Marty wasn’t considered very attractive by the popular girls at his school. They cultivated an attitude that they were too cool for middle school, and weren’t interested in a long-haired, greasy hippie kid who cracked silly jokes. However, there were a couple of willowy brunettes who might make excellent forest princesses, and it would be fun to see which ones could handle “roughing it” in the wild. While waiting for this adventure, Marty expressed his teenage angst by playing the lead role in the eighth grade play, Rebel Without a Cause. In his spare time, he also provided cartoons for the yearbook, and all the teachers thought he was going to be the next Walt Disney. To say he was trying to find himself would be an understatement. He didn’t even know where to start looking!
The “backpacking” trip turned out to be heavily provisioned and chaperoned, which took a lot of the fun out of it. There were twelve boys, eight girls, and six teachers to make sure there would be no hanky-panky. It was spring, after all, and twenty nubile teenagers could produce a hot mess of hormones! Much of their food and gear was driven close to the campsites and packed in by parents, so the kids – or rather, young adults – hardly had to carry anything. They started south from the parking lot at Limantour Beach, walking against a stiff wind, on the hard-packed sand right next to the Pacific Ocean. It was nearly a mile to Alamere Falls, which cascaded over a modest 30 foot bluff next to Coast Camp. It was very picturesque to see a waterfall falling free and splashing right on the beach, but nobody dared to get near the unpredictable downspout on such a windy day. The spray was blowing in random directions, and one teacher got soaked by getting too close for a photograph.
The camp above the falls was disappointing. Marty’s first experience hiking in the Trinity wilderness probably spoiled him for life, but there was nothing very inspiring about that campsite. A patch of turf had been mowed on top of the bluff, and picnic tables were installed, with raised metal barbecues on poles. It was more like a KOA Campground – one that happened to be a helluva long walk from the parking lot. They couldn’t see the ocean, and there were no trees to block the wind. The only shelters were the pit toilets, and nobody stayed inside there very long! They sat around and talked about what was going on back home, until some were stifling yawns.
When the erstwhile campers realized they were nowhere near their real beds, they set up their tents with the boys on one side and the girls on the other, and a “neutral zone” in between. The teachers pitched their four tents right down the middle, in a Berlin Wall of discouragement. They did everything but string barbed wire across the top. The innocent sprites waited until the business of setting up and cooking food distracted the adults’ attention, and send out reconnaissance groups to test the boundaries.
“Hey, you guys, get back here!” A bunch of boys were headed down to the falls to mess around, but Shaggy called them back.
“Ladies, no hiking – stay in camp!” Mrs. Joplin cupped her hands to yell at a gaggle of girls that were headed down to the creek to gossip.
“Hey! Get away from there!!” Mr. Lecklikner shouted in alarm when several students tried to see where the waterfall spilled over the edge of the bluffs.
“Javol mein fuhrer!” Hoggy replied sarcastically, and the guys all laughed.
“What did you say?” The science teacher was hard of hearing, a weakness of which the wicked schoolchildren often took advantage.
“I said, ‘Yay, my food is ready!’” Hoggy helped himself to a heaping plate of franks & beans and headed for the picnic tables, surrounded by his buddies. Mr. Lecklikner wanted to say something, but just stared after him, hands on hips.
Hoggy and his cohorts were plotting at the picnic table like prisoners when Marty sat down with his food. “We can’t smoke it in the tent, the teachers will smell it.” Apparently, they had brought some pencils! Marty suggested the pit toilets, and Hoggy burst into the chorus of a popular song, “Smokin’ in the boys’ room! Smokin’ in the boys’ room! Teacher don’t ya fill me up with your rules…” He was a very thin, animated boy, with tousled hair and thick glasses that had shaded frames, projecting a cartoon image of a nerd trying to be cool. He always wore a collared shirt and jean jacket, and the guys often teased him about trying to look like Elton John. He could be provoked into a rage by singing “Hoggy and the Jets.”
After a late dinner it was getting dark, and most of the students wanted to have a bonfire on the beach because campfires weren’t allowed in the campsites. The teachers said it would be okay only if everyone wanted to go, because they had to babysit the little cherubs, and it was easier if they were all in one place. There were some who wanted to stay in camp inside their tents, and that caused a rift between the cool girls who wanted a fire on the beach, and the bossy ones who wanted to stay and gossip. The irritated boys stood around uncomfortably with their hands in their pockets, kicking at the grass and trying to ignore the social drama. There would be no fire.
“Well, I’m gonna burn something, anyway!” Hoggy vowed as the guys headed for their tents. He glanced over at the shack with the pit toilets, and fingered the illegal contraband in his jacket pocket.
“Don’t fart in there or it might explode,” Jason teased him, and got a sock on the arm for his impudence. “Ow! Now I won’t let you borrow my flashlight.”
