Mack W

Becoming a Mountain Man

The seven of us sat around a crippled picnic table. Week old pieces of food crammed between its splintered cracks added to the rotted wood that emerged from a metal bar shoved between the planks. We each uncomfortably arranged our bodies into a pattern that would avoid any contact of rusty nails with our shins and knees.  A barrage of children ran around the table, dodging trees and bushes surrounding our camp site.

 Eighth grade was finally over and my friends and I were at summer camp. Cars pulled up emerging frantic, young kids sprinting around camp. As we sat at there, my friends and I reminisced about our experiences over the past years of the fun we had in this camp. This year was not going to be the same.

Instead, my friends and I were participating in a different camp called Mountain Men. The legends of Mountain Men had been avid in our younger years in camp. Rumor said that Mountain Men was a secluded place in the wilderness full of mystery. You were given one set of clothes for the whole week with no showers, you had to kill your own food and cook it over the fire using flint and steel, then to top it all off, you went through every day throwing tomahawks, shooting black powder rifles, and making knives. This was the dream of every young boy, and we were about to live it.

The seven of us were dressed in khakis, white tee shirts, and canteens hanging from our belts. I wore a surplus Vietnam boonie hat that had become a trade mark for me every time I went camping. We sat around for a few more minutes until our Mountain Men leader arrived. There had been people who went to Mountain men before but never with an 18 year old leader. His name was Nick. We had known Nick all our lives, so Mountain Men was going to be even better with him. Nick was technically old enough to be and adult leader even though he didn’t act like one. Once in camp, Nick stepped out of his small silver car wielding a giant backpack and a thick pile of paper work. He was dressed the same as us and had his signature black hair pulled to the side. Kicking up dirt, Nick dropped his pack off adjacent to ours. By the time he made it to the table, Nick looked like he had run a 5k marathon.

Once we were ready, the eight of us piled the packs onto our shoulders. To get to Mountain Men, we had to go to another camp and then take a three mile hike to the actual reservation. We sat there, crammed into the back of Nick’s car listening to each other’s jokes and stories. If we weren’t friends, that would have been the worst car ride known to man because of how mushed together we were. After 45 minutes, the eight of us arrived at the other camp. This time we were greeted by a little tent containing three staff members dressed as Mountain Men. They each sat on handmade, wooden chairs. After tripping over each other, we all made it out of Nick’s car. The eight of us picked up our giant packs and walked over to the Mountain Men tent. Nick talked to the staff members and handed them our paper work. While Nick spoke to them, the rest of us sat on three towering rocks in the gravel parking lot. We talked about how excited we were and how great it was that Nick was our leader. One of my friends, Michael, hopped off one of the rocks and announced he was going to the bathroom. Michael was an interesting kid; he had very short, dirty blonde hair and was one of four quadruplets. One of Michael’s brothers had also come on the trip. His name was Carson. Carson’s appearance was very similar to Michael’s. The best way to tell them apart was their style of talking and their height. The story of Michael and Carson spans back many years before.

 The two of them were the type of kids you’d stay away from. One year at camp, I pointed out a hornets nest to each of them. Of course their first instinct was to toss a stone right into the middle of the buzzing home. Once they did, thousands upon thousands of angry hornets ferociously escaped their small nest stinging the two idiots and hurting quite a few people. Now, four or five years later, they had grown up into better, less annoying people. Michael and Carson still get in trouble a lot, but they have changed.

 Once Michael came back we continued the conversation. Somehow, the subject we were talking about took a dramatic change from camping to playing video games. This was due to two of my other friends, Nathan and Ethan. Nathan was a smart guy with blonde hair and pale skin. His pants reflected that. He was wearing bright white church pants. Nathan was still a cool guy though. His IQ allowed him to produce a witty comment about anything. The only other person that I know that can do this was Ethan. Ethan and Nathan’s personalities were identical, but their appearances were reversed. Ethan had a brown, curly afro and tan skin. Ethan and Nathan were each skinny due to their immense time on the computer, but managed themselves during camp.

