Adirondack Audacity (4 page)

The van turns off Route 28 onto an unmarked dirt
road. Almost instantly the left front tire hits a pothole
with a jarring lurch. Outside, it’s total darkness except for
the twin tunnels of light coming from the high beams.

“Mr. Morris
?” asks Emi Jo, hands braced to prevent
involuntary ejection from her seat. “What kind of road is
this, I mean, is it even a road?”

“Of course it’s a road
, little lady.” Morris replies. His
hands clutch the steering wheel as he swerves back and
forth in a vain attempt to avoid the crater like potholes.
“We’re just a few miles from camp.”

“
Sir, exactly how many miles is a “few” miles?” Ben
asks; not appearing too upset over the rough ride. Emi Jo
now has a death grip on his arm and each jarring bounce
crushes her ample breasts against him. The smile on his
face confirms he’s enjoying the trip. And Emi Jo is
clueless to the source of his happiness.

“Well,” Morris chuckles a
mused by our discomfort.
“Last time I checked the mileage from Inlet to Camp
High Point, it was about twenty-three miles on the main
highway. I know y’all are in a hurry to get camp, being
tired from your travels, so I took the short cut. This is
one of the old corduroy roads, made from railroad ties
years ago so travelers wouldn’t get bogged down in the
spring mud. This route cuts ten miles off the trip.”

And just when I think the lurching and bouncing
can’t get any worse, a moan comes from the back of the
van. Kat calls out in a panic stricken voice, “Hey, Up
front! Morris, pull over, quick! I’m going to throw up!”

There
’s nothing like a sick camper on board to shut
Morris up. A quick twist of his wrist and the van comes
to a screeching halt at the side of the road. Mac opens the
door for Kat to make a quick exit. As she vanishes into
the night, the rest of us step out to stretch our legs. As
Vic climbs from the back of the van I hear him complain,
“What the hell, nothing between my ass and a grizzly
bear…” his voice fades away.

I look back at him in astonishment. What in the
world is he doing here? He obviously doesn’t want to be
here, he acts like a condemned prisoner on death row.
And he’s an idiot;; grizzlies don’t live in the Adirondacks,
only black bears, the chances of a grizzly bear coming
along and eating his sorry ass are far and few between.
We should be so lucky….probably give the poor thing
indigestion.
Jerk

Standing in the shadows of the high beams, Ben has a
sad expression on his face for Emi Jo’s breasts are no
longer imprinted on his arm. A collective gasp goes up
from the group as Morris turns off the head lights.

I don’t think anything
has prepared me for night in
the North Country. Far removed from city lights, we’re
wrapped in total darkness. The stars overhead are hidden
by a canopy of trees and the new moon sheds a meager
sliver of light. The air is soft and quiet; it is so quiet.
Silence like a cloak of night velvet surrounds us. The
stillness is deafening to ears grown accustomed to city
noise.

I
’m enchanted by the darkness and silence. As a child
I hid under my blankets, afraid of the dark, sleeping only
if the door was open or a nightlight left on. But this was
different, so calm, so peaceful, so serene.

And from out of the shadows comes an eerie
tremulous howl wavering through the woods…what the
hell?

“
Oh, my God, what was that sound?” Kat hollers
from the down the road. Apparently not everyone is
enchanted by the darkness. “Where are you? Holy shit!
It’s too dark, I can’t see anything! Where did everyone
go?! Heeelp!”

