MLK Hike 2015

On Saturday morning, a horde of red neckerchiefs assembled in the Bear Valley parking lot of Point Reyes National Seashore, ready for the Martin Luther King Jr. weekend backpacking trip. Three days and two nights is not a very long trip, but it's the best one can manage during the school year with a miscellany of 'winter vacations'. Sometimes the diversity of the Troop is also a liability. At this point, everyone was clean and energetic. The two Philmont crews had decided that this trip was mandatory in order to test their gear and skills for the summer; this decision considerably swelled our numbers. The smaller Scouts were there also, with all the enthusiasm and boundless energy of the truly young; inexperience in backpacking would dampen this, but not extinguish it.

When the First Emperor ordered maps to be made of all the great roads of his realm, he commanded that the distance in li (imperial miles) be measured in time spent travelling rather than absolute distance, and that the roads be measured both uphill and downhill. On the first day of this trip, the intrepid Red Horde learned the truth and wisdom in this approach. The distance to Sky Camp was not far, but the journey was entirely onwards and upwards (with apologies to C.S. Lewis). The first stop involved a good deal of pack adjustment, as the contents that were still in the city were moved by the rhythm of the trail. When the group crested and then descended, albeit briefly, into camp, everybody set up camp. The wind of the last time the Troop camped here was absent, greatly aiding the speed of setting up. But the gnats, o the gnats, the gnats swarmed around anything breathing out carbon dioxide.

The first event of the afternoon was a round robin of skills. These included orienteering, outdoor safety, proper packing, and of course knots - it wouldn't be a Scout outing without knots. The stories of outdoor safety seemed to become more gruesome and exciting as the groups rotated. After the learning came the fun: the troop divided into two teams and played a game of Capture the Flag which proved to be more hotly contested than most. In light of this dispute, a rematch was scheduled for Sunday night.

Saturday's campfire was (sadly) a Nalgene (c) campfire, since Saturday had been declared a Spare the Air Day. It is annoying, but probably not accidental, that many Spare the Air Days are the same days a group like this might go camping and want to build a fire. For those who do not know what a Nalgene campfire is, I shall explain. Concern for fire safety sometimes, and more and more frequently often, trumps the traditional focus ("hearth" in Latin) of a roaring fire with Scouts around it singing and entertaining each other. Although the heat of the fire on a cold January night is the most noticeable feature of the traditional fire, the way it provides light is a second important role. The third function is the designation of the stage on which the skits are performed. Without a true fire, the heat is absent, but the other two roles can be supplied by a "fire" consisting of flashlights and Nalgene bottles of different colors. The effect is a cold rainbow that illuminates the performances.

The actual performance at Saturday's campfire was no better and no worse than other recent campfires. The food group skits were undercooked, and one was raw - the players were arguing on stages about the skit so long that they ran out of time! I would say more, but I suspect that my dissatisfaction with the skits, although justified, is somewhat colored by my own unreliable memories of my days as a patrol leader. The food group songs were enthusiastic, but the singers often did not know some of the key lyrics. The Troop songs and yells, however, were enthusiastic, and my traditional song worked almost perfectly. The Troop heard some stories about the San Francisco Giants.

That night, around half past nine, the fog rolled in, making everything unprotected extremely wet. For many, this was not a problem: I, however, was sleeping outside. The important parts of my equipment remained dry, and the exterior of my camping pillow (which was now outside my sleeping bag, as I was resting my head on a sweater) proved its durability and usefulness.



Sunday morning was cool and wet, very unlike the dry weather of the previous trip. Even with the unintentional late start, squarely blamed on the boy leadership, there was no chance of truly drying anything, and a few insects were packed with the boys' gear. Everybody filled their water bottles before we left because there would be no opportunity for resupply between Sky Camp and Wildcat, our final destination. The group left Sky Camp at a brisk pace. The woods were cool and the path was easy, but then the group reached the first fork in the road, and the leadership determined that they had led the group a half-mile the wrong way! There was nothing to do other than turn around and dismiss the mistake (unconvincingly) as a "warm-up". It's better to make such mistakes on a trip such as this and learn from them rather than on a trip where there are higher consequences for errors!

The morning was all downhill through the fog, thick enough to cool but thin enough to see clearly - ideal hiking weather. A steady downhill, even in these conditions, begins to weary the legs, but cool weather may not last, so one must take advantage of it when one can. This fog lasted a surprisingly long time.

