- On Nature Awareness
- On The Winter Class
- On The Plant Class
- On Earth Caretaking
- On The Scout Class
Best Trip Ever, Brad Niven, Nature Awareness 2003
I have to tell you that I had the best trip I have ever taken with Nature Awareness. I have traveled all over the world, and this trip affected me more than any other, and far more than I had expected. I went in with an open mind, hoping to learn and find a spiritual connection to the world that has been missing in my life. I came away with so much more.
Your leadership, mentorship, and teaching skills are formidable, and I really enjoyed the sense of calm, collected patience that you displayed with people, myself included. To be in a camp full of teenagers, whom I normally avoid, and find them courteous, respectful, intelligent, and curious about the world was a real eye opener for me. I found that I had a place in a community of strangers, and was able to learn and grow alongside them in ways I did not expect. Having you as the community leader cast a glow over the camp that inspired me to learn things, open my mind and get past any fears or reservations I might have had, so that I could experience things I had not expected at all.
The entire camp felt much like the world I wish to live in. It was filled with respect and fun, energy and camaraderie, open mindedness and understanding. It was truly a magical experience. I have tried my best to apply those qualities to my life beyond the specific skill I learned. I was camping in Big Sur last weekend, and found myself spending most of my time listening and seeing the world. It was a new experience for me despite having been to this same camp a dozen times. That behavior rubbed off on a few people too, and I know their experience was augmented as a result.
In short, I can’t say enough good things about you or your school. It affected me in so many ways that I can’t list them all. I simply loved it and can hardly contain my enthusiasm for it. I plan on going to all of your classes at the earliest possible date. Until then, please accept my immense gratitude for the experience. It really changed me in a wonderful way.
All the best,
Brad Niven
Jubilation, Aaron Beverly, Nature Awareness 2002
Jubilation. The Marble Mountain Wilderness. A museum -- yes -- but inspiring nonetheless. Thick lines of crimson and yellow sit atop one another in the northeastern sky, marking the birth of the dawn. Still far from rising, the sun sends its light ahead as an indication of its imminent arrival. The valleys and mountains begin to emerge from the darkness as blue-black silhouettes. Soon a chorus of song birds will erupt in ebullient praise of the morning. I'm curled up in my sleeping bag laying upon a flat rock, observing the scene unfolding before me. Never in my life have I been awoken by such splendor. When you awake to the touch of God, you will spend the rest of the day in a state of dreamy inspiration.
I get up to walk; to contemplate the wonderful and infinite silence; to allow the cold to draw me further away from the somnolence of early morning. Breakfast is still a couple of hours hence. The incipient sun begins to cast its eager eye upon the forests and meadows and lakes and creeks, chasing away the lurking shadows of night. This land is timeless. It is wilderness as wilderness should be: wild, untamed, unspoiled. Humans have not yet tried to meddle here. Through the sagacious efforts of Herbert Hoover, this place never shall fall victim to the rapacious appetite of man. Under a ten thousand year rule of nature's law, this place has evolved into the sublime.
The signs of black bear are abundant in this area. It is not difficult to find their tracks and trails and lays and scat. I have yet to see one, but at this hour of the morning, it is likely they are still up and about, a fact that keeps me a little on edge. The bears are not wont to the presence of humans, nor have they acquired the taste for garbage. Convenience is not yet a part of their lexicon. They still must hunt to live. Here they mostly eat grass, but dine on an occasional unaware fawn. Generally speaking they are afraid of humans, as all animals are afraid of that which is not familiar. But exceptions can be made, and it is the deviations from the mean that keep your eyes and ears open a little wider than usual. There is an element of fear that exists out here, that is necessary to keep you vigilant. There is no reason to deny it or to quell it, for it is because of this place that it exists to begin with. Fear is not a human experience designed for the enjoyment of horror movies and theme parks. It is a necessity of survival.
The trail upon which I walk circumvents our camp and gradually increases in altitude along the mountains which form the walls of the valley in which we are staying. To my left a break in the forest has given the opportunity for one of the many meadows of this area to grow in lively splendor. Never in my travels have I ever seen meadows abundant with such life. No garden on earth can surpass in beauty and splendor what grows naturally here with no more care than that which is provided by the sun and rain. The wild edibles and medicinals here are abundant: Gray's Lovage, Angelica, Yarrow, Yampah, Sheep Sorrel. Along rocky escarpments, the lilies, paintbrush, penstemons, and cliff brake ferns mix together in such perfect proportions that no florist could imagine a better arrangement. The fecundity of vegetation here makes the task of identification an almost impossible task
As captivated as I am by the pulchritude of the meadows, to dwell here any longer would be to ignore the calling of the deep forest and the high precipices, which surely lie further ahead up the trail, around the next bend, or over the next ridge. If you follow a trail long enough, you will eventually find everything you want in life. And I do. The trail meanders its way through rocky meadows and then merges into the Pacific Crest Trail. The forest that I am now in has never been logged. Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines stand high and thick with age and overlook the younger trees that grow sparsely in their shadows. One big happy family. There is very little underbrush and the trees are not crowded making it easy to walk amongst them. The forest is naturally fire resistant as all forests are that have not been subjected to years of fire suppression and clear-cutting. A fire here would dissipate quickly and do nothing more than contribute to the health of the ecology. I leave the trail and walk up a steep incline until I stand atop a steep escarpment that overlooks Shadow Lake and Marble Valley. The sun's rays refract over a ridge to the north and brighten the scene with ethereal beauty. If I were looking for a home, this would be it. It is Utopia. But I must explore this area another time. It is almost breakfast time, so I must hurry back. There is no time to take the trail, so I cut directly across back to the camp through the forest and down steep declivities. Its been awhile since its seen human visitors, but it will be seeing plenty over the next week, so it will have to get used to it.
And so it is on this stage we have come to perform the exercises of Nature Awareness. It is here that we will conjure up a part of ourselves that has become rusty from disuse. In order to survive in nature, one must become aware of it; to be observant. If you merely slow down and pay attention, nature will teach you most of what you need to know about surviving in it. By observing what plants live by water, you know how to find water. And where there is water, there are animals, and thus food. All animals need food, water, and shelter. Watch them, and they will tell you what they consider these to be. With this knowledge you know how to begin looking for them. By observing how they walk, and what their tracks look like - not just foot prints, but overturned rocks and worn trails and worn rocks and worn stumps and barkless trees and hair and scents - you learn to track them. If you learn what senses animals use to detect food and danger, then you know how to stalk them. And if you train your senses to work as one so that you are able to completely and instantaneously process the environment around you, you become a master survivalist. And these skills are not just valuable in the wilderness. They are useful everywhere. And all you have to do is pay attention. Really pay attention. And you will find that this process engenders increased equanimity, a broader consciousness, and a deeper reverence for life, all of which are beneficial to mankind.