“Over here
.” Morris calls. The van lights come on
illuminating the road, banishing the darkness.
“Who turned off the lights?” Kat wails. “I thought
you fricking left me in the woods. What’s howling out
there? Is that a bear, a
mountain lion
?” Her shoes kick up
little puffs of dust from the road as she runs back to join
us. “What was I thinking coming back to this wilderness!”
“That was a loon, a duck that hunts by diving for fish
in the lakes.” Morris explains calmly. “You should
remember them; they’re on the lake by camp. That’s a
mating call. Listen, there it goes again.”
And actually, after knowing it’s only a duck and not
some Sasquatch stalking us through the woods, the sound
is hauntingly lovely. I step to the side of the road to hear
better, and notice Vic standing outside the circle of light,
listening, he turns his head, and I can feel his eyes on me.
Morris opens the van door and ushers everyone back
inside. “And by the way, I have to caution you about your
language. There is no cussing or swearing around the
campers or my wife. She does not tolerate foul language
and lewd behavior from our counselors.”
And what does he mean by lewd behavior? The image
of the staff chasing each other around the campfire,
naked comes to mind…..I don’t think that’s going to be a
problem….being a Christian based camp and all. And the
only reason Helen let me come was her hope that a
summer filled with Sunday church service and prayer
would save my immortal soul. Like there’s ever a chance
to tarnish my soul under her watch…..
…
The sign announcing the arrival to Camp High Point
is fashioned out of woven tree branches, like a huge
cobweb hanging in the glow of the headlights. The camp
is deserted and shrouded in darkness. Is this what the
camp brochure meant by pristine mountain experience?
Or is pristine just another word for primitive…
“Where are the lights, why is it so dark?” asks Mac
peering into the night, trying to get a glimpse of the
buildings.
“Well…we had a little problem with the electrician.”
Morris says looking back at us, a guilty expression on his
face. “In the fall we turn off the electricity to save money
over the winter and then switch it back on in the spring
before the campers arrive. The electrician wasn’t able to
come until tomorrow. So I’m afraid your first night at
camp will be in the dark. And no electricity means no
water. Sorry.”
Terrific……
no lights, no water, no food,
and
no
evidence of people….what
if
Morris is a deranged serial
killer with a particular appetite for teenagers…….
oh boy…

Sunrise comes quickly in the North Woods. Golden
rays of morning sun spill through the web of tree
branches causing streams of light to play across the
hardwood floor. Stretching in my sleeping bag, it takes a
moment to remember where I am. Snuggling down in the
warmth of my bed, I survey the room with interest. I
wasn’t dreaming. It’s as charming in the daylight as it was
under the flashlight beams last night. Morris might be
nuts, but he’s not insane. After feeding us;; and providing
flashlights he conducted a moonlit tour of camp,
dropping us off at our respective cabins.

The walls of the cabin are unstained wood coated
with a single coat of varnish, mellowed to a soft yellow
patina. The beds are placed between long narrow
windows that swing in like a set of small French doors
when opened. Each window is covered in screening to
keep out the voracious black flies and mosquitos.

Curtains and bedspreads are made of a faded green
plaid material. Tattered braided rugs in tones of green,
rust and burgundy are randomly scattered over the knotty
pine floors. Four wooden dressers are lined up on the
wall opposite the beds, the drawers chipped and worn
with age. And best of all…..it’s clean. No dingy cabin
with smoke-stained walls smelling of mildew, crawling
with spiders, mouse droppings, and bats flying overhead
at night. At least I didn’t see any bats last night; a cautious
glance at the ceiling confirms the absence of bat life.
Whew
. Helen tried selling me on the idea that bats live in
cabins and try to nest in your hair at night. Knowing a
little bit about nature, I didn’t buy it.
On one hand she
wanted me to leave, on the other hand she hated losing
her free slave labor…Cinder-Ellen. Viewing the cabin
from my snug nest, I decide…this is way better than a
summer with Helen. Through the panes of glass I can see
a chickadee flitting from one branch to another, calling
out,
chick a dee, chick a dee, dee,dee.

A strident knocking at the door breaks the morning
silence, followed by a commanding voice. “Girls, rise and
shine, the sun is up and we have work to do.” The
apparition standing in our doorway begins shaking a
cowbell, the clanging of the bell is deafening.

Four pairs of bleary eyes appear from the depths of
flannel sleeping bags looking at this woman as if she were
an escaped lunatic from a mental institution. I can hear
Kat mutter under her breath, “What the F…?”

“Ladies, I’m M
rs. Sally Erhart, Mr. Erhart’s wife and
Camp Director. You may call me Mrs. Erhart. I pretty
much handle the day to day operations of the camp. You
girls will report to me until your senior counselors arrive.
All camp matters of discipline and finances are handled
by me. Is that understood?”

