The Cookie Monster

Ten Mile River in the Catskills was a favorite destination of Boy Scout troops, a Mecca of sorts which all Boy Scouts wished to visit at least one summer in their career. A long winding, bumpy, dusty road led to the camp along a cutout in the side of a mountain. The rattling old school bus meandered along these narrow two-lane roads high above the flimsy low road guards that could hardly stop a car much less a school bus with a top-heavy load.



On arrival, a brief orientation was held in the parking lot adjacent to the main building; it included troops from other cities and states. The orientation consisted of a litany of rules such as lights out time, locations where fire wood could be harvested and a general list of activities and competitions between troops for friendly rivalry and the earning of merit badges. Also, a mention was made of the punishment for stealing wood. Troops had their own area with a cluster of Lean-Tos’ out of sight of other troops. Each troop was divided into patrols and each patrol was assigned its own Lean To. I was issued a lower bunk on the left side of Lean-To #5 for Troop #14 Woodside. A lean-to consisted of a three-sided structure with a rear slanted roof and a short overhang at the front, which opened facing the forest. The floor of the structure rose about two feet off the ground forming the seating area which faced the hearth, a semicircular metal shell within which the scouts built up and tended to the fire. The fire place as in earlier times was the centerpiece for relaxation and socializing. It was the stage, television, range top, oven and light source. It also served as a formidable bug detector keeping insects away with its smoke as well as protection keeping wildlife at bay in fear of the light. It was also a good location to tell ghost stories as the blackness of night encroached while stars appeared like diamonds dropped miscellaneously onto a black felt cloth.



It had been a busy day between traveling to the camp, orientation, setting up camp, building the fire as well as securing, cutting and transporting wood to the site. The scouts shared their treats brought from home as they gazed into a mesmerizing fire, as interesting as most television shows in the nineteen sixties. Eyelids started to drop as the boys fought off sleep eventually giving in to fatigue. They stuffed their snacks into pockets or bags and crawled into their sleeping bags, for a sound sleep, leaving the fire to die down during the night to save firewood, but thereby reducing the fear to wildlife.



Morning broke early with the sound of a woodpecker hammering away for his breakfast in a nearby tree. Pop,pop,pop,pop,pop, he repeated every few seconds. A misty cloud hovered near the ground covering everything in dew. The sun had not risen yet, but the sky was lit. Soon the sun would rise and burn off the mist. As I groggily looked around, everyone appeared to be asleep. Having slept on top of my sleeping bag in uniform, I noticed that my shirt was covered with crumbs and both pockets were torn apart. It was then that Mike Connolly, a friend and fellow scout broke the silence confessing to me that he had seen what happened. Mike explained, “This big raccoon jumped into the Lean-To and crawled up on your chest smelling the snacks in your pockets, then carefully tore through the material with its claws and teeth eating the cookies then leaving you covered in crumbs and disappeared into the night.”



Mike confessed that he was scared and afraid to spook the animal for my safety and his.



“Thanks Mike you did the right thing.” I said.


My story was told many times over that day and used as a good example of what not to do with food while camping. I mused that it was a good thing that I had not fallen asleep with a honey comb in my pocket presumably avoiding a wrestling match with a 600lb black bear! One damaged shirt was a small price to pay to learn a healthy respect for wildlife.

Jim

May 2020