Canada-USA Brotherhood Camporee

September 2001/2

        There must be something special going on in Havre de Grace in late September to induce scouts, their scoutmaster, and Trinity’s pastor to meet in the church parking lot at 4am.  It is not as if Havre de Grace is exactly one of the must-see destinations on the tourist’s agenda.  Searching for clues to this conundrum all lead directly to Rev. Henry.  It all goes back twenty years or so, when Rev. Henry was pastor of the church at Congress and Union in Havre de Grace and forged his links with Scout Troop 967, who were one of three initiating troops of the Brotherhood Camporee that now attracts 3,500 scouts and leaders annually.  So why 4 am?  To catch the 7am chartered bus from Havre de Grace heading for Morristown, Ontario in 2001 and Wellesley Island, NY in 2002.  On board were scouts from Havre de Grace and North East, MD, all well and truly shepherded by veterans of this event Dale and Everett – two of only four people to have attended all 29 Camporees.  Other long time friends from Havre de Grace keeping Rev. Henry in place for the weekend were Joe, Bill, Clark, John, and Michael all of whom, by the way, made Michael K, Jonathon D, and Aaron C immediately feel at home.  They knew the secret to a scout’s happiness – food in his stomach – indeed the thirteenth point of the Scout Law – a Scout is Hungry.

Well it is a long ride to Canada and, though shorter to the Thousand Islands, it took just as long in 2002, since the bus did not fare too well going uphill.  When you start from sea level – it is all uphill.  Jonathon’s parents were somewhat reluctant to turn their pride and joy loose in an enclosed space for 10 hours – however, let it be documented for the record that even Jonathon ran out of conversation and, indeed, met his match in one of the other scouts present – although it must be said that Jonathon’s conversation was more interesting?  Soon the miles were just flying by, or crawling if you were on the 2002 bus.  Rest stop number one saw us in the Finger Lakes region of New York and out with our sandwiches.  A quick geography lesson, on the roadside map, soon alerted Jonathon to the town of Paul Smiths, NY and, to the best of my knowledge, he is now lobbying hard for a similar arrangement for guess who.  Back on the bus – hey it’s cold up here – saw us heading for the Canadian border.  In 2001, just a couple of weeks after the terrorist bombings of 9/11, resulted in an increased security presence at the border crossing and an hour long wait to reach the authorities.  In time, we were questioned by a Canadian policeman, complete with flak jacket, who boarded the bus and wanted to know if anyone had a henway.  Unsure of his intent and not wanting to be uncooperative in the extant circumstances, many of us quizzically asked “What’s a henway?”  “About 3-4 pounds” he responded and that was our security check.  Thankfully, he didn’t say 1-2 kilos, which undoubtedly would have led to “What’s a kilo?” and blotted the reputation of our fine catholic schooling.

About an hour later we rolled into the campground – one of the many Parks of the St. Lawrence.  Note this is a clever trick on the part of the writer to disguise the fact that he doesn’t know its name, although the Parks of the St. Lawrence bit is correct, it is the bit about “one of” that is ambiguous.  We were the very first troop to arrive and the 396 contingent were surprised at the size of the tent 967 had brought with them – an 85 x 30 foot monster that we were soon helping to erect, mainly by holding supports while others, primarily Clark, who knew what they were doing, directed operations.  Little did we know at the time that this big top was to be the center of operations and activity for the whole weekend.  In 2002, we of course knew what to expect as we pulled off the interstate and claimed our campsite on Wellesley Island.  Nevertheless, despite our experience, these endeavors never cease to be an adventure and we performed our monster construction as the remnants of Tropical Storm Isadore poured rain on us.  This would not have been too bad, except our gear was off loaded from the bus in a gigantic pile beneath tarpaulins.  Good idea, but somewhere in there was our rain gear.  It took this old chronicler of 396 exploits until Saturday afternoon to finally dry out.  In both years, by evening, the Green Monster – where have you heard that before, Michael? - tent was filled, as in sardines in a can, with scouts clutching patches of various shapes and shades each vying for a precious seat at the dealing table on which to display one’s wares for trading.  Only the prospect of turning off the lights – yes this tent comes with electricity – got these pack rats to go back to their less salubrious tents before 11 o’clock.  Saturday was much the same, except without the need for good Mr. Edison’s invention, scouts all over the place – like as in, all over the whole campground – were spreading their offerings in the hope of catching the eye of a fellow patch trader with whom they could conduct business.  Leave your money behind; the only common currency is CSPs, with a few willing to accept foreign exchange such as OA or other insignia.  Our novices were under the guidance of Rev. Henry, an accomplished and polished performer on this stage, who soon laid down the most important criterion for a successful first camporee – come home with a Canadian beret.  The encouragement was taken to heart as each obtained the Holy Grail of the Brotherhood Camporee and with consummate bartering skills adorned the aforementioned chapeau with sundry pins.  What they gave up in return for their trophies is a closely held secret.

Oh yes, there was an opening complete with Canadian and American flags being unfurled and raised respectively.  Aaron C, despite the fact that the 2002 Camporee was held in the United States, was determined to visit Canada.  Visit may seem a stretch of the truth, but borders are borders, and the north end of Wellesley Island forms the frontier between Canada and the States – a rocky outcrop, dip of the feet into the water, and lo and behold, here I am in Canada.   Only the St. Lawrence between me and that Canadian flag over there!  A few activities were available for those who did not trade such as tomahawk throwing, archery, a zip line, chain saw carving – OK this was a demonstration – but in reality this is a patch trading event.  Well, one of our group did infinitely better than the others, coming home with a couple of pins and a patch – not bad since he did not take anything to trade.  Otherwise, this nameless individual strolled around taking pictures and spending his time in the coffee tent with Dale, Everett, Bill and the gang remorselessly recounting embarrassing stories of former Camporees, some of which featured the Executive Officer of our Chartering Organization.

