Scout values

A Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent. The Scout Law

I was a Boy Scout as a kid.  As the picture above shows, I was also a glasses-wearing, hair-jelled, mouth-breathing nerd as a high school sophomore. Is it any wonder  girls  were crazy about me?

One of the “stories” I was asked to write last year was  on the question: “Who had the most positive influence on you as a child?” I tweaked the question to “What had the most positive influence…” And I answered - Boy Scouts.

Here are a few of my memories from that story:

My Boy Scout troop, 197, was based in Sac City, Iowa, where I went to school. The Scout Master was Mr. Manthe and he had two sons who were also in the troop. We met in the basement of a building near where my mother still lives. At our regular meetings we did the normal Scout stuff, working on merit badges, learning to tie knots, navigating with a compass, and practicing leadership skills. Our local clothing store, Chiefs, had a section just for Boy Scout stuff, so we all wore our uniforms to school on meeting days until it became too nerdy in about 9th grade.

One of the favorite activities of our troop was hiking and camping at Lubeck Woods, just a couple miles north of town. We would walk the railroad tracks to a small strip of woodland on the north side of the Racoon River that the Scouts “owned.” There we would practice our fire building skills, tent pitching, and mumblety-peg. It always seemed we cooked meals by wrapping hamburger and potatoes in aluminum foil and sticking the packets in the coals. I was never very patient, so my meals usually came out raw. I ate them anyway. We played in the river and just goofed around.

My equipment consisted of a pup tent that required ropes, poles, and stakes to set up. It was quite nice since it had a sewn-in floor. We were alway careful though to trench just outside the walls of the tent in case of rain. I had a sleeping bag, of course, but I don’t remember what I used for padding under it. My cook kit was metal that fit together with a plate on one side attached to a frying pan on the other with a cup and small pot held between the two pieces. This is how I learned to love camping.

Not all campouts were a success, however. My friends Ray and Dan and I needed to do a five-mile hike and an overnight campout by ourselves to meet some badge requirements. So we hiked to my Uncle Jack’s woods, a pasture through which a river ran. Leaving Dan’s house, we hiked all afternoon, stopped at Uncle Jack’s house to let him know we were there, and continued to the pasture in the middle of the section where we pitched our tent and cooked supper. We were doing fine until it got very, very dark, the campfire went out, and we started telling each other scary stories, huddled in the tent. We began hearing strange noises. And when we looked out the flaps, there were sets of huge, glowing eyes! We were so freaked out that we knew we could not get to sleep so we left our tent behind and ran back to the house. We woke up Uncle Jack and Aunt Ellabelle who reminded us that we were sleeping in a “cow” pasture and that cows made noise and had large eyes that glowed when you shined a flashlight in them. We slept on their porch that night, went back and got our tent in the morning, and hiked back home.

The other big event in Boy Scouts for me was summer camp near West Lake Okoboji. For two summers in a row, my troop and I spent a week there, sleeping in large walled tents on cots and eating in the dining hall. Some traditions included having a “Custer vs the Indians” fight with small bags of flour as weapons (having flour on you counted as a wound); earning a mile-swim badge to wear on your trunks; and having to stand on a table in the dining hall and sing, while slowly revolving with a hand on your head, “I’m a little prairie flower, growing wilder by the hour” if it was your birthday. (Listen to it on YouTube.) A few of us would also sneak out of camp to a drive-in to buy ice cream cones now and then.

But probably the most memorable event for me was receiving the Order of the Arrow. And in the 1960s the Boy Scouts didn’t just give the OA away - you had to survive the ordeal...

On the Thursday of the camp, all Scouts gathered in a large circle around 3 huge bonfires late in the evening. Ceremonies included past OA scouts dressed as Native Americans (wearing war paint, of course) dancing with garter snakes in their mouths, drums thundering in the night. But at one point, these same scouts began running inside the circle with flaming torches. Once each round, these frightening figures would face an inward facing scout, and with a scream and forceful shove, push the unknowing boy into the arms of other scouts behind him. This is how we learned we had been inducted into the OA.