Heil Hitler, what happened to good morning and
welcome to camp?
“Yes, ma’am.” We chorus as dutiful schoolgirls,
sitting at attention under the woman’s steely gaze. We
thought Mr. Erhart was Camp Director. We were just
told otherwise.
While Mr. Erhart is jovial and generous, his wife,
Mrs.
Erhart, is all business and apparently…no nonsense
and no fun.
“I have breakfast started and I’ll need some help.
Here is a jug of water to brush your teeth and wash
your face.” She says setting down a jug on the dresser.
“Take it with you to the latrine. I’m sure the electrician
will be here soon and we will have water before noon.” I
think the almighty has spoken, and no one dare question
her
authority.
She has the athletic build of a tennis player, tall and
slender, arms cut with well-toned muscles, blonde hair
styled in a short bob. Her high cheekbones and thin nose
suggest the essence of former beauty, now faded. Her
blue eyes are cold and determined in a face devoid of
makeup. I guess she is somewhere in her late forties. Mrs.
Erhart reminds me of the women at a country club I
once visited with a friend from school. She has the air of
good breeding and wealth, but the look of her worn
clothes and the fact she runs this camp suggests the
family has fallen on hard times. And the firm set of her
mouth shows she never forgave life for the injustice.
Her blue eyes scan the room to ensure everything is
in order. The gaze then turns to study each of us.
Squirming under the inspection, we push sleep-flattened
hair in place, smooth rumpled pajamas attempting to
appear alert and awake. With an upward flick of her
eyelids and a shake of her head, we are dismissed as
lacking…but adequate. Her scrutiny put us in our place,
we are the help…and she is the mistress of the manor.
Turning to leave, she pauses at the door. “I’m going
back to the kitchen. I expect to see everyone at breakfast
in a half hour. Don’t be late.”
“The witch is back!” Kat exclaims, untangling her legs
from her sleeping bag as she peers out the window
watching Mrs. Erhart retreating back. “Ugh, I have to
pee!”
“Oh, holy shit!” Kat exclaims as her feet hit the cabin
floor. “It is fucking freezing in here.” She leaps back into
bed, pulling the sleeping bag over her head.
“How cold can it really be?” Tee asks, craning her
neck to peer at the thermometer mounted outside the
window. “Oh, goodness, you’re right. It’s only 43
degrees. This is the end of June, shouldn’t it be warmer
than this?” Looking at Kat she wags her finger in
disapproval. “And must you use that word. It’s vulgar.”
“Yeah, get used to it.” Kat’s muffled voice comes
from the depths of her sleeping bag.
“Come on, let’s go, I’m starving.” I say. “We don’t
want to keep Mrs. Erhart waiting. God knows what
punishment she’ll exact on us, turn us into forest
pumpkins or something.” I dig down and retrieve my
socks, pulling them on before getting out of bed.
“I’m ready.” Tee says twirling around, showing off
her perfectly pressed jeans and sweatshirt. Her hair is
brushed and pulled back with a matching ribbon. The
sleeping bag on her bed, straightened; pillows fluffed and
stuffed animals lined up in a row. How did she do that, I
just turned my back for a minute? Wow, she’s good.
“It’s too early, too cold and too far to walk to the
bathroom. I’m going back to sleep.” Emi Jo whines,
sliding back into her plaid cocoon, earning her a volley of
pillows thrown at her head.
Get up!
…
Within twenty minutes we’re standing on the porch
of the dining hall, a large building constructed of cedar
bark, majestically rising out of a clearing in the woods. A
carpet of green lawn rolls down to the lake’s edge,
anchoring the lodge between the forest and water. The
porch wraps around the front of the building, curved and
bent branches provide ornamentation and support for the
steeply pitched roof. The porch rails are fashioned of
cedar branches spelling out, “Camp High Point.”
Traditional Adirondack chairs are scattered across the
lawn facing the lake.
“I can’t imagine how much it costs to send a kid to
this camp,” Emi Jo whispers. “This doesn’t look like the
dump I went to as a kid. I’ve never seen a camp this nice.
Most of them are pretty crummy.”
“You’re right.” Tee says, also whispering, “The camp
my parents sent me to three years ago was not cheap by
any means but it sure was nothing like this one.”
I’ve never been to camp, so I have nothing to use as a
reference. But even I knew this is pretty ritzy for a kid’s
camp. It makes me wonder what kind of snotty nosed
little brats come here.
As we walk up the porch steps Mr. Erhart rings a
huge bell used to call campers to meals. The smell of
coffee assails our senses as we enter the dining room
through a set of double screen doors. The inside of the
dining hall is a wash of sunlight streaming through multipaned windows, reflecting off the wood panel walls.
There are no curtains on the windows to obstruct the
view of the lake and a crisscross of exposed wooden
beams hold up the roof rafters.
Suspended from the center beam is an Adirondack
guide boat, a cross between a rowboat and a canoe, it
moves across the water using two oars instead of a single