Finally Nick had finished speaking with the staff. We could begin our journey to the Mountain Men reservation. We hoisted our packs up onto our shoulders and began hiking. The trail carried us through multiple campsites filled with eager kids skipping around. We each didn’t say anything, but we could feel it, the emotion of being above everyone else gushed between our group as we passed the on looking children. After departing the old camp sites, all we saw was nature. It surrounded us as green brush tickled our legs. Large limbs of trees towered above while we were shadowed by different types of leaves. A summer breeze blew against each of our faces. Jack, another friend participating in the trip sped up his hiking speed to talk to me.

Jack and I had been friends sense third grade. Jack’s a big guy with blonde hair. We’ve learned over the years to not mess with Jack. He’s a nice person, but he comes with a hidden temper. Jack will not be afraid to hurt someone that makes him angry. As we talked, I looked over at another person that decided to join us at Mountain Men. This was Eric. Eric was in the back of the group, all alone. He was the introvert of the group. Eric wasn’t one to participate in things, but we still liked him. His appearance was close to Ethan’s with a curly brown afro and tan skin. Most of the time we would forget that Eric was with us. No one bullied Eric though; he just liked staying to himself.

We kept hiking. Soon the path we were on led adjacent to a creek. The eight of us scanned the rushing water down the path. It hit rocks and fallen tree limbs until the water was halted by a small dirt outcropping. Upon the outcropping sat a totem pole about six feet high. An expertly carved man was crafted into the pole. Beside him was a small sign nailed into a tree saying “Welcome to Mountain Men”. We had finally made it. Our hour of hiking came to an end as we entered a small field surrounded by thick trees and bushes. The field had three scattered shelters. The shelters were rickety wooden structures with cobwebs hanging from the porous ceiling, and black smith made nails randomly popping from the rotten wood planks. There were two staff members sitting beneath the shelters. One of them hopped from his seat.

This guy was a young person with leather boots and a rat tail emerging from the back of his hair. He had a long shirt that was tied off at the bottom with a belt. Across his body were leather sheaths, each holding a different knife. He pulled a hand-woven basket full of the same shirts. He took them out and viciously threw one at each of us.

 “This-,” he announced. “-Is the only thing you will be wearing for the week. Do not take it off, do not wash it, and do not cut it. This is the only thing that shows you are a Mountain Man.”

 We all put it on the tan, parachute shirts and wrapped our belts around our waists. He introduced himself as Gambit while he guided us to our campsite. We were walking on the path until we hit a creek. Without hesitation, Gambit treaded through the water and kept walking. We stood on the other side, frozen. No one wanted to get their feet wet, but Gambit was obviously leaving us behind. Slowly one by one we hopped across the creek. After the tour, Gambit showed us our campsite. We each looked at the name of the camp. It was called “Toad”. Toad was a muddy circle of ripped tents surrounding a fire pit with a giant, fallen tree running through the middle. Behind us sat a loud stream of water that roared over Gambit’s voice. When Gambit left, we sat on the ground and talked.

Soon a leader from a different campsite came over to Nick with two other kids. Nick stood up and walked over to him. As the two leaders talked, we observed the two kids from our seats in the mud. One was a small kid with glasses and blonde, mushroom cut hair. The other was a short husky kid with small eyes and sweatpants. He was wearing a tan cowboy hat with camouflage duct tape weaving around it. Nick put his hands on each of the boys’ shoulders and brought them over to us. Our conversation was cut off as Nick cleared his throat.

 “These two young men are going to be joining us,” he said. “What’re your names boys?” Nick asked.

 Immediately, the sweat pants kid yelled, “My name’s Ben.”

 We all backed up, the loudness and highness of Ben’s voice startled us. I looked at Jack; you could tell he already didn’t like Ben.

 The other kid cleared his voice, “I’m Cannon” he said in the softest, friendliest voice ever. We all thought Cannon was a pretty cool name. As we talked with Cannon, Ben was hopping around giggling. We knew it was going to be a long week.

