I apologize to the reader if you find this is a rambling and barely coherent story to follow my previous chapters Child of the wood 9.10.2021 part I (blog 33) & Child of the wood 15.11.2021 part II (blog 35) . In the 6 years after those events, I traded the forest for the water. I hope you will find that I brought those familiar themes with me.

In the Spring of my 19th year, a friend of mine asked if I would consider becoming a leader at a prestigious summer camp for boys. During the previous summer, I worked as a crewmember aboard a large catamaran sailing vessel that took groups of tourists out from the harbor town where I was staying. I had proven sailing skills, I had my US Coast guard license, I had been a youth soccer coach with glowing reviews from parents, and I had once been a camper myself. These qualifications made me highly valuable to the summer camp which needed a leader for the group of boys who would go on a Great Lakes sailing expedition.

The prior summer, I was a somewhat sociable crewmember who also worked as a bar tender. I earned a ridiculous amount of tip money and made many fun acquaintances in that harbor town. I would have to give that up to take on the camp leader job. It had been a few years since my own wonderful experience at camp that I described in my previous blog posts. I loved everything about summer camp: the freedom; the adventure; the connection to nature, the perfect balance between independence and mutual support; and most of all, the close trusting friendships that formed so naturally. I admired my leaders when I was a camper, and I was eager to have those same experiences in their role. I jumped at the opportunity without hesitation.

The camp that hired me was not the same one I attended as a boy, but it was organized similarly. The camp was built on the shore of a 7-mile-long lake with hundreds of acres of fields and forest. This prestigious camp was attended by boys from across the United States and internationally. It had every possible activity and facility. The cabins were rustic but were built with high quality timber-framed architecture. Camp sessions were 4 weeks long and each group would go on a wilderness trip away from camp for several nights. I would lead a group of boys aged 13 to 14 who would go on a sailing expedition on one of the Great Lakes of North America. These are among the largest freshwater lakes in the world and have waves and horizons on an oceanic scale.

I arrived in camp 2 weeks early for training and met my two co-leaders for the sailing group. They were former campers and were already friends with each other. Their respect for my sailboat captain skills helped them to accept me, but we also naturally became friends. When our campers finally arrived, I found that they were cast from the same mold that made my friends from when I was their age. I kept noticing similar personalities like the ones I described in my last chapter. But damn, these boys were of a rebellious age. I now appreciated how difficult we must have been for our leaders when I was a camper at the age of 13. I was now their leader by authority of the camp, but I knew I had to earn their acceptance as a true “leader.” One boy named Colin was excited for the tradition of fishing on our sailing trip and cooking a fresh catch for our meal. When I confessed that I had never learned to fish, I had never seen such a look of disgust on a boy’s face. How could a so-called leader from a wilderness camp not know how to fish? I knew this boy’s trust would be hard to earn.

During our group’s first days at camp, we trained the boys for our momentous sailing expedition. Using small two-person sailboats close to the shore of the camp, we taught them the basics of sailing, knot tying, how to control the boat in different angles of wind, etc. But we also enjoyed other camp amenities such as the archery range. Our group took the time to visit the great hall and look at the framed photographs that hung there. The photos showed glimpses of life over the 90-year history of this camp. We found photos of my two co-leaders when they were campers and that was of great interest to the boys. Most interesting (to me) was that we found black and white photos of barefoot boys wearing only loincloths on the archery range. These photos were maybe 50 years old. Since then, loincloths and Native American themes had been eliminated from the camp, but here was clear proof that these traditions were once alive. I was very curious to see the modern camper’s reactions to these photos. Their eyes passed quickly and dismissively over most old photos on the wall. But those eyes widened and stopped to look intensely at the loincloth photos. The boys in those photos smiled with serenity and dignity as they focused on their archery targets. The vertical lines of their loincloths accented their steady athletic posture as they aimed their bows. After a silent pause, the modern campers laughed and derisively said “that’s so gay.” But, from the looks on their faces, I knew that they felt too much embarrassment to admit to their fascination.

That same day we took the boys out on 28-foot-long sailing scows just off the shore from the camp. The boats were too narrow and shallow to have space below deck, but they were large enough to fit 6 of us on each boat. This was the first opportunity for the boys to try their sailing skills as part of a team. I captained one boat while my co-leaders captained the others. Colin was assigned to my boat, and I think he was disappointed by this. The sun was shining, the waves were only 1 or 2 feet, and there was a solid 12 knot wind. Perfect conditions for sailing fast but not too rough. Our three boats were unofficially racing to a public dock on the opposite shore from the camp. I won’t bore you with sailing terminology, but the secret to sailing this class of boat fast in these conditions is to allow the boat to lean dramatically away from the wind at a constant angle. While the boat leans one way, all crew members lean outside the boat in the opposite direction to keep the boat balanced. The angle can feel more extreme than it really is, like it is about to tip over. But I knew our boat’s limits and how to maximize the forces of the wind against the rudder and centerboards. I directed the boys to follow my lead in leaning far over the edge of the boat. The wind and spray hit their faces. They clenched their jaws in fear as we tipped even more steeply. But the fear was replaced by laughter and exhilaration as they felt the boat surge forward. It is an addictive and powerful feeling when you tame the wind. And we shared that feeling when we left the other two boats far behind. The boys were starting to accept me as a worthy leader.

