Klondike!
Last week was all about preparations for The Klondike Derby. The Klondike Derby is a wintertime Boy Scout tradition here, and I understand there are similar events in other snowy places. As much as I am just now recovering from all the preparations and of course the event itself, I have to admit it's a blessing. We just. Can't. Do. Any of the normal Scout program stuff until the damn sun comes out again. There is only so much First Aid and knots for the boys to study. They need to camp. They need to orienteer. They need to swim.
Saturday was the big day, and we were so fortunate to actually have SNOW for the derby. You want snow, see, because each team (ours was in the older "Iditarod" division had 3 11 year old Boy Scouts and 2 10 year old Cub Scout Webelos) has to transport all of their needs for the day in a sled on skis. Most are really dogsled-like in their design. Fortunately ours was the smaller box-on-skis design and a little lighter. All the teams come up with names and decorate their sleds, then compete for points by going to 10 different stations around the scout camp and doing scouty things. They cook, they do first aid, they do reading and attend a history lecture, they shoot (ACK!) rifles/shotguns/bows, take edible plant ID quizzes, etc. . . .
We learned the names of the other two (older boy) teams from our Troop were "The Chuck Norris Rebellion" and "The Bloodsucking Bunnies". This inspired the boys to name themselves "The Aztec Platypii", so I helped them decorate their sled to look like an actual platypus with fur and a flipper tail and webbed flippers. No duckbill unfortunately (how would YOU simulate a giant black duckbill on a sled?) so it tended to look like a flippered wolf spider from the front. But that was not an issue since the tail and most of the flippers were trounced/amputated not far into the event. They did a lot of work to color in their flag, my best sketch of what an Aztec platypus might look like, and Max was the brave Scout who volunteered to sew the velcro on the fur with a sewing machine.
There were highlights and lowlights for the boys. The highlight I think was when they got to shoot real guns. I'm a little conflicted about this, but didn't have much choice but to go along with it. I respect that for most of the country guns mean sporting and food and male bonding. I respect that no one else around here grew up thinking guns were for PEOPLE and caused death and loss and heartache. So when in Rome, we let kids fire rifles and shotguns I guess. 2 of my 5 actually hit their rifle targets. Poor Max kept steaming up his safety glasses and never could see what the heck he was shooting at. But then they went to the skeet shoot, where mostly kids shot in the general direction of flourescent orange flying discs. Then the kids mostly reeled in pain and amazement from the gun kicking them in the arm or shoulder. But (literally) blind luck was with Max. Max only generally aimed at the skeet, he later told me, counting on the fact I shared with him that if he shot at the height of it's arc he'd have a better chance. His eyes were closed, he didn't even see it shatter. But shatter it did, to the oohs and aahs of many scouts who were bored of watching the skeets fall intact back to the ground. Here I think he just fired . .
The lowlight was easily the cooking station. I'd prepared them as much as possible and they'd done much of the preparations and planning. And I'd warned them that I would NOT be leading them but standing back to watch. That's the Scout way, to let the Scouts lead the Scouts. My job is to support them in learning leadership. But in truth it's an awful lot to orchestrate for 11 year olds. Especially 11 year olds who have led relatively easy lives and are only as mature as they've each deemed necessary to get their everchanging needs met. So it was a disaster. And I let it be. And I felt embarassed as the "coach" who graded them watched over the bumbling, confusion and frustration of the boys. But my thinking was: they have many camp trips (at least 2 this Summer) and Klondikes ahead of them. Now is as good a time as any -- with someone watching and grading them, and with hungry tummies and limited time -- to learn WHY they should do twice the planning and preparation next time. I don't think I'll need to harass them next time to plan out exactly who will do what and how and in what sequence.
Tired but with tummies full of adventure we all crawled home from Klondike. I still have a beat-up sled full of dirty dishes and half-covered in cheap brown fur in my garage. But hopefully someone I know or someone I don't will somehow do something about it or steal it or something or something.
It's just inside the garage door.
