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Show Roughing it (with apologies to Mark Twain) i .1 x i - I Carla Hunt (a.k.a. Sarge) explains the flora and the fauna to the Happy Little Campers. water was boiling and the aroma of french toast was wafting into the camper. It was6:30a.m. At this very early hour my eyes had a hard time focusing but I made out the shapes of several of our campers. They had packed in curling irons and pounds of makeup. make-up. And they were prettying themselves before breakfast. After breakfast we divided into two groups (everyone in my group, of course, wished he or she were with the other group) and we loaded the buses for the first of several hikes. We packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fruit for lunch. I tucked a contraband bag of barbecued chips into my day pack along with an apple and a pack of gum. What happened out on the trail is hard to recreate here on paper. But students who didn't normally associate with other students found themselves exploring ruins or sharing answers on the nature hike. Some of us parents groaned every bit as much as some of the kids about going on yet another three: mile hike in the rain. We shared forbidden gum (it's true, Mrs. Hunt)r and had great talks about life before cable television. Out on the trail I heard one kid complain about hiking. But another kid added, "Yeah, but it's better than algebra." Several kids agreed. "Or history. Or English." During our picnic Mr. Klaismith pointed out a turkey vulture flying overhead. "Oh," one observant camper remarked, "You mean that mean-looking mean-looking dude with the ugly red face and the mohawk haircut? ' ' Precisely. The afternoon involved the obligatory hike in the drizzle that became a cloudburst. Everyone complained bitterly but returned to the bus laughing and making fun of one another in their wet shorts, T-shirts T-shirts and tennis shoes. All the youngsters had been told to bring along two pairs of shoes for just such an occasion. Most had. But not all the teachers had, and the happy little campers delighted in teasing the man who walked around camp that afternoon in squishy jtennies. (He was the same camper the women on the trip secretly voted "Best Buns.") That night the little campers tested us by trying to sneak from tent to tent. But, as Mr. Klaismith pointed out, once you shone a flashlight on them they froze like deer in mid-flight. The next day was much of the ' same: hiking and cooking and giggling. Since the big eighth grade dance was that week we got hourly updates on who had a date and who by TERI GOMES Record contributing writer Author's note: Admittedly, my idea of roughing it means choosing a hotel which doesn't offer room service after 11 p.m. My husband affectionately (I think) calls me the great motel cowboy. J don't mind riding the range by day so long as when night falls there are clean sheets, a hot shower and a roof against that wide open sky. So why, for the second time in three years, did I accompany 80 middle school students out into the wilderness to be a chaperone for the outdoor education program? I'm not a very bright person, that's why. Tuesday, I, like dozens of eager eighth grade students from the Treasure Mountain Middle School, had borrowed the needed camping gear, loaded the car and was ready for the all day drive to this year's destination, Mesa Verde, Colorado. The first planned stop was in Price for a picnic in the park. However, one bus was forced to make several unscheduled stops thanks to the student who consumed two liters of Coke. Once both buses had arrived at Price (long after those of us in cars did), the youngsters leapt out of the bus like a group of choreographed footloose flashdancers. All that bottled-up energy spilled out on the lawn in cartwheels and tag and just a lot of running. Those who had anything left even ate lunch there. Back on the buses quite a ways out of Price one of the darling little campers discovered she had thrown her retainer away in her lunch bag at the park. Danielle Bean was the lucky winner of the drive-the-kid-back-to-the-park prize. Chaperones, I discovered are called upon to perform all kinds of really important duties. I was content to take in the scenery. I discovered a tavern on the highway several miles out of Price called the Stumble Inn. Even though it looked like the most natural wonder I had seen yet, I didn't pull off. After all, the next stop was to be somewhere around the Moab exit, and I felt a need to meet the buses there. 