That evening was the only meal we weren’t going to be cooking our own food. They fed us macaroni and cheese with some weird sauce and mushrooms. This was obviously not our food of choice, but we couldn’t complain. Before we ate, all the campsites came together at the American flag in front of one of the shelters. As we said the pledge of allegiance, I looked at the other boys dressed as Mountain Men. They all looked as excited as I did. After the announcements, we all lined up to get the macaroni and cheese concoction. I had to be the one standing next to Ben in line. He was continuously talking to me about the dumbest things he could think of. My vision of Ben’s personality was getting more annoying by the minute. We made it to the front of the line and Ben continued talking to me,

 “Hey Mack, should I get this much or this much.” He said raising his hand different levels above his plate.

 “I don’t know,” I said. “Just make sure to save some for the rest of the camp.”

 Ben decided to do the opposite of what I told him. He took the largest scoop he could get, piling the Macaroni above his hat. Then of course, he drops his plate. I watched as Ben cut the line to get the immense amount of Macaroni again. Before he could come back, I raced across the field to my friends. The seven of us sat there with Cannon. We quickly talked about our experience so far. The more Cannon talked, the more we liked him. As the conversation came to an end, Ben waddled over to where we sat. The rest of the night was Ben talking to us. Within the first day, Ben had managed to get on everyone’s bad side.

That morning, we woke up early in the morning. Everyone helped make a fire, except for Ben. Ben sat in the tent tying his shoe for two hours. Once the fire was up, Michael came back to camp carrying a giant, hand woven basket of food. He placed it on the ground beside the fire. We each unloaded the food. After cooking our breakfast, Ben decided it was his turn to emerge from the tent and eat first. When we finished our meal, the activities began.

First, we had to get our feet wet once again to reach the Black Powder range. Our experience with the Black Powder range wasn’t the best due to Ben’s constant talking to the range instructor. The instructor was a skinny, old man with giant ear plugs and a big feathered hat. He talked extremely slow and boringly. After learning about the Black Powder rifles, we treaded across the creek to the tomahawk and knife throwing targets. As we approached them, we saw the instructor. He had a black Mohawk and cloth moccasins. The instructor wore three earrings upon his right ear. The instructor taught us how to handle the throwing knives and tomahawks. By the end of the day everyone was already hitting the targets. After throwing, we crossed another creek to the forge. It smelled of burning metal. Entering the forge, we saw three African American men surrounding an anvil. One of them told us to gather around. His name was Siphres. Siphres told us about the rules of the forge such as not rolling up your pants, keeping on your gloves, and wearing safety glasses. He told us about everything we can make in the forge. As Siphres talked, Ben cut in naming everything that his brother made in his homemade forge. Ben was an avid liar. He laid a lot throughout the week to try and make himself sound cool. Another instructor was Sirus. Sirus was a big guy with glasses and a leather cap. Sirus and Siphres both helped out in the forge. Cerberus was the other African American person there. He was more an assistant to everyone. Cerberus was a skinny guy with a leather satchel and a woven Jamaican hat. The three of them obviously didn’t enjoy Ben’s company at the forge. Once forging was over, we went back to camp and found our basket refilled with food. This was our lunch for the day. During lunch, we came to the conclusion that Cannon was the opposite of Ben. Ben was annoying and selfish while Cannon was a kind sharing soul. After lunch we took the long trek to the leather work shelter. This was where we were going to make our knives and sheaths for the rest of the week. Gambit, our tour guide, was in charge of leather work. He taught us about knife safety and treating the leather well.

The day of activities had finally ended. We went back to camp and made a fire. This was going to cook our dinner for the night. After cleaning the cast iron stoves, we crossed the creek to the best place in camp, the tavern. The tavern was a well- built log cabin with fiddle music, wooden game boards, hard candy and root beer. We each bought our tin mugs and filled them to the brim. We each sniffed the sassafras in the rich elixir. One by one we took a swig of the root beer. It was a very strong taste which was extremely sugary. This was the best place to go at the end of the day to relax.