As the group was approaching the descent to Arch Rock, the sole of my boots detached. I was forced to changed into my camp shoes. which fortunately were tennis shoes rather than sandals. Nor was I the only one whose boots failed - one of the fathers suffered a similar loss. I do not recommend the trail to Wildcat in tennis shoes, certainly not with a backpack.

When the group reached Arch Rock, the Troop ate lunch amidst the day hikers.  Arch Rock is a knob that sticks out into the Pacific. Its top is bare and sandy, with a few scattered rocks. Its edges gradually curve into the surrounding abyss. It is a scenic spot, but somewhat disconcerting. The remaining water supply was considerably greater than that of last time, since the fog had had provided cool weather almost the entire descent.

After lunch, we ascended the hill that was the first barrier on the journey to Wildcat. The initial climb is clear and then gives way to a forest track with many side-tracks, probably deer trails, descending into the brush. Near the first crest was a viewing station, although few members of the Troop took advantage of it, preferring to get as much rest as they could. Past that point, the trail was easy but deceptively long - several cool, covered stretches were nearly identical and planted false hope in the weary soul. The descent into Wildcat appeared at last, and the group lost all the altitude that it had gained since leaving Arch Rock.

We pitched our tents and set up our food areas as soon as we reached Wildcat. This time we did not discover a field mouse nest in one of the food boxes. Wildcat was more crowded than last time, so playing Capture the Flag in the campsite was not feasible. The boys headed to the beach, where they played the second round of the MLK Capture the Flag series and soaked their feet, swollen from the long day's march, in the Pacific Ocean. One food group had split the duties of grubmaster and had a failure of communication; this group was coping admirably with a skimpier meal, but the other groups had enough food to share, whether that was the result of Scout spirit or a practical desire to dispense of food before the next day's hike.

The campfire was once again a Nalgene campfire. The skits were more creative than Saturday night, but I could hardly believe my eyes when one group performed the very same skit as a different group had performed the night before. The song were once again enthusiastic, and the fathers who had come on the trip performed a medley as their contribution to the campfire. There were, of course, more Giants stories.

After the campfire, there was a conference of the leadership, both boys and adults, for debriefing, discussing any disciplinary issues, and planning the next day's route. The Senior Patrol Leader had not been the previous MLK hike on which we traversed this route, so there was much discussion on which route back to the Bear Valley parking lot would quickest, most efficient, and involve the least backtracking.

This night, many Scouts, especially younger ones, decided to sleep under the stars. The weather was drier and windier in Wildcat than Sky Camp, but I was a bit concerned that the little Scouts would not be warm enough. Fortunately, that concern proved unwarranted - some had friends' tents to which they could retreat, while others had the latest, warmest sleeping bags and the ability of all small things to burrow.


On Monday morning, the Troop rose early, although not as early as last time, when the Troop had risen before dawn and ascended the first hill home in the half-light. Further delay, but a necessary delay, came from breakfast. Scout's Own, the non-denominational service which normally takes place on Sunday morning, took place on Monday - given the nature of the long weekend, Monday was an appropriate time for serious contemplation. Scout's Own took place on a knob overlooking the Pacific. The waves crashing behind the emcee and the speakers were so loud it was sometimes difficult to hear.

Once the other adult whose shoes had dissolved had an adequate (though not ideal0 pair of shoes and a large portion of the pack of the struggling little Scout had been redistributed, the Troop headed up the trail. The ascent looked less intimidating in full light. The first crest, indicated by the presence of a water tank was encouraging, but it proved that my memories of this trail from two years ago were rosier than warranted on the matter of the amount of uphill and fire road. It was cool while we traveled. As usual on the last day of a trip, part of the route was trudging steadily onward in anticipation of civilization and a visit to In 'N' Out. The Troop made good time and reached the Bear Valley parking lot an hour later than the last trip.

It's always hard to end these accounts, since a good trip often lacks a dramatic ending - if real-life adventures ended the way stories and movies do,  life would be exhausting and terrifying. The MLK 2015 hike had its ups and downs (both literally and figuratively). It will be remembered well by those who were there, and the unpleasantries will fade away soon, leaving only the recollection of an exciting weekend hike.

Candlelight Concert for the Secours

On Monday, May 31st, I attended a Candlelight Concert celebrating the music ministry of Michael and Catherine Secour. Mrs. Secour was my instructor in the Children’s Choir when I was growing up in the (Episcopal, not Catholic) parish of St Mary the Virgin, and Mr. Secour was my instructor for the Youth Choir until my voice broke unseasonably early. The attendance for this musical festschrift was overwhelming, and underscored how much the ministry of the Secours had meant to so many people.


