CAMP RULE # 4

Whenever two or more staff were drawn together, a little healthy competition could suddenly erupt do to simple chemistry. Even while in the middle of the most innocent and worthy task, just one creative spark could instantly degenerate the occasion into a test of skill or a simple wrestling match. This propensity for male bonding surfaced yet again during the clearing of trees for the new lodge. Jim Macartney won more than several bets demonstrating his tree falling prowess. He could consistently smash the bettor’s polybottle into the duff at 25 paces.

By definition, any red blooded staffer should be able to come up with a more fitting use for a truly fine, hand sharpened, well balanced, 28" Cruiser axe then merely relegated to debarking fallen trees hour after hour. After all, isn’t the fine art of axe throwing a life skill to be dutifully passed down to our kids? Furthermore, even Max himself had taken the time to demonstrate that with a crisp flip of the wrist upon release the axe would make this cool 360 degree rotation as it headed straight to the begging target. And what better target then a nearby, uncut, 80’ Douglas Fir? Now in those days the Forest Service guys seemed to be afflicted with an unhealthy relationship with living trees. They’d even go so far as to count and mark them as if they were their children. Like you better not mess with this one mister. But alas, the fate of this fine target, ah specimen was now on a collision coarse between the will to be preserved and the testosterone poisoning of The Staff. And Max, much to his credit, had this well appreciated attribute of issuing good instructions to his charges only to leave us to the result. That day was no exception. Skin the trees for the lodge.

Yes, you guessed it, after a withering fusilade of blunt thuds, glances and good sticks from a pair of dueling double bits, my fellow (unnamed) staffer and I had conquered our worthy opponent. We succeeded in rendering a proper 2 foot high debarked belt around the entire circumference of that poor tree before we came to our entire sense of guilt and shame. Now how to, of course, hide the screaming evidence in the vain hope of escaping the inevitable reckoning with Max. We’d leave the explaining to the Forest Service to him. A quick search of the shop produced no bark glue just a piece of black plastic and some _" rope to secure the obvious bandage. After hastily affixing the pathetic disguise, it was still sadly evident to any observer within 300 feet what fate suffered beneath. The tree was gonna die.

We managed to busily resume our task of skinning the proper fallen trees while occasionally glancing at what we had wrought with out being discovered. It wasn’t until my next trip to camp that Max finally asked me about the tree. Of course, he knew exactly what had happened and covered for us yet another time with whoever was on the warpath at the time. Staff maintains it’s own unique sense of humor to this day.

Camp Rule #4. No axe throwing practice on live trees.