earned forty-seven merit badges. His sash was heavily decorated and the envy of every kid in the troop. But the Major gently challenged him to do more.
Theo had already decided that in addition to being either a lawyer or a judge, he would definitely be a scoutmaster. He knew the job paid nothing, but if the Major could do it and do it so well, then he could certainly try.
The bus bounced along a gravel road and worked its way slowly up and down hills covered in thick trees and undergrowth. As they retreated from civilization, it usually took thirty minutes from the first sighting of the lake to their arrival at Enid Point. The gravel turned into dirt, and Theo could not help but remember a camping adventure here when heavy rains washed out the road and the troop was stranded for an extra day. That was the same trip when most of the pup tents began sliding downhill in the mud, and the boys had to scurry to the bus before they nearly froze. At the time it was a nightmare, but now the story seemed funny and was retold often.
Luckily, Enid Point was deserted; there were no other campers. The troop had reserved a large section, but other campers usually complicated matters. The Major huddled with the five patrol leaders and laid out the campsite. The tents and supplies were quickly unloaded as the thirty-eight Scouts hustled about. It would be dark in an hour, and as usual the patrol leaders wanted the tents up and organized by dark with dinner on the grill. Around a central fireplace, the five patrols laid out their tents in neat rows, like spokes on a wheel. Each two-man pup tent was identical to the others and pitched exactly four feet away from the next. The Major believed in strict organization and expected the campsite to be as perfect as possible.
Theo and the other leaders went through their duty rosters and assigned tasks. Friday’s dinner was always a quick one, and by dark the boys were bunched around the campfire, eating hot dogs and marshmallows roasted over open flames. Mr. Bennett, of the Old Goats Patrol, smoked a pipe, and the fragrant smell wafted over the campsite. Mr. Hogan, Al’s father, began telling ghost stories and proved quite talented. By the third one—a detailed account of a headless ax murderer last seen somewhere around Lake Marlo—the Scouts were huddling even closer together. It was a troop ritual that the fathers were expected to handle the tall tales that naturally came with campfires, and, of course, the goal was to terrify the boys as much as possible.
A favorite nighttime hike was along a rocky path that bordered the shore of the lake. After dinner and ghost stories, flashlights were unpacked and the Major led the troop for a long, casual walk. They stopped on a sandy point with waves lapping the shore and looked above. There was a half moon, and because of clouds, almost no stars. The Major said they would try again on Saturday night. At ten, they were back in camp and preparing for the night.
Sleep was always difficult the first night. There was too much excitement at being in the woods, away from home, tucked into a warm sleeping bag in a small tent, with the sounds of crickets chirping and frogs croaking and deer snorting. Theo and Woody talked and listened to the murmurings from the other tents. They could hear the men, the Old Goats, talking and laughing by the campfire. Every half hour or so, the Major would patrol the site and tell the boys to quiet down and get some sleep. Eventually they did.
----
Theo awoke early and eased out of his sleeping bag. He put on his hiking boots and managed to crawl out of the pup tent without waking Woody, who appeared to be dead to the world. The sun was barely up, the air was crisp and cool, and the men were drinking coffee over a roaring fire in the center of the campsite. The Major had a pot of hot cocoa on a grill, and he poured Theo a cup. Why did it always taste so much better outdoors? Other Scouts staggered over, all wiping sleep
Theo had already decided that in addition to being either a lawyer or a judge, he would definitely be a scoutmaster. He knew the job paid nothing, but if the Major could do it and do it so well, then he could certainly try.
The bus bounced along a gravel road and worked its way slowly up and down hills covered in thick trees and undergrowth. As they retreated from civilization, it usually took thirty minutes from the first sighting of the lake to their arrival at Enid Point. The gravel turned into dirt, and Theo could not help but remember a camping adventure here when heavy rains washed out the road and the troop was stranded for an extra day. That was the same trip when most of the pup tents began sliding downhill in the mud, and the boys had to scurry to the bus before they nearly froze. At the time it was a nightmare, but now the story seemed funny and was retold often.
Luckily, Enid Point was deserted; there were no other campers. The troop had reserved a large section, but other campers usually complicated matters. The Major huddled with the five patrol leaders and laid out the campsite. The tents and supplies were quickly unloaded as the thirty-eight Scouts hustled about. It would be dark in an hour, and as usual the patrol leaders wanted the tents up and organized by dark with dinner on the grill. Around a central fireplace, the five patrols laid out their tents in neat rows, like spokes on a wheel. Each two-man pup tent was identical to the others and pitched exactly four feet away from the next. The Major believed in strict organization and expected the campsite to be as perfect as possible.
Theo and the other leaders went through their duty rosters and assigned tasks. Friday’s dinner was always a quick one, and by dark the boys were bunched around the campfire, eating hot dogs and marshmallows roasted over open flames. Mr. Bennett, of the Old Goats Patrol, smoked a pipe, and the fragrant smell wafted over the campsite. Mr. Hogan, Al’s father, began telling ghost stories and proved quite talented. By the third one—a detailed account of a headless ax murderer last seen somewhere around Lake Marlo—the Scouts were huddling even closer together. It was a troop ritual that the fathers were expected to handle the tall tales that naturally came with campfires, and, of course, the goal was to terrify the boys as much as possible.
A favorite nighttime hike was along a rocky path that bordered the shore of the lake. After dinner and ghost stories, flashlights were unpacked and the Major led the troop for a long, casual walk. They stopped on a sandy point with waves lapping the shore and looked above. There was a half moon, and because of clouds, almost no stars. The Major said they would try again on Saturday night. At ten, they were back in camp and preparing for the night.
Sleep was always difficult the first night. There was too much excitement at being in the woods, away from home, tucked into a warm sleeping bag in a small tent, with the sounds of crickets chirping and frogs croaking and deer snorting. Theo and Woody talked and listened to the murmurings from the other tents. They could hear the men, the Old Goats, talking and laughing by the campfire. Every half hour or so, the Major would patrol the site and tell the boys to quiet down and get some sleep. Eventually they did.
----
Theo awoke early and eased out of his sleeping bag. He put on his hiking boots and managed to crawl out of the pup tent without waking Woody, who appeared to be dead to the world. The sun was barely up, the air was crisp and cool, and the men were drinking coffee over a roaring fire in the center of the campsite. The Major had a pot of hot cocoa on a grill, and he poured Theo a cup. Why did it always taste so much better outdoors? Other Scouts staggered over, all wiping sleep
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