It was some kind of dark when I arrived at 4:00 AM after driving for almost 2000 miles late that Summer. With few to no street signs on the rural roads, I navigated by landmark - "look for the 'corner store', make a right at the red 'live bait' sign." In the pitch with 2000 miles of fatigue, my disorientation was piqued when I found a place to park. Not wanting to make too much of a disturbance, I grabbed my Inova XO3 and X1 and started to walk. The sharp, no spill beam of the XO3 cut the 'I can't see my hands in front of my face' darkness so that I could spot the cabin numbers. 15, 14, with dumb luck, counter to the directions, I had parked at the 'wrong end' but close to the cabin, cabin 13.
Stepping lightly up the stairs and into the cabin not to wake anyone up, using my X1 to see by, I was surprised to find my sister and niece awake in bed. With my night adapted vision, the X1 was almost too bright for the wee hour moment. I was greeted with hugs and kisses. Despite my excitement, I was soon examining my inner eyelids.
"What the hell is that?!", I exclaimed as I was awakened by a loud recorded bugle sound early in the 7 AM hour. "That's Reveille", my sister said, "It's time to wake up and get ready for breakfast.". About a half hour later 'First Call' played and, again, 10 minutes after that for second call. My, what now seems like, monochrome world was replaced by Technicolor upon opening the cabin door and seeing hundreds of little people and others scurry down the newly paved road and gather around the flagpole for 'Colors' and the morning raising of the American Flag. Still groggy and quite bewildered by what I was seeing, I wondered if I was in Oz. The reality, if one can call it that, was that I was at Camp.
Breakfast in the Mess immediately followed the morning ceremony where I was greeted by the din of about 250 screaming kids and 100 adults from college age through the mid 60's. There, I started to meet some of the nicest, smartest, compassionate and passionate people that I've ever met. Everyone wanted to be there, the campers, counselors, instructors, directors and the owners. But regardless of their age, title, position, etc., they were all campers, savoring every joyful moment while anxiously anticipating the next. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy.
I continued to meet some great people as I toured the Camp that day including the Camp patriarch, Joe Peck, who had been with the Camp for 36 years, his son Joe Jr., a camper with the Camp his whole life and his son Darin. The baseball field is named after Joe Peck where he still lays the lines, calls the games and coaches the championship caliber baseball team.
As a guest of my sister, the Camp physician, with little to no recollection of my own brief childhood camp experience, I had no clue as to what to expect or what I was in for. Amongst the many, many things that I was blown away by was the unity that everything happened in and in the way everyone moved. Meals, activities, events, even in 'free time' the Camp seemed to move as one with each bugle call. Being one to zig while others zag, I voiced my concern as to not fitting in. I was told not to worry about it, "We're all misfits here" said a fast friend, 'Scooter', the lacrosse instructor at the Camp for 30 years.
I did not join the campers that night for movie night. I waved as the buses of cheering, singing campers drove by the cabin. The Camp filled with happy campers only moments earlier was eerily deserted. Despite being a good opportunity to go out flashlighting, I had lost my battle with sleep deprivation and called it an early night.
After breakfast the following day, I set up my 'radio shack' on the porch of the cabin with my Yaesu FT-817 and MP-1 antenna braced to the banister of the stairs. At the absolute bottom of the 11 year sunspot cycle, conditions were rough with the solar flux around 70. 15 meters, my favorite band, was shut down so I spent most of my time on 20 meters. Even as conditions picked up, typically around 4:00 PM, 20 meters was not terribly crowded, mostly European kilowatt stations with stacked monoband yagies and quads. Amazing. Size does matter. I guess it could be said that I had antenna envy. While at the 'shack' on the porch, I met 'Crazy', the 'Ropes' instructor, as he walked by. I invited him in when he expressed curiosity about what I was doing. We spoke of physics, photons, propagation and Star Trek (TOS). With no regional 2m/440 activity heard, my Yaesu VX-2r sat mostly on the FRS frequency used by the Camp directors and staff.
That afternoon, my sister, her friend, 'k.d.', the Camp chef, and I went to a regional shopping center. While at the L. L. Bean Outlet, I was asked my opinion of the Petzel Tikka that they had on peg hooks by k.d. Not knowing much about headlamps, I could not speak directly of that 3 LED model but recommended Petzel as a good and popular manufacturer of headlamps. Before I could suggest cheaper, similar performing alternatives, k.d. bought the Petzel for $35.
After dinner at Camp was the big ceremony on the 'Sacred Indian Ground' where the Hatchet was buried. With the campers in matching T-shirts, half of them in gray, the other half blue, some, even, with their faces painted, inspirational speeches were given by senior campers about tradition, teamwork, achievement, competition and sportsmanship. The Camp was divided, bunkmate against bunkmate, friend against friend, brother against brother. This was war. This was Color War! The Hatchet was exhumed.
While I cheered for all of the competing campers, with my nephew drawn for Gray, I cheered a little louder for Gray and, of course, for my nephew.
