Two Princes

It just keeps getting better. We get there, and there are Sarah and Julie, laden with banana bread. What a good way to begin. We got a sideways picture of us and then tripped up the trail to see Colt, who was looking as Eddie Bauer as ever as he unloaded all four thousand of his bikes from his house, the car. Then Alex came, and we lovingly expressed our disgust at his lengthy locks. Which I ended up really liking after all was said and done. When PP rolled in, the party really began, because his voice was an octave lower and he got tall. -er. Same old kid, though...same "I-am-constantly-high" aura. Craig, Nicole, and Nate meandered over mid waiting-for-swim-tests. Yelling, running, throwing selves into Craig's arms; check. Next- believe it or not, we can all swim 6 laps and tread water...orange bracelets all around. After swim tests we buckled safely into the rogue car seat and flipped it back onto the grass pretty much until dinner time. I think there was spaghetti that night. Clap clap clap. No, I am mistaken, pizza. Soggy pizza. Undercooked pasta came later in the week; my mistake. At the traditional campfire, the rain came a-pouring after the rooster song so we skidded back to the dining hall for some serious Lion King. Everyone cried. And by that I mean Colt. Craig stuck a marshmallow on Nate's forehead, Nate basically lost his mind and tried to beat Craig into a bloody pulp...but failed miserably. Julie and I joined the festivities at the rec hall. Day two. Natey left for college--our little baby boy! It was with heavy hearts that we biked to Moss Lake for a little ride, Sarah sans an actual bicycle and instead with a heap of soldered metal, aluminum, iron, and so on. There is nothing like strutting into the dining hall in a very intimidating manner, everyone clad in eye-catching and attractive bike shorts. After E2D2-ing, we puttered about until the square dance. Overall greatness was widespread as we jammed to catchy and popular tunes such as "Solomon Levy" and "Cowboy Stomp". Then tennis courts until half past three in the morning, enjoying the ubiquitous stars with the boy from Boston on a rather "comfortable" "blanket" made of what seemed to be a very puffy and starchy tablecloth. Tuesday- recieved Posse Bracelets, and Rachel was allowed to call PP "PP". Very big deal. Then she and Craig zoomed off for home. Both are still alive, a fact that is not on the unsurprisng side. In by 2:30 that evening for a restful night of sleep. Wednesday, up at the crack of dawn to frolick gleefully through the woods, aka absolutely drag my semi-limp body, slumping and nearly unconscious, over a rugged four miles of dangerous, bear-populated terrain; running. Some waterskiing, or lack thereof, then off with a handsome stranger to climb slideoff mountain. One GPS, an ancient and dilapidated refridgerator, an extraneous stream crossing, Mothra in caterpillar form, 600 Anchorman quotes, unfortunately tutti frutti jellie bellies, and a stained and sagging matress later, Colt and I still hadn't reached our destination. Not to mention duct-taped bags, almost swimming accross a lake, a potential anoconda, local men's sons, chex mix and gatorade, sinking quickly to the sludgy depths of the marsh of Rondaxe Lake, and also many flesh wounds. Slideoff fucking mountain for you. Cat came back home that day. Rode some horses into raspberry bushes and they ran a lot for us. Clattered around making nuisances of ourselves in Old Forge-great fun. We went go-carting and car number 5 was SO FINE. Colt wore the Elvis sunglasses and hit on the driver. Then we lolloped off to take care of some unfinished business by the name of ski-ball and Big Bertha. Watched Red Eye at the movie theater and then Peter and I would only talk if first we pressed on our throats, as though an object such as a pen had punctured our voice boxes before being hastily removed. Jimmy walked me back to my cabin that night because I was scared. Nice kid. Thursday morning Ladie's ride! Sarah, Cat, Judy, and I took full advantage of the oppurtunity. We stopped at a grocery store and Momma Motz bought us some Shrek Fruit Snacks. We set off for a liesurly ride, forgetting the competitive beasts that dwell inside the four of us. We rocketed four miles down to a trail and blazed over an anticlimatic ditch, two birdges, a fallen tree, and so on for 3.5 miles until we reached Sucker Bay. But not before 3 out of 4 people pulled "Endos" as they are supposedly called, the ever-popular "flying-headfirst-over-the-handlebars-while-your-bike-comes-flipping-over-you-because-you-are-still-holding-on". A little dip in Sucker Bay, contemplation of swimming accross it, and then we headed back to the car. Sarah motored the whole way and we made it to the road in record time. At which point our inner demons took the wheel and we hightailed it in like no tomorrow. We hiked East Mountain that night, with Colt and I putting the "run every five steps" system into play. A grand time was had by all. After summiting at a gargantuan 663 feet, Alex and Colt obediently carved "SSA" into the bare rock and we took some kickass pictures of home. We had some cookies and starbursts, Sarah ate the tutti frutties, and we headed down to the barbeque. Another evening bonus was watching Lindsey dangle charmingly from an unsteady root. Friday. A day to end all days. Good morning at Porcupine, run, and half of the scavenger hunt (we surrendered after the Connal/Newhart/everyone else gang whipped out the walkies). Then Cat, Alex, Colt, Judy, and I lost control. We left lunch to illeagally embark on a deep-sea voyage in canoes, aka went to go find the Gorham Waterfall. We briefly got lost but retraced our steps to the place where we made a wrong turn, and Cat, Judy, and I scampered on ahead to locate said waterfall while the manly men portaged our canoes a ways. Due to a lack of rain or general boring-ness, which one I do not