1 i;'':, -i - The buses stopped there all right, but Principal Brian Schiller had the kids just use the facilities and then reload the bus. I said I would drive ahead to Moab to get gas. Herein lies the first of several confessions: I went to one of those mini-marts and got popcorn, a Coke, beef jerky and a pepperoni stick. It had been at least an hour and a half since I had last eaten. I waited at the gas station until the bus rolled by, then followed, munching in the privacy of my own car. i XfY "i i if A? 1 -J ' r i p ' r ' ""' " ' il . 1 ' r 0 I V- f " ! " ff f , I i . 4 , ; 'v ' -: ' ( i- ' v -T . '. " " " ' ,' ',., 1 ''" - i r . y ' '"-I! ' " ' ,. - - ' ' , . I . . .. 4 ' - ", i t y '.t:."-ri'.. photos by Terl Gomes Students explore these primitive back to nature condos built by the Anasa zi Indians. (Left) The Park Ranger casts a protective eye as these curious campers explore the oldest Indian ruins in America. man t. On the final night there was a talent show at the outdoor amphitheatre. Highlights included break dancers without music doing their thing on the dirt stage, Mr. Ancell singing the Chuck Berry classic, "My Ding A Ling," and Mr. Klaismith doing his lizard walk. Lowlights were Dr. Schillers shaggy dog stories. In an unfortunate incident one camper is sent back along the road to retrieve a jacket he has thrown out of the bus window. On his way back to the amphitheatre a young man with a knife threatens him and he yells for help. A nearby camper ' scares the assailant away. Even in a national park, one is not safe against the scariest of animals man. In the four years of outdoor education this is the most drastic thing that has happened to a camper. Last year a hiker broke a bone in her foot on a trip to Arches. That remains the only serious injury. On this trip students learned about the Anasazi Indians, pedographs, flora and fauna. They learned the cool kids can get just as frightened on a nighttime hike as the rest of us. Much of what they have learned is not directly measurable. As for me, I was reminded how painful being a teenager can be. The great desire to be included, to be one of the guys, that forces normally good kids to act bizarre. I saw, too, some genuine caring and sharing take place and some new friendships form. For children who live with one or the other of their single parents, I saw some learning going on with role model men and women who took time out of their own busy schedules to spend four days getting closer not only to their own child but to their child's peers. I still prefer clean sheets, and hot showers and room service. (Yes, it's true, late one afternoon four of us adults sneaked over to the snack bar and had hotfudgesundaes and nachos and Cokes.) But even I, hbn-' camper extraordinaire, enjoyed the time outdoors with no phones or tall buildings or deadlines. I saw birds and deer and early desert flowers and I think I even saw a few youngsters blossoming. Several hours and one more bag of fast food popcorn later we arrived at Mesa Verde. Teachers Carla Hunt and Sue Worley had arrived the day before to make everything ready for our group experience in the wilderness. They did not anticipate the end of May would be such a busy season for organized groups. We drove into the campsite to the blare of loud rock music provided by the students of the alternative school in Salt Lake who, as coincidence would have it, were sharing our camping area. Up on the hill, on either side of the bathrooms, were camped groups from Aspen and Vail. Ah, the great outdoors. My group of happy little campers included a few of the girls I met three years ago on the wet adventure in Dinosaurland. Shannon and Wendy were familiar faces. But I had to learn to separate Cresta from Krista and Kristi. Neither of whom was Debbie or Melissa. Kami, I learned early on, was the redhead with the long legs who could rival Christie Brinkley-Joel. It would figure she is one of the two girls who will be a cheerleader at the high school next year. My girls (sounds rather like Miss Brodie and am still years away from my prime!) were quick to put up the tent. Next came meal preparation. Hot dogs cooked over Coleman stoves. Hard to believe I was actually hungry but I ate my dog and chips with the girls and then we readied ourselves for a nightime hike. Nightime and late-afternoon hikes, I discovered, are all part of the Dr. Schiller run-them-til-they-drop theory of camping with 80 fourteen-year-olds. He does not take into account the chaperones may also drop after such hikes. After walking to the end of the earth, we returned to tuck our dar-" ling little campers into their tents. Four of us then retired to Mary Moore's expando-camper where we talked about the darlings for a while before falling into a not-tanleep sleep. Early, very early, the next morning Sarge (a.k.a. Carla Hunt, the gym teacher) was up and bustling around the campsite. The |