By the time the ceremony ended, it was DARK. I went to the cabin to retrieve my Gerber LX 3.0 and my MAG118 2D 8xAA w/KPR118 and, then, strolled to the Gray Fort with my sister, k.d., and Scooter, a victorious Gray Chief from a previous year. Both k.d. and I had difficulties opening the stiff Petzel to install the supplied 3xAAA alkaline batteries so it remained unused for part of the evening. I turned on and handed k.d. the LX3 w/ fresh alkaline batts. With its 1000 lux spot, secondary spot, and bright spill, the LX3, an excellent flashlight for evening strolls, was superb for navigating the meandering wide and narrow trails of the Camp. "This is a hell of a torch.", said k.d. (and she's American). I, then, turned on my Mag118. "Holy s[mokes]! What are you, flashlight boy?" she continued. The MAG118 was an incredible performer serving up both lumens and runtime with no concerns of heat for the stock parts. The incan white was amazing on the foliage and, brightness aside, brought out details in the natural environment that my LEDs did not. Though not truly a HotWire, my MAG118 provided a ridiculous amount of light for even the widest trails defocused to its broadest flood and a was true scorcher when focused tightly easily lighting tall tree tops and targets 100 meters away.
At the Fort, the expected speeches, chanting and cheering were heard. The warm glow of the sizable campfire added to the mystique of the ritual. Seen at the site was a red LED from a hand held headlamp, one of the very few flashlights that I saw at the Camp.
As we left the Fort and walked one of the 'back' trails to Scooter's cabin, I walked with k.d. as I used the MAG118 on flood and my sister used the LX3 as she walked a few feet ahead of us with Scooter filling in the shadows that they cast from the MAG118. The meandering trail narrowed, widened and, then, narrowed again as we walked over dirt, rocks, mud and roots and through the varying brush and canopy relying on Scooter familiarity with the trail. In narrower parts of the trail, the LX3 was used providing a bubble or dome of light clearly lighting the ground, the woods and our way without the excessive 'back-scatter' of the brighter MAG118. In the clearing, on wider parts of the trail and on the dirt roads, on full flood, the MAG118 easily lit the area like an over-driven street lamp. For those times on the trail when some throw was required, I just tightened up the focus of the MAG118 as needed. Though, at more modest distances, the 1000 lux of the LX3 wasn't bad either.
Though modest, Scooters one room, lakeside cabin had one hell of a view. The best seat in the house. We hung out on the small pier overlooking the harbor-like corner of the 'out to the horizon' sized lake as Scooter shared tall tails of Camp skeletons. The HUGE clear, black sky had a LOT more stars and other celestial bodies than my more familiar light polluted sky. Jupiter nearly hugged the horizon as it slithered across the sky from southeast to southwest and a fairly brilliant satellite was seen traveling near zenith. The 2/3 moon was below the nearby treeline behind us to the west. As a trailer was trying to hitch a boat to bring it up the ramp about 150 meters from us on the 'Waterfront', near where the campers swim during the day, I spotted my MAG118 to offer some light for assistance. The MAG118 did a fair job lighting the boat but I don't know how effective the light was for the boater's task because of the oblique angle. The MAG118 was able to splash some light on trees and structures about 300 meters away on the other side of the lake across the harbor. "Will you turn that off?", my sister asked, "You're like a child with that thing.". I complied for about a minute before turning the MAG118 back on and swung it's visible beam back and forth across the lake like a mini lighthouse.
As I was unprepared for the unseasonably cool weather, k.d. loaned a nice woven black blanket to me later that evening for the cold nights.
Instead of the crowd of campers noisily congregating around the flagpole like they had on the previous few days of my visit for the morning ceremony, the campers lined up quietly with their teams and walked in file to the Mess. As each team was required to enter or leave the Mess separately, the other team would stand and cheer them on to show respect and appreciation for their competitors. Valuable points were given and taken away by the 'War Counsel' made up of prior victorious War Chiefs, Joe Peck, Scooter and others for behavior, discipline and focus. The Mess was quiet as the teams were required to eat in silence. As I wasn't too sure about the militaristic aspects of Color War, when I asked him about it, my rarely profound nephew profoundly said that not all campers are athletes and need an opportunity to compete and win points for there team. Besides, the lessons taught and learned during Color War far transcend those of simply 'winning'.
My nephew, like most of the young campers, excelled in some sports and struggled in others but played hard and well winning or contributing to wins for Gray. I watched him perform well in softball at the plate and in the field as he hit a double and tag a runner out at home plate as his team's catcher. As his tennis match continued on into the late games of the match, about 100 campers and counselors of other completed contests on the field, tennis, soccer, roller hockey, etc. cheered loudly for the players on their teams as they watched my nephew, the Camp tennis ace, win the closer than expected tennis match against spirited competition.
Back at the 'shack', I was still struggling with conditions. With even fewer stations making it over the horizon on 20 meters in the late afternoon, activity on the band was focused on a few frequencies with too many stations trying to work the few big Euro stations. My 5 Watt, QRP signal would get lost in the pile-ups.
That night was LED night as I took my LX3.0, XO3, Streamlight Jr. Lux (v1), Gerber Trio (red) and my EDC, Inova X5 (CS) to the European Handball field (think small soccer field) near the cabin. With its larger, brighter spot, it's no surprise that the XO3 out threw the LX3 but the surprise was that there was not as much of an effective difference as I had anticipated. From the sidelines, projecting beams across the Handball field, not only did the Gerber, with its bright spill, light up the field in a way that the Inova could not, while not quite as deeply as the XO3, the LX3 also did a good job penetrating the woods about 40 meters away. The one watt SL Jr. and the 5 Nichia LED Inova X5 were outclassed by the three watters on the field as the flashlights were shone across and around the field and towards the surrounding trees and canopy. Maybe I could suggest a flashlight shootout for Color War.