In the mornings we track black bear. In the afternoons we practice stalking. We spend time in sit spots, 6'x 6' observation areas, where we soak in what a naturally undisturbed site looks like. After several days of this, subtle changes are made to the sit spots and all of the changes, no matter how small, pop out at you. The disturbance is a track. After this exercise, every where you go, tracks pop out at you. To heighten our perceptions, we practice wide-angle vision and do blindfold walks where we must find our way back to camp with blindfolds on and without shoes. It all sounds a bit strange until you realize it works. You begin to see so much more as you walk through the forests and meadows and your confidence and intuition increases dramatically.
At night, after the last embers of the sunset have dwindled and died, a darkness descends upon the land that seems more dark and vivid and alive than nights anywhere else. We walk away from camp and sleep out under the stars and experience the night as humans rarely do -- unprotected and exposed. Two teenagers, Joah and Gui, are visited one night by a bear, who is wondering what strange beings have invaded his domain. After an hour of grunting and sniffing, he continues through the forest looking for more familiar sources of food. Another night, a fawn dies by the tooth and claw of a bear, disturbing the steady drone of the crickets with the shrill sound of its scream. Any thoughts of sleep are scared away from me until the ripple in the forest dissipates.
Saturday we backpack out of the Marble Mountains, slowly reverting back to our old selves, looking forward to the conveniences and comforts of the world. After everyone leaves, I wait around for the mule packers to get back with all of our gear so that I can load it on the truck and return it to Headwaters. I doze in the front of the truck until the packers arrive and then get all of the supplies loaded as Jesse and Bonnie, the two small children of the husband and wife team of packers keep me company with discussions about horses, snakes, bears, and Gilligans Island. It is hard for me to imagine life being any better than it is right now.
-- Aaron Beverly
An Unexpected Community, Michael Burns, Nature Awareness 1998
When I arrived at the trailhead for my first Tim Corcoran Headwaters School experience, the Nature Awareness Class at the Marble Mtns. Wilderness, amongst the group already there was a circle of young people playing hacky-sack. I myself am well into adulthood and I had assumed that the class would be all adults. It was wonderful to have that assumption corrected. The class, including several staff, helpers, and apprentices, was 28. Almost half of these were teenagers. Their presence was largely what made the class experience as profound as it was for me.
The purpose I have for doing Tim’s classes, and I now intend to do them all, is to learn how to comfortably and efficiently live in my real home; the womb of Mother Nature. I, like many people in the United States, really don’t feel very comfortable or secure without the modern conveniences and shortcuts I depend on, and I don’t have the skills to receive and use the bounty provided by Life in the wilderness. I want to know how to get back to the Garden of Eden where I am sustained by the abundance of life that is available to all willing to learn.
My understanding and experience of Headwaters School is that its purpose is just that: to teach how to live in harmony with nature; to love, appreciate, and use its generous gifts; to steward, sustain, and care for this source from which comes all life on earth. A new purpose I have discovered for connecting with Tim and his Headwaters School, is involvement with a community of young and old, men and women, who share a common passion for learning how to live as natural human beings.
The experiences I have collected in the past have been training me for the role of teacher within a community context. People skills, life skill, compassion, acceptance, etc., etc. are the curriculum I want to continue to learn and teach. Practical skills for modern day survival in our society, like reading, math and science would be rather simple when a young person has knowledge, acceptance, curiosity about him or herself and life.
While I was learning about nature awareness during the class, I was constantly aware of the beauty, innocence, intelligence, and wonder emanating from the young adults. Headwaters young people have meaning and value in their lives. They have self worth from seeing themselves as accepted, capable, valued children of the Human Family.
I look forward to growing, learning, sharing and having fun with this new community.
-Michael Burns
Renewed Connection, James Smith, Nature Awareness 1998
I just got back from the Nature Awareness course in the Marble mountain wilderness and I wanted to send a testimonial as to how much it affected me.
The course was especially moving for me emotionally. I had come to the jaded conclusion there was no such thing as spirituality. The connection to nature I gained through this course has renewed my faith in spirit as nature. I believe now that the trees, the earth and the sky are talking to me, teaching me how to live. I believe it now because Tim has helped me experience it, not just because I read it in a book or heard it in a lecture. Tim's experiential teaching style has filled me with knowledge I will never forget.
James Ellis Smith, Senior Systems Engineer, Internet Protocol Research Group, Nokia, Inc.
A New Perspective, Russell Landers, Nature Awareness 1997
I met Tim Corcoran a few years ago. I had been looking for a teacher for a long time. I have been backpacking for years and have traveled most of the Pacific Crest Trail. I wanted to deepen my experience with nature. I talked to Tim on the phone and I immediately felt a strong connection to Tim. Tim suggested I take the Nature Awareness Class. I got over all the reasons why I couldn't or shouldn't take the class and off I went to the Marble Mountains. I drove up with my new friends Chris and Peter. We talked all the way about our experience in nature and before we knew it we were there.
The cast and crew are a wonderful bunch of guys. Dave is the cook. He's like any camp cook you may have heard of. He's as testy as a coot and has a heart of gold. He holds the space while we're away from camp. His cooking! Let me say it's the best! Walter is a wild man. He's the guy you can go to with any question or need and he's on it. He's got the strangest sense of humor. I love it. He's passionate about plant knowledge. I don't think I've ever met a harder worker. Tim always has a few helpers and apprentices to help around camp. They are some of the finest young people I've ever met. One thing these classes have given me is the connection to these people. They have enriched my life and I truly love them.
The Nature Awareness Class
The first day we had a 6 mile
hike into the Marble Mountain Wilderness to Camp Buckey. Tim
reminded us to go slow and let go of where we came from and
totally immerse ourselves into the new environment. We took
our time and stopped for lunch at a bark shelter about half
way. It was in late summer and the warm grasses had a sweet
smell. The class size was about 16. There's a picture of us
on the web site. (Aug '97) We arrived to the camp around 4pm.
