Chapter 7 The First Night’s Hazing - from my book Changes

Chapter 7

The First Night’s Hazing

During the week I was at the standard class it rained.  Every day and every night it rained.  That led to the problem of everything getting wet.  Some people had to move their tents because they were in low spots that became little lakes.  The interns and caretakers were on hand to help people move tents, and several extra fires were lit under makeshift shelter tarps with Jerry rigged racks to help people dry out wet sleeping bags during the day, while lectures and other activities were happening.

I was lucky or smart but I did not have to move my tent.  However, the rain was so heavy, all the ground was wet, and the inside edges of my tent ended up with puddles of water on the floor.  I had to move my nylon duffle bags away from the edges since it turned out they were not at all waterproof, as well as my sleeping bag and anything else I wanted to keep dry.

That first night, after lectures were over at about 10 pm, I headed out from the comparable dry of the Taj, to the wind, rain, and darkness to go to my tent.

I had all my layers on and a waterproof poncho.  I wore Ugg knock offs with real sheep’s fur lining, which surprisingly kept my feet warm even though they were soaking wet inside.  I had thrift store wool sweaters layered over cotton shirts under my coat, and for pants I had jeans.  My legs were the only part of my body that were consistently cold during the day.  Cotton jeans get damp and are not meant for rainy weather, where wool kept me warm even when damp.

As I headed to my tent the rain was falling and the wind was blowing.  My poncho kept most of me dry, but my left hand felt cold and raw as the stiff, cold, wet plastic of the poncho rubbed against my wrist as I held the flashlight so I could see my way along blueberry trail.  My other hand held my notebook under my poncho.  As I pushed my way along, the blueberry bush’s thin little branches kept catching and grabbing at me, like gnarly little fingers, trying to stop me.

The light from the flashlight cast shadows that were jumping and darting around me.

The not so gentle gusts of wind made the tall pine trees and shorter scrub oaks bend and sway and look threatening, as if to say, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?  Get out!  Get out!”

The tops of my hands were becoming more and more irritated, rubbing against the edges of the poncho, and my feet were squish, squishing inside my soaked boots.

Finally I found my tent area in the dark menacing woods.  Luckily there was a certain pine tree whose branch reached out across the trail, marking the entrance to my camping spot.

I walked the few feet of even narrower trail to my tent.

I had to think how I was going to get into my tent without getting everything inside wet.  My poncho was wet, my coat was wet, and my boots were wet.

I unzipped the door of the tent, pulled off my poncho, turned in inside out and placed it inside along the wall.  My coat I turned inside out and layed it across the duffle bag.  Then I took off my boots, one by one, and stepped into the tent in my socks.  Then after turning my boots upside down outside the tent, so the water could drain out, I placed them near the door inside the tent.  Then, with my feet inside and my body outside, I had to bend way over and back into the little tent, baby step by baby step until I was all in.

Crouching there I surveyed the inside.  The middle floor was still dry, being higher than the sides.  My sleeping bag I had laid over the duffel bags so it was dry too.  Carefully avoiding the wet puddles on the edges inside my tent, I made my little bed.

In my ignorance I had not thought to bring a sleeping pad of any kind, and I found out quickly how cold the ground could be, even with a sleeping bag.  Unable to get warm, I ended up taking my bulky sweaters and folding them neatly under my makeshift bed to create some insulation from the cold ground.  Finally I got warm.

I was settled in my cozy bed when the rain picked up tremendously.  As I listened I questioned what I was hearing.  It sounded like someone was throwing handfuls of marbles on my tent, and running around and around on the wet leaves.  Being new to Trackerschool I wasn’t sure what to expect.  From reading all of Tom’s books I knew he could be a bit of a prankster, and I wondered if he had sent interns or caretakers out to play tricks on the new tracker students.

‘How could anyone be running around my tent with the cords stringing out around it holding it to the ground?’ I wondered.  ‘They would have to have very good eyesight in the dark not to trip and fall over them.’

This onslaught of sound went on for what felt like half an hour as I lay there puzzling over what was happening.  The whole idea of being hazed in this way seemed ridiculous, but my imagination carried me away.

Finally, I decided I had to look.  If someone was out there, I would catch them in the act.

I dreaded moving out of my comfortable warm covers but I knew I wouldn’t relax and go to sleep until I looked out, so I reluctantly pushed off my warm covers and inched my way over to the zipper door.  The noises outside were as intense as ever as I unzipped the tent flap and peeked out.

All I saw was the bright moonlight reflecting off the shiny wet leaves and trees, and rain continuing to fall, gathering into great fat drops on the trees and falling loudly on my tent.

I zipped the door shut, and scooched back into the warm bedding, laughing at myself as I fell asleep.