"The Yankees are your daddy!", an insult to Boston Red Sox Nation, I jokingly said to Askins, a displaced Red Sox fan and friend of my nephew, on my way to the Mess.
I asked Crazy about 'Ropes' during breakfast. Instead of telling me about the physical, the climbing, the zipping, etc., the psychology major with special ops military experience goes into the the lessons that he tries to teach the campers about teamwork, confidence, esteem, and trust. Like all of the activities at the Camp, the Ropes are just a means to teach greater, deeper lessons. Lessons taught by the instructors, counselors and directors to the campers are returned ten fold as the adults learn valuable lessons as well. The energy at the Camp is everywhere.
I joined Crazy again in the afternoon at a small camp site that he shared with Thomas, the grounds keeper of the perfectly maintained Camp, just off Camp grounds. While soaking some sun in the crisp mountain air, Thomas, a young world travelling German, while drinking his cold b[everage] and listening to the local 'classic rock' station on his battery powered boom-box, commented on the 'good-life' and said "I've got it made.", a startling and refreshing contrast to the more familiar Lexus dreams in Wal-Mart City. Stammering badly while I tried to find the words to describe my experience at the Camp, Crazy looked at me with his steely blues, grinned sheepishly and half jokingly said, "It's like a cult." Though the point was valid, he really didn't mean it. The people, the place, the lessons, the energy, the unity, the belief in the Camp and the desire to make each moment richer than the next - physically, intellectually, emotionally and spiritually, I was being blown away. The food was good too.
The Camp was almost deserted again as most of the campers were away at a local gymnasium to watch the counselors play Color War Basketball in the early evening. With a freshly charged set of batts, I attached a 'Miracle Whip' antenna to the FT-817 and strolled around the Camp with an attached 12 foot counterpoise wire dragging behind me. I explained to the new friends that I had made that evening who stopped me to ask what I was doing.
Wanting to take a more practical approach to flashlighting later that evening than carrying half a dozen flashlights, I slipped only my Gerber LX3 into my back pocket and walked to the trail that traced the Ropes course behind the Euro Handball field. The near full moon made no difference beneath the canopy. The broad beam of the LX3, again, lit the trail and the woods with ease and authority. In a clearing, the LX3 well illuminated the roughly 35'x35'x35' staging area of the Ropes course and the course itself, above, in the trees and a bit more dimly beyond that but, still, plenty of light for seeing and navigation. At some points on the well marked trail with plenty of deviations, I turned off the LX3 as to compare the environment, both, with and without light. Navigation without light was impossible, with light was fun.
"Eight in a row! Eight in a row!", all of the 'Blue campers' were chanting during the Color Tug of War when I arrive at the event in the open field. In parodied teams of three or four, all of the campers participated in the Tug. Blue had just won eight tugs in a row in the streaky, winner takes all event. Blue would win another tug or two before Gray ended Blue's streak and had a winning streak of their own. As Joe Peck judged, counselors screamed and campers cheered, the Tug took on a 'life and death' intensity as Blue, facing elimination, was down in points late into Color War. "Just one more! Just one more!", Gray began to chant during the last few tugs, Blue, then, with the momentum. With the center flag crossing the Gray line, Joe Peck raised his hand and signaled a victory for Gray. Gray had won the Tug and clinched Color War.
I finally began making contacts on 20 meters despite the dismal conditions. With luck and patience, I QSOed with a Portuguese station with a 1000' rhombic antenna. I assured him that it was his antenna and not my 5 watts into a 'wet noodle' that was doing all of the 'dirty work'. I made some additional 5x1 and 5x2 contacts into Europe and the Mid-West.
The Cross Country Relay, the final event of Color War, had runners, starting at the flagpole in the center of Camp, running over the hill towards the field, out of sight, back down the the hill past the flagpole and continuing to the Waterfront. By the time the last two runners raced back uphill to the flagpole, Gray had a sizable lead. With the runners, Gray, then, Blue crossing the finish line and into the crowd of waiting campers, the 125 or so cheering Gray campers ran down the hill to the Waterfront and into the Lake for the traditional victory celebration. At the closing ceremony of Color War, the Hatchet was buried.
"I'll trade you.", I suggested to k.d sometime after dinner. "Your blanket for my flashlight.", presenting her with my LX3. k.d's eyes opened wide as she said "Ooooo - I'll have to think about that.".
With the full moon rising at dusk and lingering in the sky until dawn like a white LED with 12 hours of regulated runtime, this was a night for throw. I brought my XO3 and MAG118 to the open field as I hung out with Scooter and my sister. With few targets to aim for, I projected the flashlights aimlessly across the field and to the surrounding trees several hundred meters away. We laid down in the center of the skating rink in the center of the field and observed another satellite and a meteorite amongst the stars. Scooter and I remained after my sister excused herself. At the edge of the moon-lit field, about eight or so campers were making their way towards the rink. One of the campers had a pathetic incan flashlight with an equally pathetic brown beam. The LED like glow of the moon offered better light for navigating than did that flashlight. As they approached the rink, Scooter and I ducked low on either side of the rink entrance, then, jumped up and shouted "BOO!" when about half of the group had entered the rink. "That's what camp is about!", said Scooter as the startled campers caught there breath.