The garage is unlocked.
In case you're, you know, somebody or something.
Saturday was the big day, and we were so fortunate to actually have SNOW for the derby. You want snow, see, because each team (ours was in the older "Iditarod" division had 3 11 year old Boy Scouts and 2 10 year old Cub Scout Webelos) has to transport all of their needs for the day in a sled on skis. Most are really dogsled-like in their design. Fortunately ours was the smaller box-on-skis design and a little lighter. All the teams come up with names and decorate their sleds, then compete for points by going to 10 different stations around the scout camp and doing scouty things. They cook, they do first aid, they do reading and attend a history lecture, they shoot (ACK!) rifles/shotguns/bows, take edible plant ID quizzes, etc. . . .
We learned the names of the other two (older boy) teams from our Troop were "The Chuck Norris Rebellion" and "The Bloodsucking Bunnies". This inspired the boys to name themselves "The Aztec Platypii", so I helped them decorate their sled to look like an actual platypus with fur and a flipper tail and webbed flippers. No duckbill unfortunately (how would YOU simulate a giant black duckbill on a sled?) so it tended to look like a flippered wolf spider from the front. But that was not an issue since the tail and most of the flippers were trounced/amputated not far into the event. They did a lot of work to color in their flag, my best sketch of what an Aztec platypus might look like, and Max was the brave Scout who volunteered to sew the velcro on the fur with a sewing machine.
There were highlights and lowlights for the boys. The highlight I think was when they got to shoot real guns. I'm a little conflicted about this, but didn't have much choice but to go along with it. I respect that for most of the country guns mean sporting and food and male bonding. I respect that no one else around here grew up thinking guns were for PEOPLE and caused death and loss and heartache. So when in Rome, we let kids fire rifles and shotguns I guess. 2 of my 5 actually hit their rifle targets. Poor Max kept steaming up his safety glasses and never could see what the heck he was shooting at. But then they went to the skeet shoot, where mostly kids shot in the general direction of flourescent orange flying discs. Then the kids mostly reeled in pain and amazement from the gun kicking them in the arm or shoulder. But (literally) blind luck was with Max. Max only generally aimed at the skeet, he later told me, counting on the fact I shared with him that if he shot at the height of it's arc he'd have a better chance. His eyes were closed, he didn't even see it shatter. But shatter it did, to the oohs and aahs of many scouts who were bored of watching the skeets fall intact back to the ground. Here I think he just fired . .
The lowlight was easily the cooking station. I'd prepared them as much as possible and they'd done much of the preparations and planning. And I'd warned them that I would NOT be leading them but standing back to watch. That's the Scout way, to let the Scouts lead the Scouts. My job is to support them in learning leadership. But in truth it's an awful lot to orchestrate for 11 year olds. Especially 11 year olds who have led relatively easy lives and are only as mature as they've each deemed necessary to get their everchanging needs met. So it was a disaster. And I let it be. And I felt embarassed as the "coach" who graded them watched over the bumbling, confusion and frustration of the boys. But my thinking was: they have many camp trips (at least 2 this Summer) and Klondikes ahead of them. Now is as good a time as any -- with someone watching and grading them, and with hungry tummies and limited time -- to learn WHY they should do twice the planning and preparation next time. I don't think I'll need to harass them next time to plan out exactly who will do what and how and in what sequence.
Tired but with tummies full of adventure we all crawled home from Klondike. I still have a beat-up sled full of dirty dishes and half-covered in cheap brown fur in my garage. But hopefully someone I know or someone I don't will somehow do something about it or steal it or something or something.
It's just inside the garage door.
The garage is unlocked.
In case you're, you know, somebody or something.
posted by Chris at
6:59 PM
>0 comments
. . .and say "hey look. Candy. Looks like rocks". Alaska says "Yeah. I thought they were rocks". Then (and she tells me this is a symptom of mania, and I should be concerned about it, her habit of constantly reciting song lyrics, but mostly it just annoys me. . . .) she says "Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got".