We were then drug to our tent to gather our sleeping bags and led blindfolded to a remote wooded part of the camp. There we were expected to spend the night alone and find our way back to the dining hall early the next morning. On getting back to camp, our breakfast consisted of a raw egg. We did not have the option not to eat it.

During the day, we were to maintain a vow of silence. We also carved an arrow from a shaft of wood which would then later hang in the dining hall along with past years' OA arrows. If we talked during the day, we had to carve a notch in our arrow and if we cut ourselves, we were to adorn the arrow with a drop of blood. (No, I am not making this up.) I don't remember anything else of the ordeal. But I survived.

The camp no longer exists, but there is public park land there one can still hike. (Our family did this over a Labor Day weekend we spent in Okoboji.)  Supposedly all the old carved OA arrows are now in a Kansas or Nebraska Boy Scout camp dining hall. 

Unlike my smarter and more ambitious grandsons, I never made it to Eagle Rank, only Life. I’ve forgotten most of my orienteering, knot tying, and campfire cooking skills.

But Boy Scouts taught me a lot that I still value. I learned that a little hardship while camping or hiking  is survivable and makes a good story. I learned that good people always leave a campsite better than they found it - and that perhaps we should all leave the world a little better place as well. The laws of Scouting that started this post are still my moral compass, even if I can no longer recite them from memory.

I am very glad my grandsons have participated in Scouting*. I have been lucky enough to go to Cub Scout/Boy Scout camping weekends with them, go hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park and canoeing in the Boundary Waters with Paul, and hike Philmont with Miles. I have no doubt but that the Scouts have and will be a positive influence on their lives too.

Scouts is still the best paramilitary youth organization going.

*I am very much aware of the problems Scouts have been having with sexual abuse issues. It is important to call these inexcusable actions out and address them. But it is also important to remember that they represent a small fraction of Scouting experiences. I am also happy to see many more girls participate in Scouting, including hiking at Philmont. 

Is it a walk or is it a hike?

Grandsons on the South Rim.

A local bike club is organizing some winter activities, including outdoor ambulation. A question was raised by a potential leader - “Do I describe what I am planning to do a walk or a hike?”

The first time I considered this question was in 2016. My grandsons and I had just finished a Grand Canyon hike down Bright Angel Trail to Phantom Ranch and back, camping two nights in Indian Gardens. It was a challenge for all of us - but quite fun.

On our return, we spent a day on the South Rim visiting on foot museums, scenic vistas, shops, etc. along the paved trail that hugged the rim. When I told 15-year-old Paul that I enjoyed the day’s hike, he scoffed, “That was no hike; it was a walk!” I didn’t argue, but I didn’t really give it much thought either.

So when the question of whether an activity is a hike or a walk came up again this week, I did a bit of online searching. As usual, there were a lot of opinions. Many had similar criteria:

• How long is the activity in both distance and time? Walks tend to be shorter in both distance and time spent. I’m sure most of us can think of exceptions, but walks are usually less strenuous.

• How fast is one moving? I usually walk about 16 minute miles, but am happy on rugged hikes to do two miles an hour. The energy burned on hikes usually comes from climbing, balancing, and carrying on hikes, not speed.

• What kinds of surfaces will be encountered? Walks are often on paved, flat surfaces. Hikes are usually on trails with elevation change - sometimes extreme, requiring scrambling up near vertical inclines. Roots, rocks, and uneven surfaces are all a given on hikes. 

• Is special equipment like boots required? Walks tend to be done in the shoes one wears for day-to-day activities - tennies, sandals, loafers. For hikes, boots of some sort are recommended, although trail runners, hiking shoes, and other less bulky footwear is ever more popular. I often use poles on hikes.

• Is a pack involved? Hikers often take a pack, even on day hikes, carrying water, snacks, and a first aid kit. (Although I did encounter “hikers” in the Grand Canyon carrying only bottles of Coke and wearing sandals.) Walkers are usually free of packs.