When we were at the dining hall that evening, something connected in Colin’s mind that made him think about the loincloth photos. He wanted to know why the boys were wearing them at the archery range and why that no longer happened at the camp. The other boys heard him ask this question and they also seemed interested in my answer. I told them I did not know why the camp stopped, probably because the minimalist clothing was too close to nudity. I told them that loincloths and archery had a lot in common. They were both elegantly simple primitive inventions. I told them that they were both from Native American lore but that probably every culture on the planet invented archery and loincloths in ancient history. At camp, the bow and loincloth let the boys temporarily forget modern complexity and concerns. I told them the loincloths were light and comfortable and did not hinder athletic movement on hot summer days. Loincloths let the boys become closer to nature and gave them the heightened senses of a Native American scout. I thought for a moment and said that sailing was another elegantly simple primitive invention. Using the power of the wind and water to explore the wider world was also important for our ancient ancestors. My co-leaders and the boys laughed a little at my strange attempt to find philosophical significance in our summer fun. But they also seemed to accept what I was saying.

Colin asked where did they get the loincloths? did they just hang two cloths on their belt? The curious boys were all very interested in my answer. I told them that it was easy to make, and that it was one cloth threaded between the thighs, that their nudity was covered even when the wind played with those flaps or when they were running. Then I decided to tell them my own summer camp story of that day on the wilderness lake shore. I told them about our game of Frisbee with shirts vs. loincloths. I told them how I learned to make the loincloth from my cub scout manual and how we ripped strips of beach towels and cut pieces of rope for belts. I told them the story of how mine became untied and how the passengers of that boat were so uncomfortable watching our chaotic game. Of course, I did not tell them about my own private forest games. My co-leaders and the boys all thought this was funny and that my old group of friends was a little strange. But I shrugged and declared that it was all a fun and memorable experience. I believed that the seed of an idea might have been planted in their minds at that moment. I also believed that Colin was beginning to appreciate my unusual way of thinking.

As we walked back to our group’s cabins, Colin had been pondering when he suddenly said, “And Fishing!” He went on to explain that his favorite hobby of fishing was another elegantly simple and self-sustaining ability that came from our ancient ancestors, just like archery, sailing, and even loincloths.

Halfway through the camp session, it was finally time for our big sailing trip. The camp bus took our group to the marina in the same harbor town where I had worked the prior summer. The camp had leased two beautiful big sailboats that were waiting for us at the end of the dock. I would captain the larger boat which was 47 feet long with 3 double beds and 2 bunkbeds. The other boat was 37 feet long with 3 double beds. We would cram the 3 leaders, 14 boys, and all our supplies into these two ships. The boy’s eyes widened with excitement as they walked down the dock. I could see in their smiles and excited whispers that the boats were bigger and more impressive than they imagined. I watched with prideful satisfaction as they began to realize the magnitude of the adventure they were about to take. As the senior sailor of the group, I would be responsible for their lives.

After stowing our supplies, we spent the afternoon sailing just outside the harbor while the boys learned to sail such large boats. Then we docked back at the marina where we would stay overnight on the boats. Each double bed had to be shared between 2 boys. Each boat had cushioned seats in the dining area and this is where my co-leaders slept. I chose to sleep above deck in a sleeping bag on one of the cushioned benches in the back (cockpit) of the larger boat. This back area had a canopy overhead and removable plastic windows that could be zippered on cold nights.

Our real journey began the next morning. We left the harbor and set a direct course toward a natural cove on a wilderness island. We sailed toward the horizon with only water and sky in front of us. Soon, the land behind us was completely out of view and all we could see was our other ship. We began to sense that we were on an adventure into the unknown. We felt the thrill of freedom and independence. But we also felt profound isolation and uncertainty. I was proud of the perspective we gave these boys. For most, this was their first time being out of view of dry land. We only had to adjust sails and our course a few times due to changing wind, otherwise it soon became boring. In 4 hours we were at our beautiful cove. The deep keel below each boat kept us away from shore. We had a rowing dinghy that could bring 5 people to shore, but the boys could not wait. Already dressed in swimwear, they dove off the boat and swam to shore. We tied the two boats together, set our anchors, and tied long ropes to trees on opposite sides of the cove. The boys who swam ashore began to explore this wilderness island as best they could while barefoot Eventually, we brough their shoes and provisions to shore using the rowboat. We all hiked to the high point of the island, looked around and satisfied ourselves that this 2-mile wilderness island was all ours. The boys did more exploring, played athletic games, and generally tired themselves out. Colin searched for crawfish in one of the small streams that he could use for fishing bait the next morning. We cooked dinner over an open fire, then it was back to the boats for sleep.