The twilight lasted a long time this close to summer, and it took forever for it to get dark enough to cover Hoggy’s daring escapades. The rest of the gang had to listen to him brag, and boast, and anxiously unzip the tent flap every five minutes to check on the teachers. Jason possessed the only working flashlight, and those who had honest business in the bathrooms were forced to borrow it. He guarded his treasure jealously until Hoggy agreed to share the joint with him, and Justin tagged along as well, saying he had to go pee, so it was impossible to refuse. Marty took the opportunity to relieve himself in the bushes away from the tents, because he thought the pit toilets were disgusting and didn’t want to go anywhere near them. Soon he heard a heated, whispered argument approaching in the dark, and he asked, “Where’s the flashlight?”
“Hoggy dropped it in the toilet!” Jason cried mournfully, “It’s still there, shining in the shit.”
Sure enough, Marty could see a faint glow of light from the direction of the toilets. While Jason was distracted with elaborate plans to rescue his flashlight, the rest of the gang waited to hear the reaction of the next person who had to use the toilets. Every corny joke that could possibly be extracted from this situation had to be said out loud, until they all got tired of laughing. They were soon distracted, and talked about baseball instead. Marty’s three tent mates were thoroughly stoned and smelly, and all they wanted to do was talk. It was going to be a long night! Suddenly, there was a shriek from the toilets! Jason snorted, and sprayed the soda he’d been drinking all over Hoggy, which started a hysterical wrestling match. Seen from the outside, their tent writhed and shook like a sack full of cats. Marty got what people called “a contact high,” and was just as silly as the other boys under the influence of the evil “Mary Jane.”
The next day, the inconvenience of being away from their comfortable homes became impossible to ignore. The girls wished for hot showers, while the boys jostled like rival cows for the privilege of using the pit toilets first, before they filled up with everybody else’s poop. Breakfast was cold and unappetizing in the misty fog that shrouded the coastal bluffs. Everything was thoroughly damp, but had to be packed up and carried anyway. They were moving to another camp called Wildcat, farther down the coast.
The trail turned inland and soon broke free of the fog, entering deep ravines that were hot and stifling. The fragrant teenagers strung out on the trail and kept some space between them so they didn’t have to smell each other. Flies pestered their faces, trying to get a sip of stinky sweat for a snack. The group climbed up and out of the steep hillsides and leveled off on another bluff. That led to a little grassy depression, or bowl, where they saw some more picnic tables. Wildcat turned out to be as uninspiring as Coast camp, but the surrounding hills were nicer. The beach was farther away and there was a natural rock arch in the water that made a very pretty scene. They unpacked and set up camp as best they could, but the tents and camping gear didn’t look so clean and spiffy anymore. The arrangement resembled a refugee camp, with the tents pointing every which way, stuff hanging up to dry, and camping gear tossed around carelessly.
That night they got their bonfire on the beach at last, because nobody wanted to be inside the smelly tents. The happy campers roasted marshmallows and sang popular songs, and generally goofed around without the aid of any drugs (that the teachers knew of, anyway). The adults were tired, and let their charges wander away from the fire, but it was cold and windy with the fog moving in, so the kids were never gone long enough to commit any mischief. In Marty’s mind projector, he watched a very ancient scene of a young tribe around a bonfire similar to this one, with the primitive terror of the unknown pressing in on all sides. All things considered, that blazing driftwood bonfire resembled a rite of passage for many of them. It was a symbolic way to say goodbye to childhood, and build up their social stamina for the rigors of high school.
The camp was dark and subdued all night. If the plan had been to wear out the nubile neophytes so they couldn’t get into any mischief, it worked fabulously well. Before they knew it, the sun was up and it was time to eat and hike over to another trailhead, where their mommies were waiting to deliver them back to their sheltered lives. To Marty, it felt as though the entire excursion had been an extended field trip: they just carried more stuff and smelled a lot worse when they were done.
The hike to the trailhead was quiet, with each youngster immersed in his or her thoughts. Jason and Justin played tricks on Hoggy, placing rocks into his backpack while he was walking. It naturally got very heavy, and everyone laughed when he found out. Everyone was happy to see the trailhead, which was their gateway back to “civilization.” Marge was there with her little Toyota truck, and quickly rolled down her window when Marty got in.
“Did you have fun?” she asked distractedly, while simultaneously trying to avoid the potholes in the dirt road, and the air inside the tiny cab of the truck, which suddenly smelled like a zoo in a heat wave. She casually rolled down her window, and leaned her head out.
Marty was oblivious to how terrible he smelled, and chattered about the waterfall, and the flashlight, and the bonfire, and realized that yes, he actually did have fun! As much as he wanted it to be more than it was, the memory was certainly unique. It was very different than the experiences he’d had at summer camp, and he told her so.
“Oh, that reminds me, Gramps and Grammy sent some money so you and Susie can go to Cloverleaf Ranch again.” (Those were Marge’s parents.) What a pleasant surprise! Cloverleaf Ranch was a unique and enjoyable getaway for kids, fashioned after a Western frontier town. There was horseback riding, archery, boating, fishing… all kinds of youthful activities. Oh, and there were girls, too! The best thing about going to summer camp was that you could be whoever you wanted to be. Kids came from all over Northern California, so nobody knew your background, or social standing. Since Marty was graduating from a notorious hippie school, he figured it was time for a haircut and a return to personal grooming habits… all the better to lasso a few fillies!