paddle like a canoe. The focal point of the room, the boat
looks more suited to an art gallery than navigating lakes
and rivers.
Mr. Erhart gives us a brief description of the dining
room procedures. The door to the kitchen swings open
and Mrs. Erhart comes bustling through, setting down a
huge platter of eggs, home fries, and bacon on a large
table that acts as a buffet serving station. Stopping to
wipe her hands on her apron, she commands, “Everyone
dig in, we have a lot of work to do, so we need a good
breakfast to keep up our strength. Right, Sweetie?” She
says tickling Mr. Erhart under the chin....psycho woman.
I head to the coffeepot, noticing Vic right behind me.
I hand him one of the heavy enamel coffee mugs
commonly used in restaurants. There is something about
picking up a nice heavy mug, the aromatic steam of
coffee wafting up, filling your senses. Add a little sugar
and cream, take that first sip, it’s a little bit of morning
heaven. As I take my first sip and sigh, I see Vic looking
at me.
“What?!”
“That’s a lot of cream and sugar.” He says, pouring
himself a cup of black coffee. “Hate to see you get fat.”
Jerk.
“Well, black coffee is too strong for me.” I say
with a faint shudder, tipping my mug in the direction of
his cup. “Ladies don’t drink black coffee.”
“What does drinking black coffee have to do with
being a lady?” He leans against the table crossing his arms
over his chest, cocking his head to one side, an amused
look on his face. Wearing jeans, hiking boots and a
flannel shirt, he looks more like a logger than the tough
punk kid of last night.
“I don’t know; black coffee seems harsh and bitter.” I
lift my mug in a mock toast to him, laughing. “Something
a lumberjack would drink on a cold mountain morning.”
“What? You don’t like my clothes?” He makes a
grimace. “My mother picked them out. I knew I should
have checked my duffle bag before leaving home.”
He seems so tough and independent; I wouldn’t think
he even had a mother, let alone one who picks out his
clothes. I try slipping away from him but Ben blocks my
exit. “Hey, how’s the coffee?” he asks, rubbing his hands
together, chasing away the morning chill.
Vic reaches into the pyramid of mugs, hands one to
Ben. “Here, try some.” Ben hesitates, his face momentary
registers surprise at the friendly overture from Vic.
Ben fills his mug from a large urn, adds a healthy
dose of cream, takes a sip and proclaims. “Not bad.”
Vic leans back against the counter top, his dark eyes
glinting gold in the morning sun as he surveys my body...
up… and… then down, leisurely taking his time, as if I’m
not aware of what he is doing.
Excuse me.
His voice dripping like dark melted chocolate says,
“Oh, the coffee is
very
good.” The corner of his mouth
turns up; as he stares appraisingly at me.
I find myself blushing, the temperature of the room
rises or maybe it’s just me. I’ve had enough of his once
over. In turn, my eyes run up and down the length of him
with a look of total disdain, I say in a scathing voice,
“The coffee is…..
quite
ordinary. Nothing special.” And
with that pronouncement, I set down my mug, turn on
my heel and walk away. I can hear Ben and Vic giggle like
twelve-year old school boys and clink their mugs together
in camaraderie. Ugh….. Why does he have such an
unnerving effect on me?
Heading out to join the girls on the porch, I yank the
screen door open and run smack dab into a wall of
muscle, clad in a cotton shirt smelling faintly of starch
and a summer clothes line. Small pearl headed buttons
lead my vision higher and higher to the heavens, where
haloed in the morning sun I meet the most stunning blue
eyes I have ever seen. A square jaw stretches into a slow
smile of even white teeth, in stark contrast to ruddy
bronze skin. Small crow’s feet crinkle in laughter as his
eyes look down on me. He must be in his early twenties;
sun bleached curly blonde hair peeks below a cowboy hat,
long enough to graze his shirt collar.
It’s true, angels do exist.
“Hold up there, little lady, you’re running out here
like a buffalo stampede on a Saturday night.” The blonde
god says to me.
I’m struck mute…. cat got my tongue…can’t find an
intelligent word in my head…and I believe the technical
term is…. gob-struck. He is the most gorgeous thing I’ve
ever seen. I feel dizzy and faint. I reach out a hand to
steady myself against his chest, and just stand there…
staring at him……..not uttering a single word.
“Well, you must be one of the new gals on the ranch.
Welcome,” he chuckles. “I’m Scott Branson. I take care
of the horses around here. Hope to see you down by the
barns.” He pats me on the shoulder as I stand blocking
the doorway, causing him to walk around me. I turn and
watch his broad shoulders saunter away in butt perfect
Wrangler jeans, a body made taller and leaner by the two
inch heels of his cowboy boots.
Oh, My God, I’m in love….
come down to the barn
, I’ll move into the barn.
And with
that the screen door slams, hitting me in the
face…
Ouch!
....... I think I just brush burned my
nose………and my ears ring with the chorus of teenage
boys snickering across the room.