Wyoming

When we were 14, our Young Mens group headed to Wyoming for a week of adventure. It was the type of trip permission slips were created for. We rode horses into the wilderness, and slept under the stars with real cowboys. We white water rafted down the Snake river. We peed on a creepy moss covered tree trunk our guides called "the pee pole."

On one particular night, we camped near a pristine mountain lake. The next morning, in an act of teenage stupidity for which we were famous, we took turns jumping off a glacier into the icy lake. When we survived that, someone raised the stakes. A dare was issued, and a few bold swimmers prepared to swim across the 30 something degree lake. We stripped down to our underwear, and dove in. Wes and I vowed that neither of us would leave the lake without the other. About halfway across, panic began to set in. My breathing shallowed, and my body began to go numb. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red appear every time Wes took a stroke. "What's that?" I cried out. "They were slowing me down!" Wes yelled as he passed me up, boxer shorts in hand, and the sun gleaming off his slightly more aerodynamic pale behind. I laughed hysterically, and found the strength to carry on.

Later that afternoon, Russell Cameron agreed to slide 200 yards down a glacier for our viewing entertainment. We all promised to catch him at the bottom, before he slid onto the jagged rocks below. We lined up in two single file lines, a few feet apart from each other, planning to slow him down gradually as he slid between us. In reality, he picked up tremendous speed on his way down the mountain. And we all ended up giving him high fives as he flew past us onto the boulders.

Our group was divided between 2 rafts on the rapids. As we navigated a treacherous patch of white water, the other boat flipped. Most of the guys were able to stay with the raft, but a few got thrown in, and were now battling for their lives in the frigid, churning river. We picked up Joe Dixon, who collapsed in the boat shivering. Then we started towards the final victim, Russell Cameron. He was screaming for us to hurry. That he was cold. That he was getting pounded against the rocks below. When all of a sudden, Joe stood up at attention, placed his foot on the bow of the boat, and demanded that we save his hat. Like Washington crossing the Delaware, he took regal command of our vessel, shouting the urgency of the situation. Sure enough, his faded black Nike hat was beginning to sink on the other side of the river. On his orders, we turned the ship, and rowed with all our might towards the floundering ballcap. Russell, upon seeing our about face just as we were about to pick him up, began screaming for his life. "Help me!!" he pleaded. Our group wavered. Unsure of what to do. "He's got a life-jacket on!" Joe insisted. "My hat's sinking now! Row faster!" And so we saved the hat. And sure enough, Russell was still clinging to life by the time we got back to him.

I think my best memory of that trip was the BB Gun/battle axe incident. We'd managed to sneak a bb gun along, and would periodically shoot each other for the thrill of watching our friends suffer. As we sat in front of our small canvas tent, someone took a shot at Jacob Hatch. After years of pent up anger, Jacob finally exploded. In a fit of blind rage, he picked up a large double edged battle axe, and charged us. Nate reloaded the bb gun, took aim at Jacob's head, and shouted repeatedly for him to drop the weapon. The rest of us scrambled for our lives into the tent. We piled up against the back wall, struggling for position behind each other as Jacob approached. As he drew the axe above his head, the sun cast a long shadow over our terrified faces, like cartoon characters right before cutting to a commercial. At that instant, our leader Brother Smith saw what was transpiring, and called out, "Jacob!!" He froze. The negotiator talked him down. And any punishment coming our way seemed like child's play for having had our lives spared. (Paul, Aaron, Matt, Wes, Russell, Nathan, Joe, Austin, Ryan) And so the verdict was delivered. Swift and inexorable. Because no one would confess to shooting Jacob, Brother Smith confiscated the weapon, and prepared to mete out our just rewards. We would each be shot in the butt until someone finally confessed. So one by one, we took our position in front of the tent. Our leader loaded, aimed, and fired. A boy would yelp in pain, then go take his place by the campfire. Reload, aim, fire, shout of pain.... And this continued until everyone had a small welt on his backside. Everyone that is, but Nate. The final one to be shot, he wisely stood up, confessed, apologized to Jacob, and laughed at the rest of us.

Ryan Fitzgibbons