After losing our spot to the campers, Scooter and I left the rink only to return shortly thereafter to find the campers still there, sitting and laying on the rink floor. The camper with the flashlight, leaning against the rink wall, shined his flashlight, presumably, innocently, just to identify me, in my face. Go ahead, make my day... Not wanting to be too cruel, I retaliated with my XO3. "OW! That's bright!", he exclaimed. How could I resist? "That's not bright.", I countered, "THIS is bright." I gave him some spots to remember the moment by when I lit him up with the MAG118. "OOOWWW...." he moaned as he jumped back and cowered, futilely trying to cover his face. "Which do YOU think is brighter?", I asked another camper. "This?" as I scorched him with the XO3. "AAGH!". "Or THIS!", then, with the MAG118. "AAAAAAGH!!". "Hey, Askins!", I recognized him in the spill. This time, I went straight for the MAG118. "WHO'S YOUR DADDY?!!". "AAAAAAGH!!". It was the most fun I've had since becoming a self realized flashaholic. "No, Scooter", I said, "THAT'S what camp is about!". "Your bunk has been raided.", a voice from the field was heard shouting. With that, my little flashaholic party was over as the campers quickly left. From the rink, I lit their way as they ran across the field and into the canopy covered path that lead to the rest of the Camp.
With Camp all but over, the counselors had after hour privileges. I hung out with the counselors and others during their late night bon-fire as cold b[everages] and a 'Peace Pipe' were passed around. With the fire dwindling, a counselor, having seen me moments earlier shining my MAG118 around the site, said "You! You have a flashlight!" and grabbed my MAG118 out of my hand! He needed it to look for more wood and kindling for the fire. "Er..I'll go with you.", I said. With the woods surrounding us on three sides, we didn't have to go far. On semi-flood, the MAG118 lit the downward sloping woods broadly and deeply to help us find what was needed. The counselor had no idea what he was holding. He just said, "Thanks.", and returned my MAG118.
On the last full day of Camp, it was time to say our good-byes and sneak in one last activity or two. I found myself with Crazy once again, this time in gear, as my sister wanted to try the Zip Line. She first, then, me. The 'ride' is considerably more difficult than it looks. Redundantly braced and teathered, sure, climbing to the 40' high 'launching' platform is easy enough as is the actual zipping across the approximately 70 meter line. The hard part, like in many things in life, is the moment before leaping, when one's rational mind, one's logic, is at odds with one's instincts - The desire and means to fly verses the fear of falling. I was nervously on the platform for about five minutes when my young niece's high pitched voice rung over the cheering and encouragement of a dozen or so onlookers and shouted, "Do it for me!". Much of what I learned at Camp was personified in that the brief moment when I suspended FUD (fear, uncertainty and doubt) and believed in the magic of a place like Oz for just long enough to leap off of the platform. I zipped back and forth across the Zip Line that sagged like an over-drawn battery several times before coming to a stop in the middle where I was let down by ladder.
This time, with the roles reversed, it was my niece in gear and I shouting "Do it for me!" after she bravely climbed to the platform. But it wasn't until about five minutes later when a woman, flanked by her two brothers, all, adult alumni of the Camp, shouted "Girls can do anything!" that my niece's anxiety was, then, replaced by calm and confidence and took the the sky. She is the youngest person to 'zip' at the Camp. The woman was right. My niece CAN do anything.
"There's a lot of sadness around Camp today", my sister said. While we'd both would've liked to believe that it was just the blues that Camp was ending that many of the, particularly, adult campers were suffering of, it was difficult to be certain. Were they sad because the larger than life, wide screen Technicolor of the Oz like Camp was ending or was it because the monochrome of the the 'real world' was about to begin? Unlike in the monochrome of the 'real world', in this colorful place where uniqueness is rewarded rather than admonished, the 'misfits' not only fit, but excel with the encouragement of those who value individuality.
After dinner and the end of camp type award ceremony, there were impromptu gatherings and celebrations around the Camp. Carrying my MAG118, I made my way around the Camp to say my good-byes and thank yous to some great people. With fireworks heard in the distance, I light-sabered the night sky and joined the festivities. "Askins!", I saw him at the door of his cabin. As he turned towards me after I got his attention, I asked him once again, "WHO'S YOUR DADDY?!!" and, again, spotted him with the MAG118. "AAAAAAGH!", he screamed as he scrambled through the door. I followed him into the cabin that he shared with seven other campers. "Oh no, not again", was the expression on his face as he rolled his eyes upon seeing me in the cabin. But instead of giving him more "wire", I reached out my hand to shake his and and congratulated him on his strong play and team's victory, "Go Gray!", I, then, said. He shook my hand and said, "Definitely".
"So?", I asked k.d. "What do ya' think? The flashlight for the blanket?". "I don't want the flashlight.", she said. "But you can keep the blanket." she continued. "Don't do this k.d. - I have to give you something.". "Just a kiss, that's all I want.". "Why do you do this?" I asked. She replied with what is so true of her and all of the tremendous folks that I met at Camp saying, "I'm a giver." I gladly gave her the kiss that she asked for as we said our good-byes.
With the nearest major airport about a five hour drive from Camp, Reveille was played at 5:00 AM so that all could eat breakfast and, for those that needed to, be on the bus that was to leave at 7:00 AM. I planned on following the bus out of Camp, but the 'real world' greeted me with a dead car battery. There was Crazy, again, and Thomas to help out. They fired up the thigh high 12V booster/starter and rolled it out with a 100' extention chord to help get my car started. I, again, said good-bye and thank you to Crazy and Thomas.