So you can see we really took it slow. We set up our individual
camp sites while Dave set up the kitchen. Dinner is always around
6 PM. Elders eat first (except on burrito night).
The day always starts early. 6:00-6:30. Breakfast is always great. Usually something warm along with great coffee. We start by circling up right after breakfast and Tim lines out the day. We did things like explore the forest for animal marking and tracks. We went on early morning Bear hikes. We saw a few. We saw a large 5 or 6 point buck. Everything we did was designed to immerse us even deeper into the wilderness. I started to become aware of the movement and the life all around me. Tim talks about the concentric ring effect. It relates to the effect we have on any environment as we move into it. If you stay still and pay attention, like the rings created by a stone tossed into a pond things settle. I began to feel myself blend into nature. I became One with my environment. Throughout the week I did many different types of exercises to deepen that experience. We did blindfold exercises, I held a tree until I could feel it's heartbeat and studied a 5'X5' sacred spot daily until time didn't exist.
Every day was something new. After dinner was always a time for sharing our experiences of the day. We always had a fire and most nights there was some kind of storytelling and music. I always anticipated the words of wisdom Tim would share with us in circle.
In Summary, this class and all those I've taken since have changed my outlook on life in a way I never thought possible. My business world revolves around technology consulting; my personal world is like yours, a mix of challenge a reward. These classes have given me the perspective of living on a higher plan, the blinders have fallen off and I'm seeing the world at 360 degrees rather than peripheral vision.
-Russell Landers
A Late Night Meeting, Aaron Beverly, Plant Class 2002
Plant Class, June 4, 2002 -- Late in the evening I climb an old tall Douglass fir, almost all the way to its upper most branches. Don't ask me why I do this -- I find myself doing lots of weird stuff in this class -- let's just assume it is a perfectly sane and rational act. After hanging out for a while, and preparing to descend to my shelter under the tree, the branch upon which I am perched shakes quite violently, shaking me out of my contemplative state. To my right, not more than five feet distant, stands a Great Horned Owl upon the very branch to which I am clinging. He turns his head 180 degrees and with those wide staring eyes, looks directly into mine. My heart is beating like mad. After observing me for a few more moments, the owl disappears into the night leaving me alone in the darkness with the echoes of my heart. Tim is going to want to hear about this ...
-- Aaron Beverly
Heaven Is Here, Aaron Beverly, Earth Caretaking 2002
Earth Caretaking, October 12, 2002 -- If there is one message I take away from this class, it is this: our forests can be managed for the benefit of all. It is true that our forests are needed as a timber resource, but to view them in only this way is a mistake. The forests of this nation and the world belong to all of us and we must learn to manage them with this in mind. A forest can be harvested of its timber in a way that promotes the health of the forest and makes it naturally fire suppressant. A healthy forest is a beautiful forest and makes a good home for wildlife and thus proper management will not only meet the needs of timber companies, but can placate environmentalists and naturalists and the wildlife of the world. Proper forest management requires a shift in thinking, it takes change, it takes the creation of new economies. It will take time and cost money, which is why industry is reluctant to change. But in my opinion, we need to seek solutions that benefit all, including all life, for the biodiversity of the world is what makes it an interesting place to live. We are slowly, but surely, destroying that which is the source of our inspiration, that which makes us awestruck, that which stirs the soul. If we only see heaven as a place we go after we die, then we are missing the fact that it exists right now, right in front of us.
-- Aaron Beverly
A Winter Class Journal, Aaron Beverly, Winter Class 2002
Day 1-- There are moments in life when we discover the platitudes that have seeped into our subconscious through society's artificial forms of sentimentality become the truisms by which we insist upon living. This is mine: nothing easy, comfortable, familiar, or safe leads to anything worthwhile in life; that struggle is the essence of life and to avoid it is to except boredome and banality. I am confident, therefore, that the journey into the unforgiving world of winter upon which I am about to embark, will be one that I will never forget and will be sure to define and refine who I am.
My journey begins in Felton, CA. where I must pick up Joaquin, a teenager who needs to hitch a ride with me to Mt. Shasta. Joaquin, whose vocational interests lean toward physics, seems to be the typical teenager who is full of energy and alacrity and is in a mild rebellion against his adult oppressors. Our tastes in music provide a ground of commonality, and suprisingly we are able to carry on a conversation for over an hour. As we near Sacramento, though, the conversation runs dry and the four and half hours remaining threatens an uncomfortable gap of silence. Fortunately, Joaquin eliminates the awkwardness by falling asleep.
We meet the rest of the class in Mount Shasta City, a small town at the base of the great 14,161' Mt. Shasta volcano. We pack up all people and supplies into the available four-wheel drive vehicles capable of completing the trip and caravan to the Headwaters Outdoor School property. My first introduction to Headwaters was a wilderness skills class that I took last summer. The school offers a variety of classes, which all aim in their own unique way to reaquaint the student with their home in nature. Although each class teaches you the basic skills that you wish to learn, I find that you leave the classes with a greater connection to the environment, that we all may innately possess, but we forget about as we live our lives in the modern technological world.
The brainchild behind the Headwaters Outdoor School is a man named Tim Corcoran, which strikes me as such a normal name for the larger than life person that he is. Since I have spent my days in a society where most of our culture is now defined for us by what we see on television, I am tempted to compare Tim Corcoran to Grizzly Adams. I suspect the comparison would cause Tim to grumble, and Tim grumbles well; a more suitable analogy would be John Muir, the 19th century outdoorsman, adventurer, and conservationist. Tim is an outdoorsman by every defintion of the word. He walks the walk and talks the talk. He has worked in the wilderness, lived in it, and off of it. He has spent so much time in nature that every aspect of his being reflects it. And although he is a fervent environmentalist, his views on the subject are quite realistic and seek solutions to environmental problems by finding a balance between modern societies and primitive, communal societies. Although saddened by what we have lost through progress, he also sees what we have gained and does not see the state of the world as unnatural, for we are all as much a part of the natural order of things as the less evolved creatures that live amongst us. In some sense, I think Tim sees the injustice and barbarism that has been committed in the name of progress a byproduct of human evolution, which does not excuse him from acting to change the world for the better. Tim is strongly opinionated, but maintains a sense a humor about those opinions that are born out of attitude and not of fact. He has the big bushy beard as one would expect, and it has enough grey hairs in it to make people take his words seriously. Integrity, honor, and truth are words invented for men like Tim, and one cannot help but hold him in high regard.
Despite Tim's grand abilities, his operation could not succeed without his two main co-workers, Walter and Dave. Walter is a thirty something man who through society's rigid standards is probably not seen as a success, and I would not be surprised if he didn't have a penny to his name, but I am convinced that he holds the secret to life. It is quite evident that he lives entirely in the moment and manages to retain a childlike quality that most of us lose somewhere along the way. This is not to imply that he is innocent or naive, but only that he has the ability to find joy in simple things. Upon my arrival, he promptly nails me with a snow ball fired from behind a tree. He is very smart and one of the hardest workers you'll ever meet and his knowleged of primitve earth skills is almost as abundant as Tim's. In my opinion, he has accomplished much more in life than I, and society needs to redefine its measure of success.
