Flash/Boom
Posted on Jun 14th, 2007
by 
kcidybom
kcidybom
The shower was hot and the world good. After a sultry and muggy day of hiking steep trails, carrying heavy rocks from the hills to a primitive campsite, dodging a copperhead, rolling my ankle, and drinking gallons of water, I was ready for a little repair and headed to the staff wash-house as soon after evening meal as I could.
I walked into the building under clear skies just as dusk had gathered the momentum it would need to become night. I don't take long to shower. If my shower had a bill of services like a car wash I'd be guilty of never springing for anything but the lunch-time special; of the zoom through and you're on your way variety. No Executive Detailing or Underbody Wash or Rustproofing or, heaven forbid, The Works, kind of shower for me. I'm into basic in this arena.
So I guess I was a little surprised that things had changed so much by the time I was done. Clear evening skies and gentle air may have ushered me into the shower, but they didn't hang around for my exit. I was greeted instead by Stygian darkness, torrential rain, nearly continuous lightning, and crashing thunder. Under more pedestrian circumstances I would have been tempted to ride out the storm in the comfort of the staff building but I had been asked to relieve a counselor at the Highlander camp; a site I had only been to once, in the daytime, in the dry.
I stuffed everything into my backpack, got out my flashlight, donned my poncho, and headed into the night. Did I say it was a wild night? Forgive the oversight please. Actually, forgive the understatement too - it was a crazy-wild night.
The trail-head back to the Highlander camp begins only a few feet from the staff building and in a few seconds the lights and familiarity of the main campus were left behind. I had walked about a half of a mile, and although things didn't look as they had in daylight, I was confident in the direction I'd taken and the trail choices I'd made.
And then the flashlight went out.
I have such a silly trust in technology sometimes. I'd never even considered that the light might fail. After all, the batteries were new and the LED bulbs guaranteed for 100,000 hours. But the directions had never said "keep dry," and when I bought it I wasn't seasoned enough to look for one that boasted of being waterproof. Silly me.
My first thought was to head back down, toward the main campus, but I had maybe as much trail to walk as I had already done. I didn't see what good that would do. It was late enough that no one would be there anyway, no new flashlight, no way to contact anyone, so I waited for lightning to illuminate the woods, and pressed on. Flash/Boom! Walk five feet. Wait. Flash/Boom! Walk five more feet. Wait..... The process was taking forever, but I was making progress and was pretty sure I'd managed to stay on the correct trail. The hardest part was when the lightning flashes were more than a few seconds apart. One time several minutes elapsed between flashes and I worried that I'd never find the camp. I pictured tomorrow's headlines: "Wilderness School Boys Rescue Their Leader" or some such thing. Flash/Boom! Oh good, walk five more feet. Wait.....
Every time I stood waiting in the utter darkness, rain pelting me, wind whipped branches slapping at my head, I wondered at how soft life has become for many of us, how insulated from nature, how tame. Someone from only 100 years ago would have no doubt been entirely familiar with what I was experiencing, and would think it of no great account. In those instances of reflection I fell in love again, in love with that raw connection to the world around me, a connection that I admit had foundered. But now the relationship is a-rebuilding. And how!
Just so you know, I finally stumbled into camp half an hour later than I would have normally, soaked to the skin - the poncho trapped more moisture than it kept away from me - hair plastered to my head, and, oddly, very thirsty.
The boys were surprised enough that I'd walked through the storm, but amazed that I'd done it without a flashlight.
"Wow," one of them said, "That's cool." That made my day.
I walked into the building under clear skies just as dusk had gathered the momentum it would need to become night. I don't take long to shower. If my shower had a bill of services like a car wash I'd be guilty of never springing for anything but the lunch-time special; of the zoom through and you're on your way variety. No Executive Detailing or Underbody Wash or Rustproofing or, heaven forbid, The Works, kind of shower for me. I'm into basic in this arena.
So I guess I was a little surprised that things had changed so much by the time I was done. Clear evening skies and gentle air may have ushered me into the shower, but they didn't hang around for my exit. I was greeted instead by Stygian darkness, torrential rain, nearly continuous lightning, and crashing thunder. Under more pedestrian circumstances I would have been tempted to ride out the storm in the comfort of the staff building but I had been asked to relieve a counselor at the Highlander camp; a site I had only been to once, in the daytime, in the dry.
I stuffed everything into my backpack, got out my flashlight, donned my poncho, and headed into the night. Did I say it was a wild night? Forgive the oversight please. Actually, forgive the understatement too - it was a crazy-wild night.
The trail-head back to the Highlander camp begins only a few feet from the staff building and in a few seconds the lights and familiarity of the main campus were left behind. I had walked about a half of a mile, and although things didn't look as they had in daylight, I was confident in the direction I'd taken and the trail choices I'd made.
And then the flashlight went out.
I have such a silly trust in technology sometimes. I'd never even considered that the light might fail. After all, the batteries were new and the LED bulbs guaranteed for 100,000 hours. But the directions had never said "keep dry," and when I bought it I wasn't seasoned enough to look for one that boasted of being waterproof. Silly me.
My first thought was to head back down, toward the main campus, but I had maybe as much trail to walk as I had already done. I didn't see what good that would do. It was late enough that no one would be there anyway, no new flashlight, no way to contact anyone, so I waited for lightning to illuminate the woods, and pressed on. Flash/Boom! Walk five feet. Wait. Flash/Boom! Walk five more feet. Wait..... The process was taking forever, but I was making progress and was pretty sure I'd managed to stay on the correct trail. The hardest part was when the lightning flashes were more than a few seconds apart. One time several minutes elapsed between flashes and I worried that I'd never find the camp. I pictured tomorrow's headlines: "Wilderness School Boys Rescue Their Leader" or some such thing. Flash/Boom! Oh good, walk five more feet. Wait.....
Every time I stood waiting in the utter darkness, rain pelting me, wind whipped branches slapping at my head, I wondered at how soft life has become for many of us, how insulated from nature, how tame. Someone from only 100 years ago would have no doubt been entirely familiar with what I was experiencing, and would think it of no great account. In those instances of reflection I fell in love again, in love with that raw connection to the world around me, a connection that I admit had foundered. But now the relationship is a-rebuilding. And how!
Just so you know, I finally stumbled into camp half an hour later than I would have normally, soaked to the skin - the poncho trapped more moisture than it kept away from me - hair plastered to my head, and, oddly, very thirsty.
The boys were surprised enough that I'd walked through the storm, but amazed that I'd done it without a flashlight.
"Wow," one of them said, "That's cool." That made my day.
Access: Public
gaia
July 2008 
What a great story. I was there with you the whole way. You're right about the insulation we've got going I think. I've been in similar situations and had the same kind of thoughts about it, live the moment, feel the power, inside of me and outside of me, oh wait, it's all the same power! Thanks for keeping our boys safe! We need um.
bobJuan.