I sit in my car while outside a camp empty of scouts—save a few—waits patiently for the beehive of activity that will surely come. A bug flies in and out of the two open doors of the car that remain ajar in an effort to dry the carpeting on the floor on the front passenger side of the car. With all the precipitation in the air, the ice from the cooler collected outside and soaked the floor mat and the carpeting underneath. Hopefully the sun and wind with dry it out.
I can see the clouds racing by as I watch three girls who arrived at camp in a Subaru legacy wagon, plates from Wyoming climb up and down the rock formation aptly named Bread Loaves. They’ve been at it since about 9:30am. It’s now 2:30pm. I hope they packed some granola bars…
Yesterday and today I watched my son run up and down a huge granite rock. This is the same son that said he did not want to go climbing, but after seeing everyone else shimmy up and down the same rock, I guess curiosity replaced fear and up (and down…) he went.
We leave tomorrow for another camp, one where we’ll need to hike in 3 miles. My original plan was to leave after today, but I just might extend the grand adventure another day.
The pack of scouts yells and exclaims that they’ve almost killed a chipmunk. Almost killed… They had it cornered in a sagebrush bush, each great hunter armed with a stick prepared to bash the furry little critters head. I thought, if they’ve almost killed it, better to finish the job. Amazing how fast an almost dead chipmunk can run and we watched it dash across the sand, over the rocks, and through the underbrush to freedom.