Dave is the camp cookie whose personality matches the stereotype often associated with such a figure. He is warm and cheerful, but can be cantankerous and stubborn as a mule at times, although the latter description I get second hand, for I have had only pleasant experiences with him from the past. My opinion, however, may be slightly tainted from the fact that he keeps me well fed for all three meals of the day.
The Headwater's land is 32 acres of wilderness and is covered with about a foot of snow. We spend the afternoon moving our gear from the vehicles to our bark tepee homes. Eventhough the temperature is below freezing, the sun is out and the skies are clear. It is not until evening that the full gravity of the situation begins to weigh upon me. If I had known that the shower I had taken this morning would be my last for eleven days, I would not have been so hasty to depart its warm and cleansing waters. As the sun departs below the mountains to the west, a chill penetrates my body. I change out of my blue jeans into my fleece pants and that is the last time I'll wear cotton on this trip. Cotton clothing is useless in cold weather and will not dry if it gets wet. I begin to realize that the night will bring colder and colder temperatures and I have no house or lodge in which to find respite from the elements. From here on out clothing and fire will be the only refuge from the penetrating cold.
After dinner we gather in the round house, which is large bark tepee with a fire pit in the center. The floor is covered with pine needles that provide a soft insulation barrier from the cold earth. We all introduce ourselves. The group consists of about fifteen people and spans a broad spectrum of ages, personalities, and beliefs. We are artists, doctors, lawyers, engineers, teachers, students, teenagers, contractors, and manual laborers. Some people have come to learn primitive survival skills and others to seek spiritual enlightenment. Tim explains many of the less salient aspects of survival in the winter, such as how best to take a shit, that snow is a fine subsitute for toilet paper, that drinking water before bed time should be avoided to prevent undesired trips into the woods in the middle of night, that dressing and undressing within your sleeping bag is a great way of generating warmth. Afterwards, Walter pulls out his ukulele and sings a few campfire songs as slowly, one by one, we depart into the cold night.
Walking back to my bark tepee, my way is lighted by the full moon that has arisen above Mt. Shasta, which is in full view against a backdrop of the clear dark sky. There is a gossamer of clouds atop its lonely summit, glowing brightly in the moonlight. The forest is luminous and the silence is broken only by the sound of my boots crunching the crisp snow beneath. Despite the frigid temperatures, I find myself feeling quite comfortable and safe.
The day finally ends with the task of manuerving into my sleeping bag. I have a 20 degree F synthetic bag and a 40 degree F down bag, which I bought as an upgrade. Using both together bumps the rating down to 0 degrees. Not completely trusting this figure, I decide to leave all of my clothing on including my wool socks, coat, snow pants, hat, and gloves. The real chore in squeezing into this sleeping bag system is to get the damn zippers zipped, which despite the REI lackey's insistence that they won't catch on the bag's fabric, do indeed catch and catch and catch and catch and catch. By the time I am completely enclosed within the tight confines of this bed, I am quite warm, albeit a bit frustrated and perturbed at the beguiling sales tactics of REI. I only hope that nature doesn't call tonight, for the long ordeal of getting out of this mummy bag, will surely lead to the type of urinary accident that is best avoided in freezing temperatures.
Day 2 -- I awake this morning, sweaty and sticky. I guess wearing all that clothing was not necessary. Avoiding wetness is actually very important when living in the cold, so I made a mental note to shed some of my outergear when bedding down tonight. As I was dealing with my wonderful zippers, I noticed that my outer bag had hardened. The moisture from my breath had been wicked to the outer fabric where it condensed and froze. I wonder if this may become a problem as the week progresses.
One of the advantages of sleeping in your clothes and not showering is that no time is required to get ready in the morning. This means no time is wasted in getting to the warm campfire, which happens to be where breakfast is served.
The primary goal for the day is to learn about the two most important aspects of survival - making shelters and making fires. Making an effective shelter to protect you from the elements is by far the most important, but a fire is also important especially if you get wet, a situation that should be avoided and can easily kill you in this unforgiving environment. During the first half of the day, Tim leads us around his property, teaching us about the medicinal, edible, and utilitarian properties of all the natural consituents of the forest. The second half of the day is spent practicing our bow drill skills. Making fire from nothing but materials gathered from the woods definetly stands out as one of my favorite skills. I am able to create a couple of fires in the four hours that we slave away at this task. The whole day is to prepare us for the next, where we will build shelters and gather materials for fire making, which we will then use to live through the following night.
Day 3 -- I awake to a pleasant 12 degree F temperature and make my way to the campfire. The morning ritual is to gather around the fire, thawing frozen water bottles and drying wet boots, socks, and gloves. Breakfast is always good and this particular morning we had eggs and bacon, which we all devoured heartily.
After breakfast, each of us individually went out into the woods and began building shelters. The purpose of these shelters are to provide a quick temporary shield from the elements, something you might construct if you found yourself in a situation in a wilderness where a storm was approaching. The weather is something I rarely pay attention to, but was now quite aware of. Any wispy stratus clouds or cottony cumuli may portend approaching bad weather. Using the lower branches of a fir tree as the base of a roof to my shelter, I pile on cedar bark and cedar boughs for additional protection from rain, snow, and wind. On the inside, I pile about a foot of dead twigs on top of which I pile another few inches of cedar boughs. This provides insulation from the ground and a bed upon which I can sleep. Cedar boughs are even more useful in the summer for repelling insects, which for some reason do not like cedar. When I was content with the shelter, I build a small fire pit next to my bed and begin collecting low dead branches off of trees to use as fire wood. I have to gather enough to keep the fire going throughout the night. It is also possible to find some amount of dead grass peeking through the snow to use as tinder for starting your fire. If it is damp, you can stuff it inside your shirt and your body heat will usually dry it enough for it to be useful. Eventhough, this was supposed to be quick shelter, the whole project took me several hours.
After dinner, a couple of the resident teenagers bring me up to speed on all of the current sick and dirty jokes they know. Not particularly interested in the acquisition of this knowledge, I promptly head back out to my shelter where I plan to spend the night. I decide not to bring a blanket or sleeping bag so that I can really test the effectiveness of my shelter. Due to the small amount of room within it, I would not have had room for either of these items anyway. I attempt to get my fire going with the both the bow drill and hand drill, but am not able to produce a hot coal even after numerous attempts. I decide to test my ability at the one-match fire, which I find success at using my grass tinder and small twigs.