In the morning, we woke up, made a fire, got breakfast, and ate. Today, Ben and I were assigned cleaning duty. Ben decided he didn’t want to clean so he left the campsite. I didn’t say anything but Nick could tell. Therefore Ben had to clean all the dishes that night alone. Of course he didn’t want to. The hatred for Ben had spread throughout the camp. People from other campsites would visit to see his antics. After forcing Ben to clean, we walked to the creek. There sat a bridge made of rope and wooden planks. Happiness filled each one of us. By this time, our feet had begun peeling due to walking through the deep creeks every day. Now, we could finally have dry shoes.

The days began passing. Soon we had made our knives. The knives had handmade handles and extremely sharp blades. We did not get to make the blades, but they were instead given to us with duct tape wrapped around the sharp part. We had to keep the tape on the blades until we brought them home. Ben wasn’t a big fan of this. He took off the tape as soon as we told him not to. The rest of the day went by fast. One of the staff members that was at the forge, Cerberus, had been coming to our campsite every night for dinner. Cerberus liked us. We told jokes and stories. He told us everything behind the scenes of the staff. Cerberus was a funny guy. He told us about how the entire staff didn’t want to come to “Toad” because of Ben. We befriended Cerberus that weekend.

The next day began as a normal day in Mountain Men until Cannon’s parents came. They walked over to the campsite with cookies and sour patch kids. Before Cannon could say hi, Ben decided to cut in and have a conversation lasting an hour and a half with Cannon’s parents. Once they could escape Ben, they talked to Cannon. They offered candy to him, but Cannon declined. This was the bravest thing we had seen all week. Cannon didn’t want sour patch kids because they weren’t to periodic standards. We sat there amazed. As soon as Cannon refused the gift, Ben yelled, “I’ll take’em” as he ripped the package of sour patch kids from Cannon’s parents hands. He tore the bag open and waddled into his tent, not to be seen again until it was time for rifle shooting.

We sat there on the range as Ben shot his rifle. Ben was getting too far. He has driven the entire camp mad. As we talked, a man stepped up to the range.

 “Hello,” he exclaimed to the instructor. “I’m here to see my son Ben.”

 We all froze, this was extremely unexpected. Ben had spent hours with Cannon’s parents. How long could he talk with his own father?

 Ben turned around and said, “Hi dad.” Then he continued shooting.

We were speechless. That was the long conversation? All he said was hi dad. Why did he spend so much time with Cannon’s parents? The mystery of Ben was getting deeper and deeper.

The morning, Ben wanted to make breakfast. We didn’t think this was the best idea. Ben wasn’t the brightest kid, so we quizzed him.

 “Ben,” Nathan asked. “What is the last thing you cooked?”

 Ben put his pudgy hand on his chin, and thought to himself. Ben got an idea which he decided to blurt out.

 “Ya,” he said in the manliest, southern voice he could conjure. “I went to the Adirondacks here in Virginia and cooked a goose this big.”

 Ben cupped his hand in the shape of a small apple. I looked at the ground and shook my head.

“Ben,” we said. “For one thing, the Adirondacks are in upper New York and geese aren’t that small.”

 “Maybe it was a steak,” he said trying to avoid his other statement.

 We came to the solution that no one wanted Ben touching our food. For the rest of the day we let Ben do whatever he wanted, as long as he was away from us. The rest of the day was pretty standard. We threw knives, and played games.

Later that evening, the eight of us sat around the fire ring, getting ready for supper. We were telling stories about what Ben had done and previous camping experiences. Suddenly, Cerberus came running across the creek to our campsite.

 “You guys have annoying in your campsite, right?” he frantically asked.

 “Annoying? Oh you mean Ben.” Nick said.

 “Ya, well he dropped a hot coal down his shoe in the forge.”

 We sat there around the fire ring awestricken.

