A weekend camping experience forges a memorable bond.
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By Zenobia Khaleel
SAN FRANCISCO: “Forming a Girl Scout troop for my daughter would be a breeze,” they told me.
“Selling cookies, friendship bracelets and makeover sessions equals happy troopers,” they reassured.
And I gullibly believed them.
As the bubbly brownies slowly became tweens and then (gasp) teens, the glitter glue started losing its gleam and it became tougher for me to keep up with the interests and the energy levels of my scouts. It was not long before, I found myself rather unwittingly leading a bunch of teenagers to a camporee.
My ideal holiday comes with a luxurious hotel, breakfast in bed and an aromatic spa. I cannot fathom why people opt to spend their well-deserved holidays in the wilderness; exposing themselves to the elements, without access to running water in toilets. Plus, the added joy of being a responsible adult among 15 impulsive girls, made me break into a cold sweat at the very thought of camp.
The scouts take their motto very seriously, so weeks ahead of camp, we leaders were submerged in an avalanche of paperwork. We had to submit a detailed map of the area and the camping agenda to each parent and the council. Our first aid kits were bursting at the seams, having prepared for any imaginable and unanticipated emergency.
And then we were off.
Four minivans filled with highly energetic girls, singing themselves hoarse; and a few nervous women wondering what they had got themselves into.
Our campsite is an exclusive Girl Scout camp nestled on the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Right on the outskirts of a quaint fishing village, the camp is wedged between the towering redwood forests and the mighty Pacific coast. But the sight that brought tears of joy to my eyes is the camp signpost that read “Flush toilets and hot showers provided.”
Being first time campers, my fellow troop leader and I were the figurative babes in the woods. Our unintentionally funny mishaps provided the veteran campers with comic relief and I believe new campfire stories! It dawned on me that the subtle art of pitching a tent and reading a map (accurately) were skills that had missed me by miles. All our food supplies had to be tightly sealed and discreetly stored, so as not to attract attention of our furry friends of the forest. The food was hidden in our vehicles, and the unfortunate soul who left the car window open a smidge, found the car autographed with the paw prints of every creature of the forest.
Being greeted early in the morning, by the chirruping of birds, rather than the raucous buzzing of the alarm clock, sets a positive note for the rest of your day. And a delectable breakfast of hot pancakes generously dipped with dollops of maple syrup, in the crispy cool morning elevates the positivity two notches higher!
The feeble network coverage in the woods meant that the “ lols” and “omgs” had to be drastically limited and thoughts and feelings were verbally expressed. A new generation was rediscovering the joys of the spoken word.
Brimming with positive vibes and pancakes; donned with backpacks, bandanas, three layers of clothing, walking sticks handcrafted out of twigs and doused with bug repellent, we motley adventurers set off on our trek of a nearby state park. Shortly and rather painfully, we realized that the bug repellents did not deter the creepy critters of the woods! The brisk hike was gleefully sidetracked by bird watching, chasing squirrels, climbing over trees, and general fun and frolic. The lower slopes of the park features a secluded canyon surrounded by beautiful and diverse foliage and a little creek that flows through it. Passing through the groves of massive redwoods, which filtered silvery beams of sunlight through its mighty branches, evoked a collective response, a moment of revered silence; the only silent moment of the camping weekend!
The afternoons were spent relishing the bounties of the Pacific coastline. The camp offers kayaking and surfing, but the choppy sea threw those options out of the table. With imagination, and the universally favorite playground, the beach at our disposal, the prospects for entertainment was limitless.
Sand castles turned into sand art, drift wood and sea rocks became obstacle courses.
We took turns for a mud spa (a term concocted for burying someone in the sand with the head sticking out).
Exploring the fascinating new world immersed in a shallow tide pool; the various starfish, barnacles, sea anemones and the jittery crabs, brought out the curiosity and the wonderment of the inner child in all of us (some of us had to dig in deeper than others).
A few creative minds found interesting uses of slimy kelp and seaweed, like fashioning garlands out of it, or using it as a jump rope, much to our disdain.
All the camp activities like archery, pottery, horseback riding, and chocolate making were cherished by the campers with unabashed enthusiasm, whereas I was glad to simply attempt them and cross them off my bucket list. The horseback riding was a tragic endeavor that was equally discomforting to me and the horse.
My daughter was surprised that she actually enjoyed, what she calls cooking the old fashioned way, you know, when the food doesn’t come prepackaged, but has to be peeled, chopped, boiled, sautéed, or simmered on stovetop; rather than nuked in a microwave. For the mom in me, it was a bittersweet moment watching her tackle mundane chores like washing dishes or cleaning up her mess without being cajoled or bullied into it.
A weekend of strenuous activity and a diet predominantly consisting of granola bars and trail mix, brought my pant size down and my heart to the healthiest it’s ever been, but my soul secretly lusted for the ghee laden biryanis and the mutton kormas that I left back home.
Undoubtedly, the main highlight of camp was the campfire sessions. Deep in the Butano woods, girls from 7 to a mighty 60, sat huddled around a crackling fire, under the canopy of the star studded sky; those who ran out of chairs, squatted on logs. Wrapped in blankets and hugging our knees, we may have been frozen to the bones but the energy level shot up to the skies as we belted out camp songs in full gusto.
The late night and the s’mores-induced energy brought on the spook fest. Using flash lights and glow sticks as props, the girls began enactments of fictional and “real life” horror tales, the shrieks and squeals of nervous laughter echoed through the camp and the woods way into the late night hours.
The paranormal sagas succeeded in making all of us paranoid, and a trip to the outhouse became a test of courage. The gigantic trees morphed into T-rexes, and a distant coyote howl sounded ominously evil. But what sent the most blood curling shiver down my spine was hearing a frog croak while I was using the restroom.
The weekend went by faster than I knew it. All my unfounded anxiety was put to rest as I treasured each minute and faucet of camp; the outdoors, the activities, the responsibility and the company. Not once did we hear the habitual queries of “Are we there yet?” or “I’m bored.” The camping experiences of a weekend forged a memorable bond with a sisterhood spanning all ages. During the drive back home, exhausted as we were, even the leaders joined in singing the camp songs on top of our lungs.
The next day, the troop informed us that they wanted to go scuba diving.
(Zenobia Khaleel has donned a lot of hats; writer, photographer, travel enthusiast, troop leader, amateur actor, event coordinator, community volunteer, but predominantly go by the title Mom.)
To contact the author, e-mail: zenobiakhaleel@americanbazaaronline.com