Since it is not particularly late by the time I get my shelter ready for habitation, I take the occasion to walk around in the forest. Once again, the sky is clear and moon full, and the undisturbed snow glows with such beauty that I hate to disturb it with my intrusive foot prints. As I walk back toward my shelter, the dancing flames from my fire make the shelter come to life with dancing colors and shadows. I am struck by how natural it looks - like a animal's nest. It looks very comfortable and inviting and as I take it all in, I am amazed at how much at home I feel out here alone in the woods; alone but not lonely, cold but not uncomfortable, content with having nothing. I nestle into my cedar bed, which actually requires more cramming than nestling because of the cramped quarters. I throw some wood on the fire and drift off to sleep.
After about 15 minutes, I awake cold and miserable. My fire has died and my body temperature with it. I hastily throw some more wood on the fire and warm up a bit, but some of the alder wood I had gathered was a bit damp and although it burned well enough, it also generated an overwhelming amount of smoke, all of which seems to drift right into general vicinity of my face. Unable to fall asleep while breathing smoke, I spend a considerable time searching for more wood that is dry. My former romantic thoughts about nature are replaced by the pain in the ass thoughts of it. All of my attempts to create a less smoky fire are in vain and I spend several hours sitting upright next to the fire upwind from the smoke. Finally, convinced that I can survive the night next to the fire, and having plenty of experience at staying up all night, I walk back to my bark tepee and sleep the remaining few hours in my warm sleeping bag.
Day 4 -- Around the campfire in the morning, I discover that the temperature last night had dropped to around 5 degrees F. A few of the students had managed to endure the entire night in their shelters, and I admire their resilience.
Today's project is to construct a fully functional bark tepee, a structure that many California Indians used for their homes. The basic materials needed for this endeavor are cedar poles, alder branches, and lots of cedar bark. Except for the alder branches, all of this material had already been gathered, which is where most of the work lies. Cedar is ideal for shelters because of their ability to resist rot, and cedar bark can easily be stripped from downed trees in long strips. Each piece of bark can be further split into 2 or 3 pieces creating a form of panneling that is used as shingling on the outer part of the tepee. Three cedar poles are used to create an A-frame and more poles are then distributed evenly around the frame creating a conical skeleton. Alder branches, because of its ability to bend well, are tied around the circumference of the cone at three levels. Four to five foot strips of cedar bark are then set in place around the base of the cone by merely leaning them against the cedar poles and alder runners. In a similar manner, six to eight foot strips are put in place. Then large twelve to fifteen foot pieces are laid in place. The overall effect is to produce a roof that will not let any water seep through, and from my experience in the bark tepee that I had lived in and was living in, no water indeed does.
After about 6 hours of constant work by all teachers and students, we completed the project. The location of this particular tepee was chosen in honor of Tim's dead dog Joseph, whose favorite spot to sit was in the very spot we built the tepee. Joseph was a wolf who Tim rescued down in Santa Cruz from a community that sought to see him destroyed. The location was also chosen for its aesthetics, for the back drop of this home was Mt. Shasta. Viewing it from afar was a picture of utopia.
During the evening in the round house, Lou, one of Tim's helpers, reads an excerpt from Paridise Below Zero by Calvin Rutstrum who relates with the happy enthusiam his experiences in the harsh climate of winter. We all sit gazing intently into the orange hues of the fire, drying our boots, hanging from every utterance from the Lou. What a beautiful way to pass the time! Perfection is in simplicity. I think of how my family and friends are scattered about all over the country and wonder if ambition and experience and happiness is worth the separation from community we undergo when we pursue it. On my walk to bed, I take in the view of Mt. Shasta again in the moonlight. The entire mountain is blanketed in thick snow and I look forward to tomorrow when I shall play in its magical realm.
Day 5 -- My boots are frozen today. Getting into them is like slipping on a pair of rocks. There is no campfire today so I cannot thaw them nor my water bottle. The peanut butter is also frozen, so we must make salami sandwiches for our journey up to Mt. Shasta. After a quick breakfast, we all gather in the four-wheel drive vehicles and caravan toward Mt. Shasta. It is another beautiful day and the sun is out in the cloudless sky. We drive up to Bunny Flats (~7000'), which is a trail head for those mountaineers who frequently make summit attempts. We put on our snow shoes and trek about half a mile out into the coniferous forest of red firs.
The objective today is to build snow caves which are the ideal shelters in a winter environment with a significant amount of snow. Choosing a suitable incline (about 40 degrees), I pack down the snow that will soon be the roof of my cave. Having gathered several 1 1/2 foot sticks, I drive them into the snow pack. These will help me identify the depth of the snow as I burrow out my cave. With shovel in hand, I begin to dig and dig and dig into the slope. My entrance is about 2 feet wide, five heet high, and 4 feet deep. Once sufficiently far into the side of the slope, I begin to hollow out a deeper chamber that sits about 3 feet above the bottom of the entrance. This will be the shelf upon which I will sleep. The top of the cave is as smooth as possible so any snow melt or condenscation will run down the sides of the ceiling and not drip upon my sleeping bag. Although it is important to refrain from getting wet during the construction of the cave, snow and sweat leave me quite soaked as I work throughout the day. The whole task takes about five hours. I finish the job by cutting several snow blocks which I use to seal the entrance, which was made larger than necessary to facillitate the removal of snow as I was working from within. A small hole is then cut in the bottom of the wall just constructed, which leaves enough room to crawl in but is not large enough to let any weather in. Because the shelf is higher than the entrance, any heat generated by your body does not escape through the hole. I am quite pleased with the finished product and look forward to trying it out.
At about 5 p.m., we back to the Headwater's property for dinner and sleep.
Day 6 -- We pack up the gear that we will require to spend the night on the mountain and drive back to Bonny Flats. Today's objective is to create a fully functional igloo, which is a task that shall take several hours to complete. There is nary a moment of rest on this trip.