know, the waterfall was overwhelmingly deficient in coolness. It was just a cliff with a stream at the top which ran into a pool of shallow water, which stopped heartbreakingly close to the place where it should have cascaded magnificiently over the ledge. To spice things up a bit, we took matters into our own hands and splashed water over manually, creating the illusion of a waterfall. This practice got old fast, so we took to lugging boulders to the edge and heaving them over so that they thudded loudly into the rock at the bottom and cracked into satisfying pieces. Then some other stuff, like thrilling Balancing Rock. 6.5 hours later, we were paddling quaintly back to camp, our canoes roped together, when Hannah came speeding along in the OTL, radio in hand. She informed us that a search party had been constructed and alerted the camp via walkie talkie as to our state of alive-ness and headed back. We heard a muffled voice explain that "They were last seen heading up the inlet at 3:30". The time was almost seven o'clock. We shuffled shamefully onto the shore, as every living relative of every group member stood glaring down at us, hands on hips. We were interrogated as to our whereabouts during the day, and a very confused Alex lectured for not having his Wolfer, which we thought was supposed to be a stereo-system, a piece of equipment indubitably not brought along with us. Apparently it is actually a Wilderness Organization Association Certification Nation Instigation Verification Other Things Ending With -Ation. We trotted up to the dining hall and consumed an apple pie courtesy of Mr. McElwaine and then Alex and I showed everyone how the Virginia Reel is really done. After that it was up to the staff lounge for an infinite and never-ending movie about Cocaine addicts. Extremely enthralling. Many of us caught up on some much-needed sleep. Saturday. Confined to the clutches of immediate camp after our explicit joy-romp. Made the best of it anyway- PP and I collected our pirate gear (he had a pirate-pimp hat and an eyepatch stamped with a skull and crossbones, I had a jolly roger flag sure to strike fear into the hearts of unwary lake go-ers). Cat and I pushed off in the Nate-Dog in a vibrant display of color and fury so characteristic of boats built in the 1920s. We invented an exhilarating game called "Get Water In The Cockpit" in which we would wait for a blustery gale to catch in our brilliant sail, at which point we would pull in the sail line until our boat danced on a very thin line between flipping over and staying afloat as we cut through the water at over 80 miles per hour and lakewater flooded into the, well, cockpit. Peter swooshed over in the breathtaking red sea kayak and Cat left the boat to assist Lindsey in her sailboat not far away. The horseback ride that day was quite fabulous- my tiny mad animal smashed his way through decaying logs and skipped in a horsey way through the Outlet, avoiding its treacherous current just by the skin of his large teeth, before he could be swept away by the rushing water to places unknown. Dinner, Buddha made me do the Pteradactyl. Stunning. Talent skit night- very long, but my buccaneer buddy was there to keep me company. I insisted upon a quick trip to the CIT barn afterwards to gaze upon the fruits of 20 minutes of intense labor and only one dance party---a drawing with incredible likeness to Simba, in all his Glorious Splendor. Then the A-Field. An unusually warm night with big gusts of wind throwing a blanket of clouds over the stars and then revealing them again at frequent intervals. Simply gorgeous. I was lying with Alex, Sarah, PP, Nicole, and Julie. We laid there together, spooning maybe a little bit, or maybe a lot, for a long time...peaceful to the bone. After a while, we got some granola bars then went to bed.. I had a dream that we all went to porcupine rocks and were climbing a steep, mossy cliff. I semi-woke up lying on my squishy sleeping bag, which felt ridiculously moss-like. "SHIT IT'S 3:12!" "Debbie, we are in the cabin." "LINDSEY DON'T TRY TO TELL ME WE'RE IN THE CABIN WE HAVE A CURFEW AND WE'RE NOT IN THE FUCKING CABIN." "Yes we are." "NO WE ARE NOT IN THE CABIN." "Yes we are." ".....really?" "Yes." "I sort of feel like a jackass." Hurray for sleep-talking. The next morning Lindsey and I crawled up the dining hall for some tea and then down to one final Polar Bear. A shimmering red brilliance caught our eyes- Colt had lashed his hammock to the sturdy rec hall pillars. I ambled politely away. After Chapel we captured some tight pictures of all of us doing what we do- friends on the gazebo, pals in front of East Mountain, buddies on Fawn porch. It was a rough morning, saying goodbye to the best week of my life. I went and carved my name on the point chair and looked around, pretty much being stereotypically overcome with emotion and so on. I guess it was sitting there looking across that vast lake, enigmatic mountains towering in a very spiritual and annoyingly sad way. As if things were'nt pitiful enough, a loon had the impudence to out with its characteristic, chilling cry. These lines from a poem about camp repeated over in my head "If you told me an old recording of a long trumpet playing a few mournful notes was the last music I’d ever hear from the hills, from the lake, from the sky; my friend, I would go happy." I slipped into an entirely new wave of heartache every time I got to the part about the hills and the sky. We left after a trillion lingering years. In town, I bought a glow-in-the-dark T-Shirt with a wolf on it that says "Adirondacks". I may wear it to prom. Masochistic as we are, Lindsey, Judy, Diane, and I tortured ourselves by listening to songs that reminded us of camp. Lindsey put on Alex's hat and we both hugged Colt's sweater the whole way home. We drifted into an uneasy slumber as we left our home frozen in time for another year. Pinned you again.