I first picked up a paddle and sat in a canoe at Catholic Youth Camp (CYC). I was not a very outdoorsy person at that point in my life; in fact, my mom was shocked when I applied there and even more so when I was hired. Although I wasn't very nature-oriented, I was definitely kid-friendly and was very active in my church. CYC seemed like the perfect way to spend a summer--especially considering I was unable to find a job the previous summer. I had some skills that I brought to the table, particularly in the areas of music, drama, and arts and crafts; however, I had no experience in traditional outdoor activities like archery, fire building, and wilderness survival. Canoeing was one of many adventures I enjoyed that summer. I never really mastered hitting the bullseye, but I became pretty proficient at the straight stroke in a canoe.
In my second summer at CYC, I took on the role of leadership specialist. My main assignment was to work with the Counselors in Leadership Training (CILTs), but one week when there were no CILTs I got to co-lead an adventure trip for some of the older teenage campers. My co-leader was Brenda Davis. She was beautiful and I was a little bit in love with her. Brenda and I were already close friends, and I was looking forward to spending a lot of time in a boat with her. I was also nervous enough that I could have thrown up at any given moment. We were going to be on the Mississippi River for several days, canoeing to a number of pre-determined stopping points. Brenda and I spoke excitedly about our upcoming trip.
Finally, the week of the adventure trip arrived. Our campers got off the bus, and we spent some time getting to know them. We planned out menus; we practiced canoeing techniques. We taught them how to set up tents, to build fires, and to use nature in lieu of a restroom. We spoke excitedly of how beautiful the river would be, how exciting it would be to make this journey. All the while, we knew that weather conditions might inhibit our trip. The river was flooded due to earlier rains; we deluded ourselves into believing it would be traversable.
It wasn't.
The camp directors made the executive decision that we were not to actually canoe down the river, as the higher-than-usual water level made it considerably more dangerous for our teenage charges. As a result, we and our campers were packed into a van and driven to one of the campsites. We took the canoes, too, just in case the water dropped significantly. We spent three days at that first site before the water dropped. It was fun, but it definitely lacked the challenge we were seeking. The campers seemed happy enough, though. When the water leveled out, we were able to get on the river, but it was still too dangerous to travel far. We continued camping at the same site, canoeing for a few hours the next couple days. As for Brenda and me, we had fun, but I sorely missed having the opportunity to prove my virility through powering down the river from site to site. Nothing more than friendship ever developed between us, and my true feelings remained silent, drowned out by the quiet roar of rushing water.
It's not often that I have been in a canoe since then, as the opportunity does not prevent itself that frequently. Nonetheless, I still thrill in getting in a kayak and paddling upstream on the Catawba, or taking the lead in a raft at the Whitewater Center. I no longer have anything to prove when I get in a boat, but the ache in my muscles is a small reminder of that week.
In my second summer at CYC, I took on the role of leadership specialist. My main assignment was to work with the Counselors in Leadership Training (CILTs), but one week when there were no CILTs I got to co-lead an adventure trip for some of the older teenage campers. My co-leader was Brenda Davis. She was beautiful and I was a little bit in love with her. Brenda and I were already close friends, and I was looking forward to spending a lot of time in a boat with her. I was also nervous enough that I could have thrown up at any given moment. We were going to be on the Mississippi River for several days, canoeing to a number of pre-determined stopping points. Brenda and I spoke excitedly about our upcoming trip.
Finally, the week of the adventure trip arrived. Our campers got off the bus, and we spent some time getting to know them. We planned out menus; we practiced canoeing techniques. We taught them how to set up tents, to build fires, and to use nature in lieu of a restroom. We spoke excitedly of how beautiful the river would be, how exciting it would be to make this journey. All the while, we knew that weather conditions might inhibit our trip. The river was flooded due to earlier rains; we deluded ourselves into believing it would be traversable.
It wasn't.
The camp directors made the executive decision that we were not to actually canoe down the river, as the higher-than-usual water level made it considerably more dangerous for our teenage charges. As a result, we and our campers were packed into a van and driven to one of the campsites. We took the canoes, too, just in case the water dropped significantly. We spent three days at that first site before the water dropped. It was fun, but it definitely lacked the challenge we were seeking. The campers seemed happy enough, though. When the water leveled out, we were able to get on the river, but it was still too dangerous to travel far. We continued camping at the same site, canoeing for a few hours the next couple days. As for Brenda and me, we had fun, but I sorely missed having the opportunity to prove my virility through powering down the river from site to site. Nothing more than friendship ever developed between us, and my true feelings remained silent, drowned out by the quiet roar of rushing water.
It's not often that I have been in a canoe since then, as the opportunity does not prevent itself that frequently. Nonetheless, I still thrill in getting in a kayak and paddling upstream on the Catawba, or taking the lead in a raft at the Whitewater Center. I no longer have anything to prove when I get in a boat, but the ache in my muscles is a small reminder of that week.
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