Constructing an igloo is amazingly simple, but requires the hard work of many people. A cicular hole is dug into the snow about 12' in diameter and 1' deep. The diameter may vary depending on the amount of people you wish to house. Blocks of snow are then placed around the circumference of the hole, where each block is approximately 3.375 cubic feet. Blocks of snow are cut out of the snow pack with shovels and are further cut to specification using a flat aluminum sheet. As blocks are placed, snow is used as mortar to hold them together. As each circular level of blocks is finished, another is started with a slightly smaller circumference and slightly angled inward. The angle of each level steadily increases with respect to the ground until they are almost 90 degrees as the levels converge near the center of the circle at the top. I am amazed how well the snow mortar holds the blocks in place. We are separated into groups: block makers, block layers, block chinkers, and snow movers. Block makers form the blocks and provide them to the block layers, who place them. Block chinkers work closely with the layers to pack in the mortar around the blocks. The snow movers are continually shoveling light snow on and around the blocks so the chinkers have a steady supply of mortar. The process proceeds continually for several hours until all blocks converge at the top and center of the circle. The final product is a hemispherical snow structure that looks very much like the classic igloo that the Inuit peoples constructed in the extreme northern climates of the world.
Upon completion of the igloo, there are a couple hours before dinner, which I choose to use for a short snow shoe hike around the surrounding forest. I find snow shoeing to be quite pleasant and farily easy, although I suspect it would be much more difficult with a fifty pound pack on my back. Along the way I make mental notes of several salient features of the terrain in case an unsuspecting storm might catch me off-guard. There is little danger of this since I am so close to camp, but I need the practice and clouds above betoken approaching bad weather and a gray fog veils most of the upper levels of Shasta. I am used to trails to mark my way, but out here the snow blankets everything and relying on your foot prints to find your way back home is a bad idea because of a heavy snowfall's ability to erase foot prints. On my way back to camp, I discover that some of the group have requisitioned some sleds and are taking advantage of Shasta's declivities for some winter time excitement. I cannot resist trying this out and am still kicking myself for not bringing my snowboard. The trip down the slope is quite exhilarating, but I am not too happy about the long steep climb back up the hill. Four runs at this and I am completely wiped out.
After dinner, we gather round the fire that Walter has built next to the igloo. Tim asks each of us to summarize our experience thus far during the class. I am surprised at how emotionally moved many of us are at the experience. Some folks seem to have profound life changing experiences, although I am unable to include myself in this category. Nonetheless, I have been deeply influenced by the experiences and feel much more comfortable in nature than I ever have before. Lou then reads "A Perilous Night on Mt. Shasta" by John Muir where the author and adventurer recounts his experience in a spring snow storm high on the mountain where he is forced to lie in steaming fumaroles to keep warm. Muir's love for nature is unmitigated even when it threatens to destory him.
After the story, several candles are lighted and placed within the igloo, causing it to glow with a blue luminescence. As a gentle snow begins to fall, I walk back to my snow cave where I get ready for bed. I have laid a tarp and sleeping pad down on the snow within the cave as a barrier to protect me from the wetness and cold of the snow. I light two candles to see by. The inner sanctum of this place is truly magical. The temperature within is a constant 32 degrees, which promises to offer the warmest nights sleep of the entire trip. I shed off several layers of clothing including my socks and use the snow from the ceiling of the cave to clean the 6-day stench off my feet. I curl up in my sleeping bag and drift off to sleep.
Day 7 -- The sounds of shoveling wakes me from my peaceful slumber. A couple of feet of snow has fallen and someone is removing the snow blocking the entrance of my cave. I think for a moment and realize that I don't have a clue as to what day it is. What a wonderful feeling.
After packing up our gear and eating breakfast the whole group heads out on a snow shoe hike, where we learn about avalanche saftey. The best approach to avalanche safety is to avoid being in one. Your chances of survival in a significant avalanche are slim. The angle of the slope and the terrain that you are traversing are the main indicators of avalanche danger. If you are in a an old forest, chances are you are in no danger from an avalanche since avalanches have a tendency to decimate forests and any other things that are in their way. Declivities greater than 35 degrees could pose a threat. Another way of assesing danger is to study the snow pack. We dug down about 5 feet and were able to observe distinct layers of snow where each layer had different consistencies and bonding properties. If one layer does not bond to another layer well, then there is danger of an avalanche.
After our hike, we packed up the vehicles. As we were preparing to depart, three middle-aged mountaineers were beginning a journey up into snow and fog towards the summit of Shasta. They were making a summit attempt in the heart of winter, a very impressive undertaking, and I found that I was a little jealous.
We then headed into into Mt. Shasta City for lunch. This was our first introduction back into society, and I was a bit hesitant to show up in public considering my bathing and shaving history. The greasy fatty truck-stop style food, hit the spot though ,and I quickly became unconcerned about my odor, whether it be real or imagined.
The afternoon was designated a free period, during which a small group decided to split the cost of a hotel room for the sole purpose of showering. Although I can pass no judgement upon this endeavor, I had an irrational objection to this sojourn back to civilization, and chose not to partake in the activity. I would rather live with my malodorous condition for a few days longer; how much more sweet that shower shall be Tuesday night having not rid myself of the stench of the wilderness prematurely.
Instead I head back to the Headwater's property and spend the afternoon practicing my fire-making skills and hanging out with some of the other group. In the evening, I realize the moon is no longer showing itself, but the stars are out and I swear you you could see every one in the universe.
As I am getting ready for bed, I decide to try a trick Tim had suggested which is to dry wet clothing by placing them in your sleeping bag. I put all of my socks and gloves in the sleeping bag, which did not exactly make the air within the bag paritcularly pleasant to smell, but with any luck my body heat shall dry them as I sleep through the night.
Day 8 -- The morning brings the usual chill. My socks and gloves are a little drier but still retain a dampness that make them uncomfortable to wear.
We pack up all of our gear and say goodbye to the land for we are not going to come back to it during this class. Our new destination is Lava Beds National Monument, which is located northeast of Mt. Shasta near the Oregon border. Along the way we stop in Weed, CA. for breakfast. I think Tim derives some pleasure from exposing his motley class to unsuspecting small town cafes. Although Weed's town motto seems to be "High in Weed California," its name is derived from its founder Albert Weed.
Lou and I leave early and make haste to the Lava Beds where we reseve camp sites for everyone, which does not seem to be necessary considering no one camps there during the winter.
The terrain of Lava Beds National Monument was created by volcanic eruptions on the Medicine Lake shield volcano, which last erupted in 1065. It is a rugged landscape of volcanic rock punctuated by cinder cones, lava flows, lava tube caves, and pit craters.
