish, and a sea lion. A sea lion underwater is truly a stunning sight to behold, as these creatures are every bit as graceful in the water as an eagle in the air, and they soar through the blue with remarkable speed and agility. The one we saw seemed to be checking out Barbara for a while, but then I swam over and scared it off. Whoops!
After the dive we shot around the rock and plotted a course back to camp. It was one hell of a trip.