In my sleeping area above deck, I was shaken awake. In the pre-dawn light, I opened my eyes to see Colin standing above me holding two fishing poles. He was wearing a large sweatshirt that covered his hips. Below the sweatshirt were naked legs and a loincloth! I smiled with satisfaction. I had only planted the seed of this idea, and now it had sprouted. Colin did not speak of his bold Native America clothing. He just told me that it was time for me to learn to fish. I followed him to the edge of the boat obediently. He gave me good instructions and had everything ready. He explained that our boats were tied in the perfect cove and that many species of large lake fish will be here to feed in these early hours. A boy named Ben shared the double bed with Colin. He came on deck looking for his friend and did not comment on Colin’s unusual clothing. Ben was wearing normal shorts with a blanket wrapped around his skinny shoulders. The sun had risen over the horizon behind us and warmed our backs. Colin took off his sweatshirt and was now wearing only his loincloth. I finally commented on his perfect scout clothing. He said it was in harmony with wilderness fishing and he offered to make one for Ben and I. Ben immediately declined. I said maybe later in the trip. Colin sat comfortably with his right knee raised to his chest and his left foot dangling over the side of the boat. We talked more as we fished. Fishing was not just a leisure activity for him. Fishing was a self-sustaining skill. Fishing, sailing, archery, loincloths were all such simple principles that were connected to nature and shared with our ancient ancestry. This is not to say that Colin rejected his precision fishing reel or our fiberglass boat with its diesel generator. But the basic principles of these modern inventions were the same as in ancient times. The boat could harness the power of the wind with canvass and ropes alone. All of this gave meaning and added enjoyment to his fun summer activities. Colin exhibited patience and maturity well beyond his years. He was forming his own philosophy and his own values. I do not hesitate to say that I loved him platonically in that moment. I remember thinking that I would want a son like Colin one day. Today, I recognize that my own children are very different in wonderful ways that I admire. But I know that they do not have Colin’s particular combination of character traits that I admired decades ago.

I don’t remember the fish we caught, Bass? Pike? After a couple of hours, the fish stopped biting, but we had enough in the ice chest that we could supplement our meal that evening. Other boys began to arrive above deck asking about breakfast. They were wearing the shorts or underwear they had slept in. A boy named Tom sarcastically said “Nice outfit, native boy” to Colin. Another boy whistled tauntingly at Colin’s Native American nudity. I knew that Colin was a boy that all other boys wanted to have as a friend. I knew this teasing was not an act of cruelty. It was an excuse to get his attention. And Colin rewarded that teasing with a self-assured smile and an invitation for them to wear a loincloth too. I could see that this invitation was being halfway considered. Colin concluded his exercise with a refreshing plunge into the cold water. In this, he was joined by a few of the other boys. Remaining in their wet clothes, they all sat on deck enjoying breakfast as the rising sun warmed them. They no longer mentioned Colin’s Native American nudity, even when his loincloth loosened and revealed much more than he intended. Nor did anybody acknowledge the intimate shapes that were clearly visible under the wet fabric of Tom’s boxer shorts. Boys just pretend not to notice when that body part accidentally peeks out.

After breakfast, we set sail to our next destination which was a line of cliffs at the edge of the lake. Colin, Tom and another boy went below deck briefly. When they returned, they were all barefoot and wearing loincloths cut from the same bedsheet that Colin had used. Those 3 boys took their turn controlling the boat under the supervision of my co-leader. The sight of them tending to the ship’s ropes and sails while wearing those light garments just seemed right to me. The other boys remained below deck playing a card game.

The cliffs were a popular destination. As we approached, we could see there were at least a dozen boats anchored there. The three loinclothed boys ran below deck and quickly returned wearing swimsuits. Their friends laughed at their lack of conviction, but there were girls here and the likelihood of embarrassment was too much to endure. I laughed to myself as I watched their demeanor change. Their unrestrained playfulness was replaced by an effort to appear disinterested and cool. Their eager eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. Our 47-foot lead boat with its enthusiastic young crew captured the attention of everybody who was gathered there. We anchored and swam from the boats to the edge of the rocks. The leaders joined the boys as we climbed the rocks up to ledges of varying heights. We dived with varying degrees of gracefulness into the deep blue water below. The boys met girls of the same age there. Between leaps, they sat on the rocks having teenage conversations that I did not overhear. At one point, I saw a human chain of boys, with a few girls in the mix, jump off the ledge together while holding hands.

