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In a Cabin
The troop arrived at the cabin late on Saturday morning, and after the 12 Scouts and 4 adults had spread out in the available space, we proceeded to explore this fine camping woods located on top of a mountain, half a mile and a hundred years away from Exit 18 near Clearfield on Interstate 80. There was about a foot of snow on the ground, covered with a thick crust that held your weight most of the time in most spots, but didn't do so reliably. This same crust made for great otter slides on the creek banks, as the Scouts quickly discovered. They also discovered that the stream at the bottom of the slides was very cold and wet if they didn't grab hold of a tree at the bottom of their run. Otter, the Scout who has managed to fall in the water on every campout we have ever had, didn't let us down this time either. Within 15 minutes of our arrival he had managed to fall in, and spent the earlier hours of the afternoon drying out and warming up in the cabin. Soon after our arrival, the cooks had begun work on a stew which was part Dinty Moore and part frozen chicken soup. When the crowd returned from their initial explorations, the hot lunch was ready and much appreciated by everyone, though some said that it needed more marshmallows! After lunch, there was a wide-area snowball battle that ended in the destruction of the Wolf Patrol's base of operations, a sorry old lean-to that they had found back in the woods. This caused some flaring of tempers and many sad stories about the untrustworthiness of the other side. Half an hour later, the combatants had cooled off somewhat and were busy practicing their lashing skills on a new and much improved version of the original lean-to. I was impressed by the determination of more than one Scout as they worked with bare hands in the cold to complete the necessary lashings before it got too dark to see. You should have been there to see Straight Arrow try again and again to tie a clove hitch. Such determination! After a half-dozen tries, he finally started to get the idea. He won't soon forget where he learned how to tie that particular knot. Then it was time to retreat to the crowded, toasty-warm cabin where the Scouts warmed fingers and toes, talked of the day's adventures, and shouted, "Close the door" whenever someone headed out to the latrine. The cooks with their propane stoves in the kitchen eventually produced greasy, greasy burgers containing nearly spherical patties that were black on the outside and suspiciously pink at the very center. These were much in demand, although, oddly, some of the cooks lost their appetites during the preparation process and contented themselves with Slim Jims, cookies and Squirt. After dinner, and a game of Jail Break played in the snowy forest with flashlights, we had a "quiet" hour and then a campfire of sorts. We sang some of the old favorites like Bad Moon Rising and Ghost Chickens in the Sky, and then I told of my recent trip to the Mardi Gras in New Orleans. To make it more interesting, I got up on a chair and threw beads and coins to the Scouts as if I were a parade float. The Scouts mobbed up below me yelling, "Hey Mister, throw me something!" just like a real Mardi Gras parade. By midnight, we were all out of gas, and not even the frequent sightings of mice and flying squirrels could deter any of us from turning in. Soon every bed, couch and reclining chair in that cabin held its slumbering occupant, and, as the fires died down and the night stretched on, the only sounds to be heard were the scurry of small mammalian feet, the occasion snore, and the periodic journeys out to the lonely, smelly outhouse located 100 feet away from the cabin.
Come morning, I was disappointed to see, by the yellow patches on
the snow, that not every searcher after relief had managed to find
the outhouse in the dark. The four offending Scouts and one adult
were quickly identified and were then organized into a Pee Patrol.
Sent forth with shovels, they roamed the area until all evidence of
their bad manners had been erased from the landscape. While this
After one more snowball battle, we got into our vans, cars and trucks and drove home to Clarion. We left behind miles of footprints in the snow, and enough vagrant crumbs to feed the cabin's wildlife for the rest of the winter. We took away memories. |
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We
found a diary in the cabin that dated back to the 1930's, telling
tales of missed bucks, foul weather and spring cleanups. The old
place had seen lots of action over the years, and was most
definitely a guy kind of a place. Cast off wood and coal stoves, and
a squirrel cage fan hung from the ceiling, provided unlovely but
effective heating. The windows had no curtains, and most of the
furniture had tears and tatters. The upstairs had ten plastic
covered bunks, each with two mattresses retired from unknown
households all over a three county area. These smelled of age and
showed some signs of the occupancy of the flying squirrels and mice
that make the cabin their year round home. Still, these beds would
be soft and welcome after a day spent outdoors in the woods of S. B.
Elliot State Park.
went
on, the rest of us were packing, sweeping and looking for ways to
leave the cabin better than we had found it.