Thank you to everyone at Camp. I learned a lot about myself, about others, and, yes, about flashlights too. I had a great time. A good time was had by all.
73
dim
Stepping lightly up the stairs and into the cabin not to wake anyone up, using my X1 to see by, I was surprised to find my sister and niece awake in bed. With my night adapted vision, the X1 was almost too bright for the wee hour moment. I was greeted with hugs and kisses. Despite my excitement, I was soon examining my inner eyelids.
"What the hell is that?!", I exclaimed as I was awakened by a loud recorded bugle sound early in the 7 AM hour. "That's Reveille", my sister said, "It's time to wake up and get ready for breakfast.". About a half hour later 'First Call' played and, again, 10 minutes after that for second call. My, what now seems like, monochrome world was replaced by Technicolor upon opening the cabin door and seeing hundreds of little people and others scurry down the newly paved road and gather around the flagpole for 'Colors' and the morning raising of the American Flag. Still groggy and quite bewildered by what I was seeing, I wondered if I was in Oz. The reality, if one can call it that, was that I was at Camp.
Breakfast in the Mess immediately followed the morning ceremony where I was greeted by the din of about 250 screaming kids and 100 adults from college age through the mid 60's. There, I started to meet some of the nicest, smartest, compassionate and passionate people that I've ever met. Everyone wanted to be there, the campers, counselors, instructors, directors and the owners. But regardless of their age, title, position, etc., they were all campers, savoring every joyful moment while anxiously anticipating the next. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy.
I continued to meet some great people as I toured the Camp that day including the Camp patriarch, Joe Peck, who had been with the Camp for 36 years, his son Joe Jr., a camper with the Camp his whole life and his son Darin. The baseball field is named after Joe Peck where he still lays the lines, calls the games and coaches the championship caliber baseball team.
As a guest of my sister, the Camp physician, with little to no recollection of my own brief childhood camp experience, I had no clue as to what to expect or what I was in for. Amongst the many, many things that I was blown away by was the unity that everything happened in and in the way everyone moved. Meals, activities, events, even in 'free time' the Camp seemed to move as one with each bugle call. Being one to zig while others zag, I voiced my concern as to not fitting in. I was told not to worry about it, "We're all misfits here" said a fast friend, 'Scooter', the lacrosse instructor at the Camp for 30 years.
I did not join the campers that night for movie night. I waved as the buses of cheering, singing campers drove by the cabin. The Camp filled with happy campers only moments earlier was eerily deserted. Despite being a good opportunity to go out flashlighting, I had lost my battle with sleep deprivation and called it an early night.
After breakfast the following day, I set up my 'radio shack' on the porch of the cabin with my Yaesu FT-817 and MP-1 antenna braced to the banister of the stairs. At the absolute bottom of the 11 year sunspot cycle, conditions were rough with the solar flux around 70. 15 meters, my favorite band, was shut down so I spent most of my time on 20 meters. Even as conditions picked up, typically around 4:00 PM, 20 meters was not terribly crowded, mostly European kilowatt stations with stacked monoband yagies and quads. Amazing. Size does matter. I guess it could be said that I had antenna envy. While at the 'shack' on the porch, I met 'Crazy', the 'Ropes' instructor, as he walked by. I invited him in when he expressed curiosity about what I was doing. We spoke of physics, photons, propagation and Star Trek (TOS). With no regional 2m/440 activity heard, my Yaesu VX-2r sat mostly on the FRS frequency used by the Camp directors and staff.
That afternoon, my sister, her friend, 'k.d.', the Camp chef, and I went to a regional shopping center. While at the L. L. Bean Outlet, I was asked my opinion of the Petzel Tikka that they had on peg hooks by k.d. Not knowing much about headlamps, I could not speak directly of that 3 LED model but recommended Petzel as a good and popular manufacturer of headlamps. Before I could suggest cheaper, similar performing alternatives, k.d. bought the Petzel for $35.
After dinner at Camp was the big ceremony on the 'Sacred Indian Ground' where the Hatchet was buried. With the campers in matching T-shirts, half of them in gray, the other half blue, some, even, with their faces painted, inspirational speeches were given by senior campers about tradition, teamwork, achievement, competition and sportsmanship. The Camp was divided, bunkmate against bunkmate, friend against friend, brother against brother. This was war. This was Color War! The Hatchet was exhumed.
While I cheered for all of the competing campers, with my nephew drawn for Gray, I cheered a little louder for Gray and, of course, for my nephew.
By the time the ceremony ended, it was DARK. I went to the cabin to retrieve my Gerber LX 3.0 and my MAG118 2D 8xAA w/KPR118 and, then, strolled to the Gray Fort with my sister, k.d., and Scooter, a victorious Gray Chief from a previous year. Both k.d. and I had difficulties opening the stiff Petzel to install the supplied 3xAAA alkaline batteries so it remained unused for part of the evening. I turned on and handed k.d. the LX3 w/ fresh alkaline batts. With its 1000 lux spot, secondary spot, and bright spill, the LX3, an excellent flashlight for evening strolls, was superb for navigating the meandering wide and narrow trails of the Camp. "This is a hell of a torch.", said k.d. (and she's American). I, then, turned on my Mag118. "Holy s[mokes]! What are you, flashlight boy?" she continued. The MAG118 was an incredible performer serving up both lumens and runtime with no concerns of heat for the stock parts. The incan white was amazing on the foliage and, brightness aside, brought out details in the natural environment that my LEDs did not. Though not truly a HotWire, my MAG118 provided a ridiculous amount of light for even the widest trails defocused to its broadest flood and a was true scorcher when focused tightly easily lighting tall tree tops and targets 100 meters away.