The sun was a few hours past its high point, and we climbed back aboard the lead boat to have a late day meal. Having received an enthusiastic invitation, 4 girls climbed aboard with us. They were all friends who came from a nearby flotilla of boats belonging to their parents. I had talked to these parents earlier and assured them that this group of teenagers would be well supervised. Colin proudly lifted the fish we had caught that morning out of the ice chest. He then expertly removed their scales and guts. He intended to do this out of view, but he had a curious audience who enjoyed overreacting to the grotesque spectacle. He cut the fish into fillets and handed them to my coleader. Then he plunged into the water to wash the scales and fish guts off his skin. One of my coleaders used the ship’s grill to cook his fillets with spices and lemon. I was convinced the fish was the best tasting, most nourishing morsel of food I had ever eaten. But I know that what I really tasted was the satisfaction I shared with Colin in catching our own meal.

After cleaning up, the boys invited their female guests below deck for a short tour. We did not realize that the clever girls stopped at the map table below deck to note the nearby cove where we would anchor for the night. It was time for the girls to rejoin their flotilla and for us to sail to our cove where we spent most of the evening on shore. While the boys explored and played games, we leaders talked about what life was like at our colleges, what were some of the wild parties we had been to, and other topics common among 18 and 19-year-olds. Such conversations acquire their own momentum. Each person exaggerates to satisfy perceived expectations of the others. But then the conversation turned to a topic that genuinely interested me. We had each recently joined college fraternities and we compared our experiences. I complained that the secret initiation ritual for my own fraternity was surprisingly bland and unimaginative. I talked about my ideas to improve this ritual for future initiates. We remembered something our camp director had told us at dinner during our leader training. In most ancient societies, all boys would go through a shared rite of passage to mark their transition into manhood and their acceptance to the tribe. Rites of passage likely extended back to our hunter gatherer ancestry. They were different in every culture, but they typically involved a symbolic ordeal or challenge. The director said modern boys instinctively yearn for such a ritual, but they have few opportunities in modern culture. Initiation rituals for Fraternities and sports teams have limited connections to boys in their crucial transformative years. The director’s argument was that camp wilderness adventures were valuable because they were sort of like a rite of passage. None of us studied anthropology but we talked about rituals like Native American vision quests. There is something hypnotic about having a conversation while staring into a fire. The ideas that come out are wilder and less constrained by rational thinking. My co-leaders confessed that they thought I was suspicious for letting the boys wear loincloths and that my own loincloth story was very strange. But they said that it started to make sense to them. Our conversation led to an idea to invent a sort of initiation ritual that we could share with these boys. After debating and talking in circles, we had a rough plan. We all returned to the boats for sleep.

I woke up in my seat above deck as the sun was rising over the horizon. Colin was standing in a Yoga pose balanced on one foot with the other foot raised on his knee and his hands together above his head. I assumed he was doing this as a balancing exercise. This boy kept finding new ways to amaze me. The steady muscles of his abdomen formed a V-shape that descended below his loincloth. His loincloth draped straight down in line with the straightness of his body which remained perfectly balanced despite the motion of the waves. Only the occasional muscle twitch in the arch of his foot revealed that his stillness required any effort at all. I simply asked “No fishing today?” He nodded toward the ice chest that contained his fresh catch. The loincloth was now Colin’s ritual attire for his morning fishing and exercise. After balancing, he did pushups, leg lifts, squats, and a few other simple resistance exercises. Other boys arrived on deck. This time there was no mocking of Colin’s loinclothed ritual, there were only a few raised eyebrows and smiles of amusement. They had to envy and respect the human physical excellence that was on display. The loincloth was the perfect adornment for this.

After breakfast, Colin lay down on the deck in the shade of the sail for a nap. He was very tired having gotten up early to fish again. Ben sat silently near him. The other boys went on shore with my co-leaders to explore. I went forward to properly stow the sails and lines. Colin’s loose loincloth offered a side view of his private male anatomy and I noticed that Ben was staring at this. Colin’s face and narrow body were still boyish in appearance. But now it was obvious he was maturing in body as well as in mind and in spirit.

I went back to my task. After a few minutes I noticed Ben’s eyes were still fixed on Colin’s loincloth. His focused attention went beyond normal boyish curiosity. I now recognized Ben’s pattern of behavior during the last few days. He made sure he was always together with Colin in every activity, and he insisted that he should share a double bed with Colin. I looked again to see that Colin was still peacefully sleeping on his back. Stimulated by a dream, his central feature was now lifting and straightening beneath his loose loincloth. From the side, I could see that Colin was now rigidly 45 degrees north on his prime meridian. A minute later, Colin’s sleeping shoulders trembled as a stain of wetness emerged on the pointed shape that lay beneath his loincloth. Colin’s face was serine. I did not know what images filled his dreams, but I suspected that they did not involve young Ben. Ben did not notice that I was standing near them until I spoke. I said that we must not let Colin become sunburned and I draped a large towel over him like a blanket.