The program opened with an adaptation of Our Church’s One Foundation adapted for the 10th anniversary of the Secours’ ministry, thirteen years ago. I always experience mixed feelings about adaptations. The change of words to beloved hymns in order to reflect a secular occasion could be seen to violate propriety, yet such changes often indicate affection for the tune as well as the addressee. The tradition of applying new words to a well-known tune is an ancient tradition, whose use ranges from the cheekily disrespectful Carmina Burana (literally, “beer songs”) to the anti-Arian cathedral sit-in of St Ambrose. The third song was a similar adaptation of Psalm 95.


The song between these two was Tomorrow shall be my Dancing Day, sung by the Youth and Adult Choirs. It is a pleasant enough carol, but its rhythm seems a bit jerky and disjointed to me. This slight discomfort perhaps stems from my aural training in modern music, which favors a smoother melody, but it is also possible that this carol was composed with dancing in mind.
The fourth song was an anthem sung by the Children’s Choir. Whenever the Children’s Choir sings, the words are few and repeated many times. It would be an error to overwhelm the wee babes who compose the Children’s Choir with unnecessary complexities, but one of the advantages of this method (and here I speak as an alumnus) is the increase in memorization skills which a short melody with simple lyrics provide.


The fifth song was For the Beauty of the Earth, sung by the Youth and Adult Choirs. This is my favorite piece out of all that I have sung or heard at St Mary’s, and the one which traditionally Mr. Secour drafted the Thanksgiving returnees to sing - I do hope that whoever replaces him maintains that tradition! Much of what I feel in my heart about this song is ineffable - I genuinely mean this - and so this description is much shorter than one might expect for a song I hold in such affection.


The sixth song was Britten’s Festival Te Deum, with which I am not familiar. The performance was beautiful, but did not pull anything from the wellspring of my memory. UI should mention, however, that Margaret fille was the soloist.


The seventh song was ’Tis a Gift to be Simple, sung by the Children’s Choir. It was considerably more complex than most of the piece which they perform; the Shaker composers, however, were brilliant in their composition because they remembered the plebeian origin of singing and eschewed the complexity which so bewilders and intimidates many who wish to sing for joy rather than jingling coins. This song was a favorite when I attended “hymn-sing” at Cathedral School for Boys. “Hymn-sing” is a topic I may address in a later post.


The eighth song was Pie Jesu from Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s Requiem, which the Youth and Adult Choirs sung; the soloists were Margaret fille and Laura Secour. I have a hard time associating the producer of Cats and the Phantom of the Opera with the composition of a religious work. The ninth song also came from Requiem, and what impressed me most about that performance is how a skilled composer can take lyrics of only a few lines and stretch them over a significant period without dulling their impact by repetition.


The tenth song was Duet from Bach’s Cantata 78, sung by the Youth Choir and the Altos of the Adult Choir, which I half-remembered singing, although it seems likely that I sang it in English - my memory could be faulty here. The performance in case, however, was in German. Memorization of foreign lyrics is significantly harder than memorization of foreign speech, so a successful performance in a foreign language gives me much pleasure.


The eleventh and twelfth songs, both of which the Adult Choir sang, were, respectively, Bairstow’s I sat down under his shadow and Brahms’ How lovely are thy dwellings from A German Requiem, although the language of the latter was English rather than German. Neither of these selections was well-known to me. The final song was a hymn, Ye Holy Angels Bright, (allegedly) sung by everyone, although the Secours had chosen it.


The reception was so crowded that one could barely move and the ambient heat of the room was noticeable if someone were observant. The most notable event for me, however, was the boy who came up to me and introduced himself to me as the boy who had visited the troop the previous week and been so taken with it that he now has plans for joining the troop and coming to summer camp - the world in which I grew up is small and extremely interconnected.

Yale, Yale, Yale

I don't think I'll do this on a regular basis, but I'll forget the details if I don't post now. I'll just have to post the investigation into Trinidadian Benedictine identity theft. After a day in the quiet confines of the Mechanics Institute Library, where I finished reading the Canaanite mythological corpus so that I could return the book on Wednesday, I mounted the hill to the University Club via Powell. I was temporarily is blocked by the incessant crimson of the cable cars. Then I arrived at the University Club, where there was to be a Yale group singing - without a brawl. It turns out that one of the female members of Red, Hot, and Blue, was the friend of Andrew, who is a fellow CSB alum. The only girl in jeans there was a friend of Andrew's friend; she had gone to a familiar local school on the other side of the bay.