At the Fort, the expected speeches, chanting and cheering were heard. The warm glow of the sizable campfire added to the mystique of the ritual. Seen at the site was a red LED from a hand held headlamp, one of the very few flashlights that I saw at the Camp.
As we left the Fort and walked one of the 'back' trails to Scooter's cabin, I walked with k.d. as I used the MAG118 on flood and my sister used the LX3 as she walked a few feet ahead of us with Scooter filling in the shadows that they cast from the MAG118. The meandering trail narrowed, widened and, then, narrowed again as we walked over dirt, rocks, mud and roots and through the varying brush and canopy relying on Scooter familiarity with the trail. In narrower parts of the trail, the LX3 was used providing a bubble or dome of light clearly lighting the ground, the woods and our way without the excessive 'back-scatter' of the brighter MAG118. In the clearing, on wider parts of the trail and on the dirt roads, on full flood, the MAG118 easily lit the area like an over-driven street lamp. For those times on the trail when some throw was required, I just tightened up the focus of the MAG118 as needed. Though, at more modest distances, the 1000 lux of the LX3 wasn't bad either.
Though modest, Scooters one room, lakeside cabin had one hell of a view. The best seat in the house. We hung out on the small pier overlooking the harbor-like corner of the 'out to the horizon' sized lake as Scooter shared tall tails of Camp skeletons. The HUGE clear, black sky had a LOT more stars and other celestial bodies than my more familiar light polluted sky. Jupiter nearly hugged the horizon as it slithered across the sky from southeast to southwest and a fairly brilliant satellite was seen traveling near zenith. The 2/3 moon was below the nearby treeline behind us to the west. As a trailer was trying to hitch a boat to bring it up the ramp about 150 meters from us on the 'Waterfront', near where the campers swim during the day, I spotted my MAG118 to offer some light for assistance. The MAG118 did a fair job lighting the boat but I don't know how effective the light was for the boater's task because of the oblique angle. The MAG118 was able to splash some light on trees and structures about 300 meters away on the other side of the lake across the harbor. "Will you turn that off?", my sister asked, "You're like a child with that thing.". I complied for about a minute before turning the MAG118 back on and swung it's visible beam back and forth across the lake like a mini lighthouse.
As I was unprepared for the unseasonably cool weather, k.d. loaned a nice woven black blanket to me later that evening for the cold nights.
Instead of the crowd of campers noisily congregating around the flagpole like they had on the previous few days of my visit for the morning ceremony, the campers lined up quietly with their teams and walked in file to the Mess. As each team was required to enter or leave the Mess separately, the other team would stand and cheer them on to show respect and appreciation for their competitors. Valuable points were given and taken away by the 'War Counsel' made up of prior victorious War Chiefs, Joe Peck, Scooter and others for behavior, discipline and focus. The Mess was quiet as the teams were required to eat in silence. As I wasn't too sure about the militaristic aspects of Color War, when I asked him about it, my rarely profound nephew profoundly said that not all campers are athletes and need an opportunity to compete and win points for there team. Besides, the lessons taught and learned during Color War far transcend those of simply 'winning'.
My nephew, like most of the young campers, excelled in some sports and struggled in others but played hard and well winning or contributing to wins for Gray. I watched him perform well in softball at the plate and in the field as he hit a double and tag a runner out at home plate as his team's catcher. As his tennis match continued on into the late games of the match, about 100 campers and counselors of other completed contests on the field, tennis, soccer, roller hockey, etc. cheered loudly for the players on their teams as they watched my nephew, the Camp tennis ace, win the closer than expected tennis match against spirited competition.
Back at the 'shack', I was still struggling with conditions. With even fewer stations making it over the horizon on 20 meters in the late afternoon, activity on the band was focused on a few frequencies with too many stations trying to work the few big Euro stations. My 5 Watt, QRP signal would get lost in the pile-ups.
That night was LED night as I took my LX3.0, XO3, Streamlight Jr. Lux (v1), Gerber Trio (red) and my EDC, Inova X5 (CS) to the European Handball field (think small soccer field) near the cabin. With its larger, brighter spot, it's no surprise that the XO3 out threw the LX3 but the surprise was that there was not as much of an effective difference as I had anticipated. From the sidelines, projecting beams across the Handball field, not only did the Gerber, with its bright spill, light up the field in a way that the Inova could not, while not quite as deeply as the XO3, the LX3 also did a good job penetrating the woods about 40 meters away. The one watt SL Jr. and the 5 Nichia LED Inova X5 were outclassed by the three watters on the field as the flashlights were shone across and around the field and towards the surrounding trees and canopy. Maybe I could suggest a flashlight shootout for Color War.
"The Yankees are your daddy!", an insult to Boston Red Sox Nation, I jokingly said to Askins, a displaced Red Sox fan and friend of my nephew, on my way to the Mess.
