August 1, 2002

Birth of Legends

Pirate Day here at camp, and t’is been a day of legends. Pirates invaded our camp through the waterfront (in a fine motorized craft with two canoe outriggers) and raised the Jolly Roger over the green waters of Lake Independence. I was among the roudy bunch, boasting a bandanna, a belt of rope and a powder blue suitcoat with the name “Enronbeard” on the back.

On a reconnaissance mission before lunch, five windsurfers (all staff members, mind you) dashed out into the lake to take advantage of some phat wind that was kickin’ it up hardcore. Only two windsurfers were able to fight back to the waterfront (as the wind had increased to a steady 30 mph), so we took to the squirrely e-boat to rescue the other windblown punks. The lake was solid whitecaps by the time we reached the first surfer (Mr. Shea), so to facilitate a quick return to camp we dismantled the rig; carrying the sail in the boat while towing the board.

It became evident that we did not have time to save each surfer separately, as the lake continued to increase its rage and thrash all small craft in its bosom. We picked up another surfer (Mr. Mark T), and towed all of forty feet before the first board came loose. We turned around, tied it up more securely, and set out to get the final surfer.

Then the fun began. The second sail we stuck in the e-boat up had cams, which act like bones under the flesh of the sail and hold its shape. As we spun around surfer number five (Mr. Aussie), the wind caught the sail, blew it over the driver and tipped the boat completely on its side. Mr. Shea fell out, and as I clambered to weigh the beaconing port back down again, Mr. Baker shoved the boat into neutral to avoid dicing Mr. Shea into tiny bits. Wise to our errors, we immediately removed the cams to avoid any further mishaps.

With three boards and three surfers in the water and only enough rope to tow two of them, the frugal mind got a workout. We untangled the anchor line and threw it out to Mr. Aussie. The rope was too thick to tie to the board, so he had to hang on to it (with me on the other end in the e-boat) as we dragged the trio back to the waterfront.

But the adventure was not without mad style. The long trip allowed the Trio plenty of time to master standing on the board and surfing (albeit behind the boat) back to camp.


While circling the pontoon in the boat, Mr. Montana got knocked out by a water balloon launcher shot to to the head. His boat drove itself.

Pirates took over chapel and laid waste to the story of the Three Little Pigs.

We had a floating campfire tonight, where all pirates (even those in suitcoats) were officially exiled from camp via The Plank.

Mr. Mark T and Derek made the largest chocolate chip pancake in camp history. The beast took up two thirds of the griddle and required two men with four spatulas to flip.

i wonder how many pirates are simply graduates with lack of a future plan…maybe if i get an old car, add a cannon and a jolly roger, scowl, and go “yar” alot i can take to plotting my path to wealth on the high seas of the highway.

Mr. Hobo: If you throw in a peg leg, parrot and eyepatch, that would be a definite path to success.

Hullo Dane! You realize this entry made me start crying, right? After remembering camp…..I definitely missed it this year. Thought I’d leave a comment for you since I’ve been reading from this place for awhile now, and the camp memories just grip me every time….this is the first time I actually was able to view a camp entry….well, anyways, hi how r u? I haven’t talked to you in awhile…thought I’d just say hi and all and I ended up getting all weird about camp….don’t mind me, life’s crazy! Well, hope everything’s working out for you!