Colin awoke when his friends shouted to him from the shore to come and join them. I saw him look beneath his towel and he seemed relieved that the towel was available to wrap around his waist. He went below to change into conventional clothes that were suitable for an onshore expedition into the forest. I remembered my private barefoot adventures wearing only my loincloth in the forest and how it was a profoundly spiritual experience. But I understood this would be too much for Colin who was part of a group.

For our morning activity, we hiked to an old-fashioned logging camp that was abandoned long ago and we explored the artifacts there. When we returned from our hike, we assigned the boys to gather materials to make archery targets. We had brought archery equipment from camp, and this would be our afternoon activity. The boys used hatchets to cut branches that could be tied together as tripods. I contributed an old pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt. The boys stuffed these to make a human shaped target and placed it on the tripod. As the setup was nearly completed on the shore, we saw a large powerboat entering our cove. The four girls from the prior day were on board waving and smiling. The boat was driven by the father of one of the four friends. We helped the man tie up his boat as the girls exchanged enthusiastic greetings with our boys. They remarked how lucky it was that they just happened to be out for a boat ride in the area when they noticed us anchored in this cove. I laughed to myself as I imagined the planning and preparation for this visit. The day before, all four girls wore very practical one-piece swimsuits. Today, two of the four girls were wearing highly revealing two-piece bikini swimsuits. All four were wearing a touch of makeup. The man clearly wanted to stay and chat with our group. But the girls grew impatient for their father to leave them. He trusted my fellow leaders to chaperone these young teenagers even though we were still teenagers ourselves. The man said he would be back in a few hours and he sped away.

I could not determine if the girls had any interest in archery or if they were just looking for an excuse to interact with the boys. But it seemed that a demonstration of this Native American skill would be in order. Before the demonstration could start, 5 Boys, including Colin, excused themselves and said they needed to change into their “archery clothes.” They took the rowing boat back to the ships. 15 minutes later, the girls’ eyes widened as they saw the 5 smiling boys returning and wearing only loincloths. They leapt out of the boat with confidence and enthusiasm. I knew from my own memories that such teenage confidence is only ever found in groups. Alone, each one of these boys would be paralyzed with embarrassment at being seen in such bold attire. I imagined that each of these girls would be similarly hesitant to be the only girl wearing a revealing swimsuit. But each group gained confidence from the presence of their loyal friends. And they certainly enjoyed wearing their provocative clothing. The archery demonstration went on. The other boys who wore conventional clothing drifted away to their own games and activities. Some regarded the girls as intruders. Others were interested but realized they could not compete with their loinclothed friends for the attention. Ben remained with the loinclothed group, even though he did not wear one,

The girls gently teased the boys about their bold choice of clothes. Of course, their bikinis were equally bold. But sometime in recent history, society decided the bikini was OK but the loincloth was offsides. The flirtation escalated. Without warning, one of the girls calmly reached out and took Tom’s front flap between her thumb and forefinger. She pretended to evaluate the material. Tom blushed and smiled nervously. He started to back away but stopped when he realized that she was not letting go. The facial expressions on all of them were a combination of amusement, surprise, and daring. She was making eye contact with Tom until she could no longer restrain her curiosity. She looked down as she raised the front flap. I laughed to myself as I observed the look of disappointed confusion sweep across her face. She began to understand that this unusual garment was fare safer than she thought because of the cloth that was threaded underneath. Interestingly, this girl’s Bikini top was tied with a simple shoelace knot in the back and her thong was tied the same way on both hips. Tom reached down and took the end of her knot in his fingers. He only needed to pull on it to reveal the last details of what each boy was imagining. Aware of the eyes of their chaperones, the teenagers let go of each other’s clothing and stepped back from the edge of impropriety.

Now it was the girls’ turn at archery. The boys laughed at the first disastrous attempts. Colin stood behind the other bikini-clad girl to give proper instructions. He reached around her to hold both of her forearms steady in his hands. He held her this way as she pulled back the bow string. His bare chest was in contact with her shoulders and his loincloth was in contact with her lower back. His gentle voice was close to her ear and she could undoubtedly feel the warmth radiate from his cheek as he told her to look down the arrow shaft. She trembled and the arrow flew far off course. She turned to look into Colin’s smiling eyes, and I knew that he had completely captured her heart in that moment. I silently celebrated his achievement even as I suspected he was unaware of it.