I asked Crazy about 'Ropes' during breakfast. Instead of telling me about the physical, the climbing, the zipping, etc., the psychology major with special ops military experience goes into the the lessons that he tries to teach the campers about teamwork, confidence, esteem, and trust. Like all of the activities at the Camp, the Ropes are just a means to teach greater, deeper lessons. Lessons taught by the instructors, counselors and directors to the campers are returned ten fold as the adults learn valuable lessons as well. The energy at the Camp is everywhere.
I joined Crazy again in the afternoon at a small camp site that he shared with Thomas, the grounds keeper of the perfectly maintained Camp, just off Camp grounds. While soaking some sun in the crisp mountain air, Thomas, a young world travelling German, while drinking his cold b[everage] and listening to the local 'classic rock' station on his battery powered boom-box, commented on the 'good-life' and said "I've got it made.", a startling and refreshing contrast to the more familiar Lexus dreams in Wal-Mart City. Stammering badly while I tried to find the words to describe my experience at the Camp, Crazy looked at me with his steely blues, grinned sheepishly and half jokingly said, "It's like a cult." Though the point was valid, he really didn't mean it. The people, the place, the lessons, the energy, the unity, the belief in the Camp and the desire to make each moment richer than the next - physically, intellectually, emotionally and spiritually, I was being blown away. The food was good too.
The Camp was almost deserted again as most of the campers were away at a local gymnasium to watch the counselors play Color War Basketball in the early evening. With a freshly charged set of batts, I attached a 'Miracle Whip' antenna to the FT-817 and strolled around the Camp with an attached 12 foot counterpoise wire dragging behind me. I explained to the new friends that I had made that evening who stopped me to ask what I was doing.
Wanting to take a more practical approach to flashlighting later that evening than carrying half a dozen flashlights, I slipped only my Gerber LX3 into my back pocket and walked to the trail that traced the Ropes course behind the Euro Handball field. The near full moon made no difference beneath the canopy. The broad beam of the LX3, again, lit the trail and the woods with ease and authority. In a clearing, the LX3 well illuminated the roughly 35'x35'x35' staging area of the Ropes course and the course itself, above, in the trees and a bit more dimly beyond that but, still, plenty of light for seeing and navigation. At some points on the well marked trail with plenty of deviations, I turned off the LX3 as to compare the environment, both, with and without light. Navigation without light was impossible, with light was fun.
"Eight in a row! Eight in a row!", all of the 'Blue campers' were chanting during the Color Tug of War when I arrive at the event in the open field. In parodied teams of three or four, all of the campers participated in the Tug. Blue had just won eight tugs in a row in the streaky, winner takes all event. Blue would win another tug or two before Gray ended Blue's streak and had a winning streak of their own. As Joe Peck judged, counselors screamed and campers cheered, the Tug took on a 'life and death' intensity as Blue, facing elimination, was down in points late into Color War. "Just one more! Just one more!", Gray began to chant during the last few tugs, Blue, then, with the momentum. With the center flag crossing the Gray line, Joe Peck raised his hand and signaled a victory for Gray. Gray had won the Tug and clinched Color War.
I finally began making contacts on 20 meters despite the dismal conditions. With luck and patience, I QSOed with a Portuguese station with a 1000' rhombic antenna. I assured him that it was his antenna and not my 5 watts into a 'wet noodle' that was doing all of the 'dirty work'. I made some additional 5x1 and 5x2 contacts into Europe and the Mid-West.
The Cross Country Relay, the final event of Color War, had runners, starting at the flagpole in the center of Camp, running over the hill towards the field, out of sight, back down the the hill past the flagpole and continuing to the Waterfront. By the time the last two runners raced back uphill to the flagpole, Gray had a sizable lead. With the runners, Gray, then, Blue crossing the finish line and into the crowd of waiting campers, the 125 or so cheering Gray campers ran down the hill to the Waterfront and into the Lake for the traditional victory celebration. At the closing ceremony of Color War, the Hatchet was buried.
"I'll trade you.", I suggested to k.d sometime after dinner. "Your blanket for my flashlight.", presenting her with my LX3. k.d's eyes opened wide as she said "Ooooo - I'll have to think about that.".
With the full moon rising at dusk and lingering in the sky until dawn like a white LED with 12 hours of regulated runtime, this was a night for throw. I brought my XO3 and MAG118 to the open field as I hung out with Scooter and my sister. With few targets to aim for, I projected the flashlights aimlessly across the field and to the surrounding trees several hundred meters away. We laid down in the center of the skating rink in the center of the field and observed another satellite and a meteorite amongst the stars. Scooter and I remained after my sister excused herself. At the edge of the moon-lit field, about eight or so campers were making their way towards the rink. One of the campers had a pathetic incan flashlight with an equally pathetic brown beam. The LED like glow of the moon offered better light for navigating than did that flashlight. As they approached the rink, Scooter and I ducked low on either side of the rink entrance, then, jumped up and shouted "BOO!" when about half of the group had entered the rink. "That's what camp is about!", said Scooter as the startled campers caught there breath.
