I had one of those inimitable Frost Valley late-night experiences last night. I was scheduled to tell a story to the Adventure Village staff at CQ at 11:15 PM. I'd hosted a Challenge Night earlier, then told a story to Hemlock ("Winky Tandler and the Maltese Bell" - they seemed to love it), then went to find Tacoma to see if their story was still on (but they were stuck in the dining hall because of nearby lightning storms, so we rescheduled that). So I got into my car and planned to go to the office for a few minutes before heading out to Sequoia in the pouring rain to see if the staff still really wanted a story so late on a rainy night. When I got to the office, Bud Cox was there. Normally Bud would have no problem walking home (the old schoolhouse across the road from the Neversink River by the Haunted House); he walks home late nights almost every evening, come rain or snow. But this night was different. It was really raining hard - a total downpour. When out in the rain one couldn't hear oneself think. A wet slam. And here was Bud, hoping I was going home (we are neighbors in the summer; I live in the Flyfishing Cottage) and would give him a ride. I said I would but that first I had to stop at Sequoia to (presumably) reschedule our staff CQ story. Marisa Shadburn, the Adventure Village VC, has been working hard to include me in AdVill activities, a gesture I have really appreciated. She wanted me to have a good long informal session with her staff, a get-to-know-ya time. Nice. But I doubted now that they would think this was a good time. I doubted indeed that anyone would be in the common yurt (serving, among other purposes, as a Sequoia staff lounge). That yurt is something special: decorated with old FV photos, including one I myself took of Bud in 1973, looking amazingly trim and strong, a long shock of brown hair over his eyes, and his Bob
Dylan sunglasses, and a ratty YMCA tshirt over his ripped torso. That photo has become something of an icon out at Sequoia. And there are dozens of other odds and ends decorating this otherwise pretty grungy space. (The smell of mildewed shoes is probably the main thing one remembers from any visit there.)
But when Bud and I walked from the car to the staff yurt in the pouring rain, we entered and found the entire staff there, waiting for me. They were delighted that I'd brought Bud, and we sat down an without preamble did a two-man performance piece, telling stories of the origins of Adventure Tripping and Sequoia, tales of wild hiking trips, describing the old Wawayanda, singing songs we used to sing, prompting each other to finish each other's sentences. We arrived at 11:15 and we left just before 1 AM. We had to force ourselves to stop, else we'd been there all night. It was one of those magic moment - not just two guys with (together) more than 100 years of Wawayanda and FV experience, but a group of grungy, wet, tired, "alternative" young people willing to listen and find out what we had to say. I'm grateful for it. And I could tell how much it bucked up Bud too.