Our food was a highlight of the trip.  Several groups banded together to take turns in the big tent to produce an epicurean delight.  Our turn on Saturday evening featured roast beef accompanied by mashed potatoes and the rest.  Other delicacies included spicy, or not as your preference, sausages with onions and other assorted condiments.  And there was always coffee, three pots on the go at any given time.

Friday was a free day in 2001 and we set off for Upper Canada Village – a sort of wannabee Williamsburg – that recreates life in a Canadian village at the turn of the 19^th century.  Rev. Henry’s delight was showing off the water-powered sawmill.  For a closer look at the hydraulics, he knew the exact spot for the best view as the water was let into the feeder sluice.   Stepping aside to indicate to the sluice-man that they were ready, he produced his camera to record for posterity the boys getting a closer look of the hydraulics than expected, as the water rammed into the gate and gave them a shower.  We had a ride on a canal barge and found out that canal traffic was introduced rather than using the St Lawrence to protect the Canadians from American raiders.  We visited farms, clothing stores, the drug store, and saw spinning demonstrations.  There were other water driven manufacturing operations and especially interesting was the weaving factory.  All in all it was a most pleasant day, although it could have been a couple of degrees warmer.

The trip home was routine with a stop for lunch of cold roast beef sandwiches and an obligatory stop for fast food on the Pennsylvania turnpike.  Saying our farewells to the new found friends at Havre de Grace, we rolled into Annapolis in the late Sunday evening.  Thanking Rev. Henry for organizing this event, we set off home for a good night’s sleep before school the next day.  At least the alarm did not go off at 3:30am.

Our scouts sampling this event enjoyed the experience and hope this will become an annual event that is a regular part of the troop calendar.  For this to become a reality, it will need the commitment of parents to allow their sons to miss school for two days in late September.  In 2003, it is hoped that the party will visit the Canadian capital, Ottawa, and tour sites of interest including the Parliament Buildings.  To prevent further embarrassment in the future, we will try to make a good faith effort to capture all the words to the Canadian national anthem, so that we do not end up mumbling repetitively “O Canada” to every line.

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Davidsonville Wilderness Survival

March 2001

           Spending one night in the woods may not seem like survival, but with no tents or propane stoves for the boys – it is at least an adventure.  It was in fact an adventure securing access to the site – I guess it is a sign of the times, but prior to our departure, we had to file an environmental impact analysis of our proposed activity.  The USAF transmitter site did not look as if it had been used since our last visit – we had to roll two logs out of the path and to cut the end off a fallen tree that was blocking access to the camping area.

With our reputation as rainmakers, the boys opted for the ubiquitous blue tarpaulin and soon had our wilderness looking as if it were a Bedouin encampment.  Our new scout Aaron opted for one of these and satisfied the requirement of sleeping in a tent he had helped to pitch. In contrast, the old scouts, sometimes known as adults, set off in search of twigs, fallen branches, and packed leaves to make shelters.  Assistant Scoutmaster Rich K found the full complement of materials already assembled – not even “some assembly required” sticker on the outside of the box.  He spent the rest of the afternoon making repairs and soon had Hotel Brown Leaves ready for occupancy.  One nameless individual became so preoccupied with the fire that he resorted to spending the night on a pair of air mattresses.  Our assorted habitats were put to the test, since in the middle of the afternoon it rained, of course, quite heavily for an hour or so.

Rain or not, food is always a priority with teenagers.  With the aid of more magnesium than is used in aerial incendiary bombs, our trusted scouts got a fire going.  Josh was soon warming his burrito on a makeshift fry pan of aluminum foil in the fork of a branch.  Less adventuresome souls were heavily into cup of soup.  With it being St. Patrick’s Day, for afternoon entertainment, we had to endure the Scoutmaster’s inane trivia questions on the Emerald Isle – his favorite being that St. Patrick is buried next to Paul Smith at the end of English Street.

Assistant Scoutmaster Don B. was busy stoking the fire for coals to heat the Dutch oven containing what else but corned beef and cabbage.  Elsewhere on the culinary map, Eric and Ryan arrived from their high school games clutching rockfish and shad to add to our wilderness gastronomic delights.  All appeared kosher until they wrapped the filleted fish in newspaper, plunged the bundle into a bucket of water, and threw the whole soggy, sorry mess into the fire.  With assurances of “It’ll be OK – just make sure you rescue the package before it catches fire” we waited with baited breath for the impending conflagration.  We passed the time with a round of “name an airline”, interspersed with a few caustic comments about the number of shad bones we were about to consume.  To the amazement of this trusted chronicler it worked a treat.  After retrieving the inferno from the fire, the boys soon made short order of devouring the fish – bones not withstanding.

Meanwhile, from behind us in the gloom of the night emanated sounds of sawing and of logs being hauled into position.  Josh was completely enthralled with creating his masterpiece.  The Pieta it may not have been, but a three-section flagpole it was.  A useful camp gadget had mystically appeared out of the night ready for use the following morning.

We awoke to sunny skies and for some, soft boiled eggs, others oatmeal.  We gathered around the flagpole and after a pause for a scout is reverent, we put on a pretty dismal imitation of the massed male voice choirs of Celtic southern Wales.  We really must learn the words of a few patriotic songs.  It takes a brave scout to withstand the catcalls, promises of an early expiration, and the like to be the bugler.  After Michael gave us a final outstanding rendition of Taps, we set about fulfilling the promise, made in our environmental impact analysis, of Leave No Trace camping.  In attendance were; Eric, Ryan, Josh, Luke, Danny, Nick, Aaron; Michael; Jeremy; Evan, and Brian.

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