I watched these teenage interactions with total fascination. I observed that the loincloth and the bikini were equally minimalist items of clothing. The garments covered each other’s young sexuality, but at the same time they reminded each other that their sexuality was close at hand. I wondered if the girls were silently forming an idea of wearing such a garment themselves. I wondered how these young teenagers would interact if they were in this beautiful wilderness without chaperones. My mind briefly turned to darker thoughts. Would there be advances without consent? My unrestrained imagination began to wonder how these teenagers would function if they were the only remaining humans on this planet. I had read the book “lord of the flies.” Would these boys devolve into savagery as in that famous story? Over the past weeks, I had observed the character of these boys, particularly Colin. And I confidently rejected these dark ideas. I could more easily imagine this group living as a self-sustaining, mutually supportive tribe in perpetuity.

The group’s interest in archery targets started to wane. The hosts wearing loincloths now suggested that the girls should join them to explore that abandoned logging camp. The whole barefooted group walked into the forest in their minimalist clothing. One pair was even holding hands. I was not alarmed by this at all, but one of my co-leaders stepped in and told the group that they needed to remain close to the shore.

We prepared lunch onshore including the fish that Colin caught that morning. The man returned early in his powerboat just as we began our meal. We invited him to join us, much to the embarrassment of his daughter. The man’s face briefly registered surprise at the sight of the loincloths but he never asked about them or even acknowledged them. I am certain, he would ask many questions on this topic during their boat ride home. He was visibly rejuvenated after spending a short amount of time with our group. We chatted some more, and he asked if I could take a photo of him with his daughter and their new friends. His daughter was red with embarrassment, but the boys were happy to oblige. The man casually draped his arms over the shoulders of his daughter on one side and Colin’s shoulders on the other. I took a few photos with his camera. In this decade, cameras still used film and the internet still used dial-up modems. The boys could never imagine a future when a photo might travel around the world on social networks. Otherwise, the boys in their loincloths would have declined. Those photos were the only ones taken of our group on that trip. I wonder if they still exist and if they are suitably treasured by their owner.

Soon enough, we said our goodbyes. After they left, I remember wondering what I would do when I reached the age of this father. Would I leave my daughter and her friends for a few hours with a group of teenage boys chaperoned by older teenage boys? I now have a wonderful daughter of approximately that age, but she has never found herself in a social situation that even remotely resembled that one. So, I have not yet been tested in this way.

That afternoon, we prepared for a long sail over the horizon. My co-leaders and I had a future use for the archery target, so we told the boys to store the materials on board. We set sail toward a marina in another town where we would spend the night and take on more supplies. On our way, the wind was strong, and the waves were between 3 and 5 feet tall. This was enough to provide some roller coaster excitement. Tom was taking his turn steering the boat under my supervision. The five boys still wore only their loincloths. They were all on the deck of lead ship with me as we cut through the waves. We allowed the ship to lean and take on more speed. The sun warmed bare skin as the invigorating spray cooled it. The wind played aggressively with the flaps of their loincloths. I think the boys were aware that they were part of a profoundly beautiful moment. I was focused on helping Tom with the positioning of the sail when one boy lost his balance and fell over the low railing. A few seconds passed before we understood what the other boys were shouting about. A few more seconds were wasted as Tom tried to change course through the wind without loosening the sails. We were now a few hundred feet away from the boy who fell overboard. Fortunately, the boys remembered their man-overboard drills. Colin had kept his eye on the location where his friend fell and was dutifully pointing to it. The other boys threw a flotation ring and spare lifejackets out of the boat for him to hold. I could not see the boy in the water because he was hidden by the high waves, but I quickly took control from tom and maneuvered effectively. There was no land in sight and our sister ship was also a few hundred feet away. We did not see him in the direction that Colin was pointing. We lowered the main sail to cut our speed and I heard his call for help. I changed direction and we finally saw him. He was too far from the flotation aids and was swimming with a look of panic on his face. My coleader extended a pole with a plastic hook toward the boy. The boy grabbed for it and missed. I turned hard to circle around him. My co-leader jumped into the water and swam to him with a life jacket in hand. He started to pull the boy back toward the boat. By now, our sister ship had seen our troubles and they changed course to come to us. Even in early July, the water is paralyzing cold in the middle of such a large northern lake. Barely 5 minutes had elapsed but the boy in the water was already exhausted by the shock of swimming in frigid water. He lacked the strength and coordination to climb the swim ladder. The eager hands of his friends reached down to pull on his arms and the belt of his loincloth. He was soon on the deck shivering violently. The other boys lovingly carried him below, removed his cold soaking loincloth, and dried him with towels. We then had the idea to warm him in the hot shower that was a feature on our comfortable boat. He recovered with a cup of hot cocoa while we maneuvered around to pick up some of the life jackets we had thrown overboard.

One’s immediate instinct after a near catastrophe is to look for somebody to blame. The boys had been tested for their swimming ability, and they were not required to wear life jackets. There was criticism directed at me for letting Tom sail too fast. But the recovered boy quickly explained that he was enjoying the ride as much as everybody and that he got too confident in his ability to keep his balance. He did not follow the rule to always hold a cable or railing when moving on the rocking deck, and he was now sorry for this. His friends simply hugged him.

