I woke up when a seemingly disembodied hand reached into my tarp
and dropped in a note. It was a poem instructing me to pack, and
after having been alone for 36 hours, to come back to base camp.
I folded my sleeping bag and took down the tarp I had wrestled with
to get up the night before. I put on the pair of shorts I had worn
for the past three days and my new favorite shoes, my Tevas, which
would return my affection by leaving a ridiculous square tan on
each foot.
It’s still there, I show it off now as proof of my hardcore-ness.
“Want to see my Teva-tan?” I like the way it sounds.
I like that I can look at my feet and be reminded that the month
of July actually did happen. My tan lines are the closest to a permanent
physical reminder I have. I’m scared of them fading.
I walked awkwardly with my overstuffed waterproof “dry bag”
as I followed the trail back to the shore. I landed on top of it
when I dropped it to the ground by the paddlecats. I didn’t
say anything; you weren’t allowed to talk until everyone had
returned. I sat on the hard desert floor and exchanged expectant
smiles with James, Cal and Keenan. Trung and Jim sat together at
the head of the half-formed circle. One of them had slipped the
note to me this morning, one of them had filled up my Nalgene when
I left it out, and one of them stealthily walked by me in my solo
home to make sure I hadn’t turned over my helmet to signal
that I needed something.
I hate leaving people and I hate leaving places that have meant
something to me. I don’t like thinking about how great experiences
were or how much fun and amazing the people were because it makes
me miss them more instead of being glad for having had them at all.
I have a difficult time letting go. I think about the past much
longer than I should. The last night, Cal implored us. “Don’t
ever forget guys, don’t ever forget.” I won’t
ever forget, but I’m always going to be sad when I remember.
I get attached to people.
Finally all of us were there, James, Cal, Keenan, Handsome Jake,
Ian, Phuong, Carou, and Carla. Trung and Jim welcomed us back, and
to the delight of nine kids who had eaten nothing but a small bag
of peanuts and a small bag of raisins in the last 36 hours, presented
us with oatmeal and maple syrup for breakfast. There was so much
we couldn’t finish it. I was a “cleaner” that
day and I felt guilty about throwing it away, so I sat down with
the whole pot and a serving spoon bigger than my mouth and ate more.
We talked to each other about our solos. Who had been visited by
fire ants in the middle of the night, who had eaten all his food
and who had slept late? How much had we written in our journals,
in our letters to our future selves?
I was the only one crying at the airport when we are leaving. We
got there at 11 and the earliest flight anyone had was at two. First,
All 19 of us had stormed the food court and eaten enough ice cream
and french fries to compensate for the two weeks we hadn’t,
and then some. Slowly, friends are beginning to leave, mostly in
groups of two or three. I say goodbye to each of them. It is unbearable
having to do it over and over again. Cal leaves alone. His mom comes
and picks him up at the airport. James and Handsome Jake leave together,
and Ian and Keenan leave together. Those are the hardest goodbyes.
I cry as I stand watching until I can’t see them anymore.
I call my mom to tell her I’m alone, I’ll be in the
airport until my 10 pm flight. It was an amazing trip I tell her
crying, I loved everyone.
It was time to go. We would share our letters to the group later.
Ian, as usual, led the group in rigging the paddlecats while I put
sunscreen on my feet. I paddled with Cal in the morning and we discussed
the future of time travel and of discovering far away galaxies and
the many stories of his dog Cooper at home in Portland. A few miles
down the river we bumped into the other half of our group that we
left five days ago after a week together climbing Smith Rock. Ian
and Dave were, of course, the most excited to see each other. They
immediately commenced yelling “NEHE!”, Dave’s
multipurpose replacement word, at each other across the river. Their
solos had been good too. We missed each other. We watched them slowly
loading their paddlecats and realized Mike and Neil weren’t
there. Ten teenagers had been left on the side of the Deschutes
River to find their own way to the next camp.
We had all gotten attached.
We eventually returned our focus to our own group and Jim showed
us the 40-foot cliff we were about to jump off of. “You have
to climb up to it,” he said. “So you can’t decide
not to jump once you get to the ledge. If you go up, you have to
jump down.” The never daunted Keenan had already jumped twice
before I decided to climb up. All the boys, even Ian who was scared
of heights, had gone. Carla laughed at me when at the very edge
I stepped back and said "Hold on." I needed to think about
my life for a second. I did. Then I jumped off; I was in the air
for much longer than I expected to be. I dropped into the river
and came up screaming like crazy. Jim was thrilled. At that moment
I agreed wholeheartedly with Mark Twain; “I'm glad I did it,
partly because it was worth it, but mostly because I shall never
have to do it again."
I would do it again in a second.
I went to see Ian three weeks after I get home. I visited him in
his home outside of Albany. In his backyard in the early hours of
the morning Ian asks me if I wish I could go back. I hate that even
if we see everyone again and never lose touch, it will never be
Outward Bound again. I'll never get to see everyone, dirty, smelly,
injured, hairy, not caring and happy, ever again. Sleeping outside
and getting into fights and threatening to kill each other and waking
up with our best friends right next to us. “All the time,”
I answer.
A few minutes later Jim and Neil were gone. This time we were the
teenagers who had been left to navigate 11 miles downstream, scout
two class 3 rapids, and get through the day on our own. Keenan was
the leader for the day I got in a paddlecat with her. One of her
biggest decisions was deciding when to stop for lunch. We ate jars
of peanut butter and cream cheese and jelly on a bagel. We survived
the 11 miles and two class three rapids. We made good time, even
with the frustration of the wind against us the entire way.
I love that a strong headwind was one of our greatest challenges.
I miss being somewhere where something of relatively little significance,
like the wind, is greatly important. I want the direction of the
wind always to be my biggest problem.
It was our last night on the river. Carou, Phuong and Carla cooked
dinner. James, Handsome Jake, Ian, Keenan, Cal, and myself attacked
the blackberry bushes we had discovered. I cut up my leg trying
to get to the berries farther away. Keenan and I left to go to the
bathroom up and below the other side of a hill. On our way there
we found another huge stretch of blackberry bushes and forgot we
needed to go to the bathroom. These blackberries were big, ripe,
easier to pick and there were many more bushes. We decided not to
tell the boys and when we got back to camp we hid from them while
we took a picture of our blue tongues.
I wish I had taken more pictures - an infinite amount. I would
paste them all over my walls and carry some with me in my bag so
I could always look at me, Keenan, James, Cal and Ian and Handsome
Jake. I want lasting reminders. I have new long, diagonal, scars
from where I cut my legs digging for blackberries. I like them.
For now, I still have my Teva-tan.