After losing our spot to the campers, Scooter and I left the rink only to return shortly thereafter to find the campers still there, sitting and laying on the rink floor. The camper with the flashlight, leaning against the rink wall, shined his flashlight, presumably, innocently, just to identify me, in my face. Go ahead, make my day... Not wanting to be too cruel, I retaliated with my XO3. "OW! That's bright!", he exclaimed. How could I resist? "That's not bright.", I countered, "THIS is bright." I gave him some spots to remember the moment by when I lit him up with the MAG118. "OOOWWW...." he moaned as he jumped back and cowered, futilely trying to cover his face. "Which do YOU think is brighter?", I asked another camper. "This?" as I scorched him with the XO3. "AAGH!". "Or THIS!", then, with the MAG118. "AAAAAAGH!!". "Hey, Askins!", I recognized him in the spill. This time, I went straight for the MAG118. "WHO'S YOUR DADDY?!!". "AAAAAAGH!!". It was the most fun I've had since becoming a self realized flashaholic. "No, Scooter", I said, "THAT'S what camp is about!". "Your bunk has been raided.", a voice from the field was heard shouting. With that, my little flashaholic party was over as the campers quickly left. From the rink, I lit their way as they ran across the field and into the canopy covered path that lead to the rest of the Camp.
With Camp all but over, the counselors had after hour privileges. I hung out with the counselors and others during their late night bon-fire as cold b[everages] and a 'Peace Pipe' were passed around. With the fire dwindling, a counselor, having seen me moments earlier shining my MAG118 around the site, said "You! You have a flashlight!" and grabbed my MAG118 out of my hand! He needed it to look for more wood and kindling for the fire. "Er..I'll go with you.", I said. With the woods surrounding us on three sides, we didn't have to go far. On semi-flood, the MAG118 lit the downward sloping woods broadly and deeply to help us find what was needed. The counselor had no idea what he was holding. He just said, "Thanks.", and returned my MAG118.
On the last full day of Camp, it was time to say our good-byes and sneak in one last activity or two. I found myself with Crazy once again, this time in gear, as my sister wanted to try the Zip Line. She first, then, me. The 'ride' is considerably more difficult than it looks. Redundantly braced and teathered, sure, climbing to the 40' high 'launching' platform is easy enough as is the actual zipping across the approximately 70 meter line. The hard part, like in many things in life, is the moment before leaping, when one's rational mind, one's logic, is at odds with one's instincts - The desire and means to fly verses the fear of falling. I was nervously on the platform for about five minutes when my young niece's high pitched voice rung over the cheering and encouragement of a dozen or so onlookers and shouted, "Do it for me!". Much of what I learned at Camp was personified in that the brief moment when I suspended FUD (fear, uncertainty and doubt) and believed in the magic of a place like Oz for just long enough to leap off of the platform. I zipped back and forth across the Zip Line that sagged like an over-drawn battery several times before coming to a stop in the middle where I was let down by ladder.
This time, with the roles reversed, it was my niece in gear and I shouting "Do it for me!" after she bravely climbed to the platform. But it wasn't until about five minutes later when a woman, flanked by her two brothers, all, adult alumni of the Camp, shouted "Girls can do anything!" that my niece's anxiety was, then, replaced by calm and confidence and took the the sky. She is the youngest person to 'zip' at the Camp. The woman was right. My niece CAN do anything.
"There's a lot of sadness around Camp today", my sister said. While we'd both would've liked to believe that it was just the blues that Camp was ending that many of the, particularly, adult campers were suffering of, it was difficult to be certain. Were they sad because the larger than life, wide screen Technicolor of the Oz like Camp was ending or was it because the monochrome of the the 'real world' was about to begin? Unlike in the monochrome of the 'real world', in this colorful place where uniqueness is rewarded rather than admonished, the 'misfits' not only fit, but excel with the encouragement of those who value individuality.
After dinner and the end of camp type award ceremony, there were impromptu gatherings and celebrations around the Camp. Carrying my MAG118, I made my way around the Camp to say my good-byes and thank yous to some great people. With fireworks heard in the distance, I light-sabered the night sky and joined the festivities. "Askins!", I saw him at the door of his cabin. As he turned towards me after I got his attention, I asked him once again, "WHO'S YOUR DADDY?!!" and, again, spotted him with the MAG118. "AAAAAAGH!", he screamed as he scrambled through the door. I followed him into the cabin that he shared with seven other campers. "Oh no, not again", was the expression on his face as he rolled his eyes upon seeing me in the cabin. But instead of giving him more "wire", I reached out my hand to shake his and and congratulated him on his strong play and team's victory, "Go Gray!", I, then, said. He shook my hand and said, "Definitely".
"So?", I asked k.d. "What do ya' think? The flashlight for the blanket?". "I don't want the flashlight.", she said. "But you can keep the blanket." she continued. "Don't do this k.d. - I have to give you something.". "Just a kiss, that's all I want.". "Why do you do this?" I asked. She replied with what is so true of her and all of the tremendous folks that I met at Camp saying, "I'm a giver." I gladly gave her the kiss that she asked for as we said our good-byes.
With the nearest major airport about a five hour drive from Camp, Reveille was played at 5:00 AM so that all could eat breakfast and, for those that needed to, be on the bus that was to leave at 7:00 AM. I planned on following the bus out of Camp, but the 'real world' greeted me with a dead car battery. There was Crazy, again, and Thomas to help out. They fired up the thigh high 12V booster/starter and rolled it out with a 100' extention chord to help get my car started. I, again, said good-bye and thank you to Crazy and Thomas.
Thank you to everyone at Camp. I learned a lot about myself, about others, and, yes, about flashlights too. I had a great time. A good time was had by all.
73
dim
I think I was privaliged to participate in three similar, all the way up to a "leadership" one at 16. While not "Radioactive" currently, I can appreciate working QRP on the Low Bands. 