The lava beds was also the scene for the Modoc War (1872-1873), the most expensive Indian war ever fought, which is amazing considering that only 53 Modocs participated in it. The war resulted from the usual escalation of disagreements and animosities between white settlers and the indigenous indians of the area. The success of the indians in this war was largely due to their ability to utilize the tortuous lava terrain of the region to their advantage. The tribe was led by Keintepoos, also known as Captain Jack. Internal squabbling and dwindling water resources led to the Modoc's eventual defeat. Captain Jack was executed, which was not suprising since he killed a Calvary General during a conference for peace. The rest of the Modocs were banished to a small resevation in the northeastern part of Oklahoma, where they lived in total obscurity. A small cemetery still exists three miles outside of Seneca, MO where the last survivors of the Modoc War are buried. I find this of particular interest since I have spent many years of my life near this area and never new of the existence of the Modocs nor their history.
Our campground overlooks the lava beds which is a conglomeration of juniper trees, sage, and sharp jagged lava rocks. It is wild desolate country with a desert climate. Alone, I walk out a few hundred yards into the open space. Desparate to be clean, I strip off my upper clothes and use the snow to bathe myself. The cool wind against my bare skin is exhilerating. Sufficiently cleansed, I put my clothes back on and begin to explore the area, not looking for anything in particular, but finding an abundance of evidence of life in the form of footprints in the snow. I also discover several caves, that are hidden quite well from a distance, but reveal themselves quite suddenly when one is about to fall into them. I mark their position in relation to the campground and some paritcularly large juniper trees, such that I can find them again.
During the late evening, a group of us walk towards the south to where some lava tube caves are located. The lava tubes are a vast network of caves that have been formed by flowing lava during the time that the Medicine Lake volcano was still active. With our lights in hand or on our heads, we commence exploring these wonderful burroughs. I am surprised at how unregulated these caves are and we all take advantage of the freedom by exploring every nook and cranny of those dark tunnels. The teenagers, who have reaquainted me with the joy that can be found in doing stupid pointless things, take me through tiny holes and passages that often present only enough room to squirm through on one's stomach. Getting dirty and grimy, slamming my knees into rocks, smacking my head on stalactites, I am having a ball. The "adults" that are with us do not stifle our curiosity and encourage our exploratory efforts while sometimes joining in. This kicks ass. As we depart the last cave, several coyotes somewhere in the darkness greet us with high pitched yelping, reminding us of the wildnerness that we are in.
Day 9 -- Today we caravan to Klamath Basin National Wildlife Refuge. Klamath Basin was once dominated by 185,000 acres of shallow lakes and freshwater marshes that attracted peak water fowl populations of six million. Much of this land has been converted to farmland leaving less than 25% of the original wetlands remaining, a sad fact, but true of most of our natural resources. It still remains, though, a place of abundant wildlife, which is what drives us there. We spend some time investigating animal tracks and scat to learn about their behavioral patterns and diets. Lou uses a piece of a candy bar to lead us to believe he is tasting animal scat to discover true nature of the animal that left it.
The most memorable aspect of the wetlands, though, is the wildlife itself. Within a matter of an hour, at least ten bald eagles and numerous speciecs of hawk and water fowl reveal themselves to us. Coyotes run visibly across the frozen marshes. As we are driving along, I peer into my rear-view mirror and notice that several people are riding on top of the vehicle behind me. It feels as though we are in an episode of Wild Kingdom, chasing wild game across the Serengeti Plain.
The latter half of the day is spent at Captain Jack's Stronghold, the location of the the Modoc's last stand against the U.S. Calvary. Tim identifies this as a place of power, which I'm not really sure how to interpret. He encourages us to find a place that we are drawn to and to go there and sit in silence. I'm afraid my mind is not open enough to the kind of experience that Tim would like us to take away from this sacred area. I choose a place that his high enough to view the surrounding terrain and use quietude as an opportunity to think about my general attraction to the wilderness.
I always have found some profound feeling out here that is never very precise or easy to explain. There is no doubt that I am affected by the incredible beauty of wilderness landscapes, but there is something else that belies this obvious level of experience. The wilderness reminds me of my place in nature, which is not that of a visitor or observer, but as an active participant in it. It just so happens that the natural progression of things has afforded me the benefit, or curse, of occupying the highest rung in the evolutionary ladder, which I think has lead us to believe that we somehow transcend natural laws. But, just like all animals and plants, I am born, I live, and I die, and at the surface there seems to be no other point to existence. I am significant only in the respect that natural random occurences have provided the right context for life. And when I am gone, the universe will continue on, indifferent to my problems and achievements, and time will dilute and eventually remove all memory of me, as it has done with all animals on this earth. This is the most humbling of all experiences one can undergo, but I do not find despair in this realization, but inspiration and motivation to find purpose in this life and not in an afterlife, which our limitations of perception can never prove to be real. With the understanding that this is the only time I have, I can find meaning and purpose in this life, and make it count for something.
In the evening, around the campfire, the group recounts their experiences during the afternoon. I am intrigued by the strange spiritual experiences described by some, which tempts me to find rationale explanations for them. But I realize that this is really not the point, for the experiences they had, whatever the explanation might be for them, was real to the individuals that had them, and it is up to those individuals to determine the meaning those experiences have in their particular lives and if they hold some greater insight that transcend normal understanding.
Day 10 -- Today we hike to a place called Three Sisters, which are 3 hills that are two or three miles out in the lava beds. Along the way we spend some time spotting coyote, mountain lion, and small rodent tracks, but mostly we hike for the enjoyment, and not to learn. We eat lunch atop one hill of the Three Sisters and then continue on west towards Skull Cave. Skull Cave was named for the pile of human remains found trapped within it years and years ago. It is one of the largest caves I have ever been in and looks as if it were formed by a giant worm as big as a blimp.
That night I make my way out to the small caves I discovered on the day that I arrived, and set up my sleeping bag for one last night in the wilderness. It is a bit difficult to manuever into because of its low ceiling, but it makes a perfect natural shelter. I drift off to sleep wishing that tomorrow was not the end.
Day 11 -- I awake this morning to several coyotes yelping not more than 50 yards away. Their cries continue for a prolonged time and I wonder if they are upset at my presence. I could not have asked for a better memory with which to depart this vast wilderness.
We pack up all of the gear and head to Merrill, a tiny farming community on the southern edge of Oregon. Here we eat a hearty breakfast amongst bewildered farmers and say our goodbyes. I look at those that have struck me as having life changing experiences on this trip and I hope that they will not forget them after becoming reaclimated to modern society.
Joaquin and I pile into the Jeep and begin the long journey home. In Vacaville, we stop for dinner, and we are both ill prepared for dealing with the mayhem of traffic, congestion, mini-malls, and fast food. We are getting many suspicious and curious looks from pedestrians and drivers, but we don't care, for it is they that look strange and peculiar. How we long to turn around and go back.