• Is it in an urban or natural setting? When I think of taking a walk, I envision sidewalks and traffic and buildings. Hikes require a more natural area - often a park or wilderness area. 

The trip to Phantom Ranch on the Colorado River was unarguably a hike. And perhaps Paul was right, our day spent along the Rim might have been better described as a walk. 

Just before writing this, I went out for my Sunday morning exercise. I went to a county park. I went a shade over four 18.5-minute miles. The majority of the morning was spent on dirt trails, with a few lengths of service roads. The path was fairly flat, but there were a few hills - none that required scrambling or even stopping for breath. I wore hiking shoes and did not carry a pack. Walk or hike?

My advice to the bike club members in telling others about a planned activity is to worry less about calling it a hike or walk and do a good job actually describing it. “We will be going around Lake of the Isles at a fairly fast pace. Good shoes are required. Anticipate approximately 3.5 to 4 miles total.” Those hardy souls for whom this description sounds pretty leisurely, may call it a walk; for those who may see this as more challenging, they may call it a hike.

Bill Bryson ironically titled his book about hiking the 2000+ mile Appalachian Trail, A Walk in the Woods. I’ve heard a friend say he was going to “hike” down to the store that was two blocks away. I suggest practicing empathy and tolerance toward those for whom the definition of a hike or walk may be different from your own. 

In praise of Chromebooks

In a recent blog post, tech guru MIguel Guhlin reflects on how much he likes using a Chromebook. He writes:

Enter the Acer C740 Chromebook, one of the best devices I've owned in my life. That Chromebook has seen me through many a conference, countless blog entries, and projects. When you spend as much time as I have writing on different devices, you realize that each device tickles your brain in a different way. For some people, it's paper and pencil. You need this pen or pencil, that piece of paper or notebook. I found it a better, more enduring purchase than an iPad 3rd generation. Given the difference in price, that's saying a lot.

Like Miguel, I am a Chromebook fan. When my much loved Macbook Air died a few years ago, I picked up a cheap ($200) Chromebook at the local Target store. I was familiar with the Chrome operating system since my school district’s 1:1 program used Chromebooks and we also supplied them to most of our teachers. 

I actually now have four Chromebooks - one my 89-year-old mother uses, one I keep by the side of my recliner in my living room, one that stays at a friend’s house where I regularly spend my weekends, and one that sits in a drawer in my upstairs office that I take on trips. I believe the most I paid for any of them was $300.

Despite having worked in technology most of my career, I admittedly am not a “power user.” I don’t play interactive games that need graphic strength; I don’t edit movies or photographs; I don’t do fancy spreadsheets or databases; my slideshows are fairly simple. GoogleDocs are my go-to production tools and GoogleDrive works just fine for most of my storage needs. Nearly every application and tool I need is in the cloud - banking, shopping, communicating, games, and accounts of every color and shape. My single frustration with the Chromebooks I own is that I think they could use a little more RAM since my Squarespace editing tool refuses to sometimes open until I restart my machine. A small price to pay for a machine that is a quarter of the cost of a new Macbook.

Despite being an Apple user since 1980 (my first home computer was an Apple IIe purchased in 1983), when my iPhone and iPad give up the ghost, I may see what my Chrome options are for both replacements. If the simplicity and automatic updates are built into the mobile devices using ChromeOS, I’m in.

Yeah, Google knows when I’ve been sleeping, knows when I’m awake, knows when I’ve been bad or good (so I’m good for Google’s sake). I’ve pretty much given up all hopes that anything I do online is private and the best I can do is keep my financial passwords safe, dodge any scams that pour into my inbox or voicemail, and resist targeted marketing efforts for crap I don’t need. I still wonder how Google manages to stay awake while watching me. I’m pretty darned boring.

Last post I ruminated a bit on buying better, not more. Perhaps one should also think about buying what is right for the job. How big a car/truck do you really need? How large a refrigerator? How many bedrooms? How powerful an electric drill? How fancy a vacation? For me, a Chromebook is just enough without being too much. 

Thanks, Miguel, for the reminder of why I love my Chromebooks.