 “I’m seeing this,” Michael said, breaking the silence.

 We bounded across the creek to the forge. Siphres stood there, looking in the tree line. Ben had run into the creek and no one could find him. The search went on for a solid five minutes until someone found him sitting in the middle of the rushing water. The hoisted Ben out and took him to the tavern to be treated. Everything that we thought about doing to Ben had happened. We started questioning what if he had to leave and how much more different it would be. After dinner, Ben came back to “Toad”. He was still his giggly self. Nothing had changed. Now that we knew he was fine, his annoyance had come back with him. Only now, it was multiplied by ten.

The next day was the final day of Mountain Men. We finished Black Powder shooting, put the final touches to our knives, and ended our projects. The final activity for the day was tomahawk and knife throwing. For the last day, Gambit instructed the throwing. We could challenge him if we wanted. As soon as Ben heard that we could challenge Gambit he jumped up and grabbed a tomahawk. Gambit put a playing card against one of the log targets. He allowed Ben to throw first. Ben completely missed the target. Gambit backed up five more feet and threw his tomahawk. The axe head barely clipped the corner of the card. Gambit didn’t want that to count as his win in reflect of his good sportsmanship. Ben got ready for his next turn. He pulled back his arm and tossed the axe, just barely sticking into the target. He completely missed the card, but that was his first hit on the target all week. Gambit turned his head at Ben, then back at the target. He reached for a sheath hidden in his leather boots. This leather pocket wielded a steel tomahawk with plastic beads and leather strings hanging from the shaft. Gambit flicked his wrist propelling the axe through the air. It whipped through the air until his tomahawk entered the wooden shaft of Ben’s axe. Gambit had “Robin Hooded” Ben’s tomahawk. We went crazy. The cheering and chanting echoed throughout the camp. Ben was done, he couldn’t continue after an amazing shot like that. We had never seen something that amazing all week.

That night we told Cerberus the story of Gambit splitting Ben’s tomahawk. Cerberus decided to tell us the story about how Gambit got his nickname. The first night Gambit started working there; they were sitting around a lantern as they played cards. Suddenly a snake had come from beneath the brush. Gambit saw it and expertly whipped one of the cards at the snake, cutting its eye. Once blinded, he took a kitchen knife they left out and pierced the frantic snake, killing it. Out of Mountain Men, Gambit was apparently a child knife throwing champion.

The next day they did the announcements for the dirtiest Mountain Man, and the most like a Mountain Man in each campsite. We, of course gave it to Cannon. Ben went on a fit on why he didn’t get picked, but we left him. We were going home. The Eight of us packed up our week long gear. We said goodbye to Cannon and Cerberus. We took our last swig of root beer and began the journey back to Nick’s car.

There was one problem; all of our extra gear couldn’t fit in Nick’s car. We needed another one. The walk to the other camp was ten miles. We couldn’t make that in the amount of daylight we had. Our choices were slim. Nick went to the churches front office. We sat on the same three rocks we had before Mountain Men. This was bad; I was not staying here for another second. We sat there relaxing for another half hour. Our serenity was interrupted by the squeaky voice of a young kid. He looked at us with his piggish nose. The kid pointed one finger at each of us.

 “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven Jedi’s,” he said.

 We each looked at each other.

 “Hey kid,” said Ethan. “Are you related to someone named Ben?”

 “No,” he said.

 “But there’s someone in my troop called Ben. He’s the coolest one there.”

 “Oh God,” I said in shock.

Later, we were lying on the rocks as the sunset began to arrive. Surely enough, Ben passed us waving. Oddly, Ben looked like the most normal person in his group. We laid on the rocks until all of a sudden a truck came roaring down the gravel road. It honked at us as one of the adult leaders from our other campsite emerged from the window. We yelled for Nick that our ride had come. A few hours later I was home, taking a shower, and eating actual food. After they journey, we each told stories of Ben and the big adventure we had. After all, even if you face many hardships, the experience will make you a better person in the end.