We sailed toward the harbor at a lower speed. The other boys changed into conventional clothing and took on a more subdued and cautious demeanor. We finally arrived at sunset. Everybody felt good to be on the motionless dock of the marina. We sat on Adirondack chairs around a large fire pit and used long sticks to grill hotdogs over the fire. We had great conversations and recalled our recent adventures, good and bad. From this near tragedy, the boys had formed a stronger bond of loyal friendship. As the fire died down and the temperature dropped, we returned to the boats for sleep.

In the middle of the night, I was awoken by two hushed voices. I heard the first boy harshly tell the other not to follow him. I heard the second boy say “whatever you think happened, you were probably dreaming.” I stood up and saw that the first voice was Colin’s and the second voice was Ben’s. Based on my past observations, I had deduced the likely cause of the controversy. Ben was following a few paces behind Colin but stopped when I asked him a question that went straight to the heart of the matter. Were you getting a little too friendly under the blankets without Colin’s consent? He looked at me with a flash of sorrow. I told him that watching his behavior for the last week, it was obvious that he had an intense interest in his friend. We sat down on the dock away from the boat to talk. He wanted to explain what happened and talk openly with me. But I quickly perceived that Ben was bending the truth to make his actions seem more innocent. He insisted that the situation was not what I was thinking. Ben described how he was afraid on the first night of the trip and that Colin comforted him by holding him. The second night Ben asked Colin to hold him again, but Colin told him that it would be awkward because he was wearing only his loincloth to bed. Nevertheless, they woke up in each other’s arms. Then this night, Colin asked that they sleep head to toe in the bed to give them more room. Colin was wearing only his loincloth again. According to Ben, Colin’s bare foot brushed across Ben’s ear and Ben woke up and pushed Colin’s leg away. In doing so, Ben’s hand came to rest innocently on Colin’s naked thigh because he was only half awake. Ben said he fell asleep again and that his hand must have accidentally drifted to the side because he woke up and was not sure where his hand had come to rest. Understandably, he felt around and came to realize that his hand rested on Colin’s loincloth and that Colin was fully aroused beneath it. As Ben withdrew his hand, Colin leapt out of bed and walked away. And that was all there was to say. I told Ben to go back to bed and that I needed to go find Colin.

I caught up to Colin and he wanted to talk. Without repeating Ben’s full explanation, I asked Colin if it was possible that it was all an accident and a misunderstanding. I gradually came to realize that Colin was less disturbed by Ben’s intrusion than by his own involuntary reaction to it. Colin admitted he woke when Ben pushed his legs. It was clear that Colin was now making a sort of confession to me and that he wanted to go into every detail. Colin said he pretended to sleep as Ben’s hand slid slowly and deliberately from his knee to his naked thigh. Colin realized he was quickly swelling underneath his loincloth. He had never been in a situation where somebody was touching him like this. He stealthily reached under his own loincloth to reposition his growing protrusion. That way his rapid growth would be less obvious. In doing so, he realized that his apex had already become intensely sensitive and wet with dew. Colin felt shivers when Ben’s hand found his loincloth. Colin continued to lay still. Ben began to massage Colin’s sensitized boyhood through his loincloth. Colin knew he would be fully released in a matter of seconds if he did not find the will to leap out of bed. Colin was profoundly upset with what he described as his unexpected and “unnatural” reaction to Ben’s touches.

I asked Colin how he could be so certain that his reaction was unnatural. His response was a reference to both evolutionary biology and morality. I now found myself describing some unscientific theories I had come up with to explain his reaction. Perhaps they were silly, but I thought my insights my help him. I told Colin that for most of human evolution, boys your age were almost the adults. Obviously, if an animal species did not have heterosexual instincts to reproduce, that animal species would die out. But there are many additional instincts that have evolved to ensure survival. Individually, prehistoric humans were not very strong, and they depended on tribal cooperation for survival. You can imagine entire tribes died because they did not have the right instincts for friendship and cooperation. As with lions, deer, and large primates, you can imagine human tribes where the males fiercely competed with each other. That was competition to be the alpha male and have the right to impregnate a whole harem of females. Those competing males could not cooperate to hunt for food or to defend the tribe against raiders. You can also imagine an aging alpha male murdering young males of his tribe before they matured to be competitors. Those entire tribes died out along with those defective instincts. Now imagine a tribe where the cooperation and friendship between the maturing young males was strengthened by an instinctive mutual attraction. Imagine that the tribe, including its elders, instinctively celebrated and guided the maturation of those young males. Perhaps those males were physically weaker than if they inherited the genetics of an alpha male. But the overall tribe was stronger in hunting and defense because their males trusted each other and worked together. I told him that I thought the instinct for male mutual attraction was separate from the instinct for reproductive attraction to a female. Both instincts could have evolved to exist simultaneously. With all the rapid changes taking place in a boy’s brain at that age, it is not surprising if those two instinctive attractions become intertwined and share some of the same pleasure mechanisms of the brain. I told Colin that as he becomes a man, he will be able to recognize his many different desires and decide which ones to cultivate and when to indulge them. I spoke without any certainty or real knowledge, but these concepts seemed plausible to me. At least my words gave Colin something else to ponder instead of the doubt he felt. Or more likely I added to his confusion. We were both tired and returned to the boat. Instead of returning to his bed with Ben, he slept on the other bench seat above deck that was across from mine. Colin’s interactions with Ben were never mentioned again on the trip. They remained friendly with each other but distant.

