Troop 83 (p. 2)
1 | 2 | 3 Mr. Andrews dropped a bundle of saplings by the fire circle. He flexed his hands, working out the cramps he had gotten from dragging the wood in from the nearest stand of birch. Collecting it from so far away was a pain, but they needed something to build shelter frames from, and hemlock and witch hazel just wouldn't cut it.
Looking through the oaks and maples rising up out of the rocky soil, Mr. Andrews located a dozen leafy lumps that signified the beginnings of shelters. Each would eventually be a framework of sticks, covered by a thick insulating thatch of fallen leaves.
Mr. Andrews also saw an object like a huge yellow snail. He left the birches in a pile and went to investigate. As he approached, he recognized it as one of the expensive domed tents from the Eureeka catalog. The flap was open and a khaki-clad leg stuck out.
"Jason, what are you doing?"
Jason sat up into a cross-legged position. "Reading. I'm way behind in this class."
"No, I mean this tent. Is it yours?"
"Yep."
"This is supposed to be a wilderness survival trip. Everybody else is making shelters out of sticks and leaves." Mr. Andrews couldn't understand why Jason was being so dense. Was this what going to college did to people? If so, he hoped his son wouldn't apply to school. Of course, a college education would be a useful thing in the job market ... but that was enough bitterness for now.
Jason poked his head out from under the vestibule. "I'm giving up my fall break to be here. The least I ask is a roof that doesn't leak and drop dirt on my head while I'm asleep."
"McCloskey, what's wrong with you?" shouted Cardano. Turning, Mr. Andrews saw Cardano standing by the tiny stream that oozed from the red slate hillside just above the campsite. He was kicking water at McCloskey, who cringed on the other bank.
"Jason, you're here to be a leader. But so far all you've led is your geology book."
"What does that have to do with sleeping in the leaves?"
"It --" Mr. Andrews let out an exasperated sigh. Hadn't Jason ever heard of leading by example?
"Cardano, cut it out!"
"Can't anything go right anymore?" Mr. Andrews kicked at one of Jason's tent stakes.
"Gay boy, you're all wet. Stop trying to hug me!"
"Seriously, Jason, what's the point of coming on this trip if you're just going to hide in that tent all day like some city boy?"
"Yep, Ithaca's quite the metropolis these days."
"Fine, then!" Mr. Andrews grabbed the zipper of Jason's tent fly and pulled it up. "See you at dinner."
*** The red light of the campfire embers was almost buried by the white beams of a dozen flashlights when Mr. Andrews came out of the latrine. A cold drizzle was falling, subduing what was left of the fire even more.
"What's going on?" he demanded of Jason, who was sitting on a log, huddled over his book.
"Nightstalker," explained Cardano.
"If I find you, Cardano, I'm gonna hang you in a tree by your underwear," warned McCloskey.
"I bet Cardano doesn't wear underwear," said a blond New Scout.
"I told them they could play nightstalker in the rain." Jason closed the book on his finger.
"No. This is wilderness survival. No electronic devices." Mr. Andrews said.
The boys all groaned. McCloskey slashed at the air with his light.
"Jason, you should know this. You're supposed to be helping me and setting an example for these guys." He grabbed McCloskey's flashlight and shut it off. Mr. Andrews was tempted to just let Jason and the boys have their way. But he quickly reminded himself that a good dose of Scouting discipline would come in handy in dealing with -- or, hopefully, avoiding -- layoffs and divorces and whatever other crap life would throw at them.
"So what are we supposed to do tonight?" demanded Cardano.
"Sleep, maybe?"
"But it's only eight o'clock!"
"What do you think they did before electricity was invented?"
"Nightstalker with candles!" quipped Jason.
A dozen shouts of agreement rose up from the boys.
Mr. Andrews scowled.
"Come on, we always play nightstalker. It's tradition!" whined the blond New Scout.
"Jason, tell them to shut the lights off." Mr. Andrews glared at his supposed fellow leader.
"Okay, guys, you heard him," sighed Jason. One by one, the boys turned out their lights. A low roll of thunder passed through the campsite.
"I just can't go on a campout where it doesn't rain," mumbled Mr. Andrews.
"Yep, you jinxed it," said Jason.
"Jason, why can't you cooperate? 'A Scout is obedient,' you said it yourself."
Jason turned the page.
"I hope all those rocks haven't pushed the brains out of your head."
"Give me a break. Just because I don't want to get wet sleeping under a pile of leaves."
Mr. Andrews reached back to tap the exposed ridgepole of his shelter. "Look, tent boy, a real Boy Scout wouldn't have any problem staying dry."
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