-- Aaron Beverly
One Long Night, Aaron Beverly, The Scout Class 2002
July 3, 2002 -- I have ants in my pants. Literally. Ten minutes ago they were on my ankles, beginning their methodical climb, searching for whatever it is that ants search for. I can feel the tiny pricks of their legs against my cold flesh. I wish I could tell them halt their search, to give up, to go home. It's not in an ant's nature to give up I suppose. The only way they can know what is in the dark confines of my pants is to explore them. They are now uncomfortably high. Uncomfortable for me, not for them. A mosquito has come along to participate in my suffering. It is buzzing around my ear. It could just land quietly and take my blood, but it insists on betraying its presence, announcing that the game is on, giving me a chance to swat in wild futile gesticulations -- to be "bugged". I resist. It lands on my neck, unhindered, happy with my complicity. The needle enters, the blood is drawn, the tiny vampire flies away full as others come to feast.
I cannot move. I am stuck in a Manzanita bush, standing in the same stance that I was in several minutes ago when I stepped on a dry branch which sent out the crisp sound of alarm. The sentries of the secret camp are now on the prowl looking for me. They are close. This is good for I now know the camp is near. If I never heard them I may never be able to find them. I still haven't seen the tree marking the entrance of their camp. I keep looking for its silhouette against the starlit night. I am sure it is ahead though, and it must be since I am near the camp. The tree is a Douglas Fir. It is missing its lower branches and its upper ones grow in a tapered fashion that gives it the appearance of a pole with a large ball on top.
To say I cannot move is not quite accurate. I cannot move without risking capture. Although I am trying to blend with this bush, most of the blending action is being accomplished by the darkness of the moonless night. Only movement and noise can give me away. If I am discovered, I am sent back to my camp, something I want desperately to avoid. A walk back to camp means a long unpleasant journey in the darkness. And more importantly, I've been approaching the enemy scout camp for four hours and have no desire to start over again.
Someone is now walking directly towards me. I cannot see them, I only hear them. My back is turned to their approach. His footsteps get closer and closer, breaking twigs and leaves and whatever forest debris lie under his feet. He is now not more than five feet away and then passes me and continues into the darkness. I wait another ten minutes and the forest returns to its natural undisturbed state, the ripple dissipates. I continue. Through the manzanita, I discover what looks like animal shelters. I wonder if they are occupied. I hope that they aren't. As I pass, nothing emerges. I move like a climber, placing each digit individually, quietly placed upon rocks on the ground. Rocks are silent. For another hour I proceed on all fours, patiently. When there are not rocks available, I must slow down, allowing my hands and feet to find silent placement, trying to distribute my weight so as not to crackle the leaves and twigs under its burden. Absolutely no sound can be made.
Finally I see the silhouette of the tree marking the camp entrance. I am very close. All is quiet. Now it is time to really slow down. I cannot make a sound or it is all over. I am now on my stomach, slithering, inching my way closer to the entrance. I am fully exposed, with no chaparral to give me cover. But who will look for me on the ground? Scouts are leaving and entering the camp. They are practically stepping on me, but they don't see me. How wonderful it is to be invisible. Someone walks to my right and urinates. Another hour passes and I progress about 30 feet. There are three flags in this camp, two on its perimeter and one in its center. I decide to go for the hardest one as it is the only one I can find for sure. Perhaps they won't expect that. From the sounds of the sentries, the perimeter flags are heavily guarded. I slither over a log and the flag is in sight. I sense there is someone watching it, but I cannot see them. If I can't see them, then they can't see me. If they are not looking for me, if they have not heard my approach, then I have a chance of making it to the flag. I creep a little further and then hear someone getting up and approaching me. The jig is up. Whoever it is, I cannot tell, walks directly to me and accidentally steps on my head. I am found.
I look at my watch. It is 3:45 a.m. It's taken me seven hours to make it this close. I now have to find my way back to my camp and start over. That is easier said than done. Think about finding your way around your apartment or house when there are no lights on. That's difficult and you are in a place of familiarity. Now do the same thing in unfamiliar woods over a distance of about a mile. From this camp's entrance to the south, is a backpacking trail somewhere. That should lead me most of the way back to my camp. I search for this trail for about fifteen minutes, knowing its direction, but now doubting that I'm going the right direction. No it has to be this way. I've just got to make it past this convoluted manzanita grove. Now I seem to be in a creek bed, or a wash of some sort. Please let the trail be this way. I am almost betrayed by my lack of confidence, but finally I find myself standing on the trail. I can't be sure, because I can't really see it, but I can feel it. Yes this has to be it. I begin walking along it, trying to see it with my eyes, but not quite being able to make it out. It's weird. I can see, but yet I can't tell what anything is. The world around me is too dim to visibly discern anything. Things in the periphery of my vision seem to change shape. Many times I walk off the trail, and other times I think I walk off the trail but don't. I backtrack several times before becoming convinced that I'm still on the trail. This is insane. I know the trail curves at some point, but only until I've walked off it again into some crunchy pine cones, do I actually find the curve. I'm getting the hang of this, my confidence is improving. I know for certain of where I am now. It is so quiet.
Something is lumbering straight for me off to my right. Whatever it is, its got four legs. Its either a black bear, a deer, or two humans walking close together. "Who's there?" I cry out. No answer, but a pause. Is that a bear? It continues around me and up the trail. I think those were humans. Yeah, that had to be human. I am now getting close to my camp. Finding the entrance to this is going to be difficult. In daylight, I made sure I could recognize the route to my camp. Unfortunately, there is no daylight. I'm pretty sure that this downed tree is the tree that I made a mental note of earlier today. That is a downed tree, right? I crunch on through the woods, using the direction of the fallen tree to direct me toward the entrance of our secret camp. Our camp is nestled in the boulders of a rocky precipice bordering the Eel river. It is hard to find, hard to get to, and downright dangerous to enter at night, the latter having not been considered when choosing this place as our clandestine home. After descending a rather steep slope, and nearing the edge of the cliff, I pause and squint and think really hard. There is only one route in from the top that I know of. All other routes lead off the cliff. I stand for a few minutes debating whether or not to proceed. Someone comes up from behind me. Its Joaquin. He verifies that this is the right place. We walk into our camp. All that poison oak around our entrance, that I avoided in daylight, is brushing all over me. Its now 4:30 a.m. I'm heading back for one more attempt. The end of the night's game is at 5:30 a.m. I don't know what I'm learning in this class, but this is the coolest damn thing I've ever done. Capture the flag in the pitch black of night in the wilderness. I am a kid again.