The next morning, we lingered at the harbor and enjoyed a few hours of civilization before we sailed east over the horizon. On the eastern shores of the American Great Lakes there are dramatic sand dunes that rise as high as 450 feet above the water. Our destination was a line of moderate dunes that stood like a wall of sand at the water’s edge. We anchored and rowed the boys ashore in the dinghies. They played for hours climbing the dunes descending back down in gigantic barefoot leaps. They also enjoyed time on the very narrow beach at the bottom of the dune. While they were occupied, we leaders finalized our plans for the ritual of passage. We believed the most important aspect of any ritual is that it is a shared experience, that it symbolizes a transformation, that it involves a spiritual communication with nature, and that it attempts to impart secret wisdom. Admittedly, at the age of 18 and 19, we had very little wisdom to impart, but we did our best. It did not matter exactly what the experience was or what meaning it conveyed, but we knew that it required a memorable element of drama. What we came up with was a little incoherent, but we were quite satisfied with our plans.

We were a few weeks past the summer solstice, and the sky was still brightly lit when we returned to the lead boat to have dinner. After dinner, we told the boys that we had invented a ritual of initiation into a newly formed secret order of brotherhood. We told them to wait below deck until darkness if they chose to join. The excitement spread among them instantly. Neither the leaders nor the boys took this to be anything more serious than a game. But it was the most interesting invitation they had ever encountered. Every one of them enthusiastically committed to this. We told them to clear their minds and bring no possessions on their journey. We told them as part of the ritual, they would commune with nature in the warm night air so they should dress accordingly.

It was after 9PM and the sun had long since set. But there was still a faint glow over the western horizon. We would rely on nature for our primary source of drama and nature did not disappoint us. The night was very warm, the wind had died, there was not a single cloud, and there was only the thinnest sliver of a waning moon in the sky. But the brilliant starlight illuminated us.

Now I must pause and mention that I was a bit of a pyrotechnic enthusiast during my youth. I had learned of the chemical properties of magnesium and I had taken a few strips of magnesium metal from my college chemistry laboratory. I thought there might be a chance to show off my discovery and I brought them with me to camp (safely stored in a waterproof cylinder.) These would also add a touch of drama to our ritual.

By now, the reader of this story has judged me to be a terribly irresponsible leader. But do we develop to our fullest potential if we grow up entirely under the guidance of responsible, rational, and restrained adults? Or is life richer when somebody occasionally leads us, very briefly, off of the well-worn path? Also, I was only 19 years old.

The leaders wore only loincloths that I made from strips of a beach towel. My co-leaders saw the ceremonial value and they were now willing to try this garment for themselves. We went below to fetch the first group of 3 boys. To my satisfaction we found they had all prepared themselves by wearing loincloths too. I had left an extra bedsheet with Colin because he would need the fabric if he was asked to craft more of these simple garments for the other boys. A few of the boys wore shorts, but even they had loincloths threaded inside them so that the flaps hung in front and back of their shorts. This was a respectable effort to show their solidarity.

In groups of 3 or 4, and by torchlight, we brought them on deck and down into the row boat. They were so distracted by their anticipation of the unknown and they were so blinded by the torchlight that none of them noticed the dramatic sky above them. Once seated in the dinghy, we placed blindfolds on them. As each group arrived on the shore, we spaced them 15 feet apart at the base of the sand dune and told them to stand there in complete silence. By the time they were all assembled, the last glow of light over the western horizon was gone. We told each boy to remain blindfolded and to begin climbing the dune until they reached the ridge at the top. They climbed silently and efficiently with both feet and hands. We climbed with them and guided them with hushed voices to keep them on course and to tell them when they reached the top. At the top of the dune, we told each boy to lie on his back in the sand.

Then, we leaders split up and talked to each boy separately. We crouched next to each boy and removed his blindfold. On top of this dune, on this moonless cloudless night, a hundred miles from the glow of any city or town, and with the sharply focused eyes of youth, the boy looked up to the sky. The disc of our galaxy slashed diagonally across his entire field of vision in brilliant resolution. Bright individual stars covered the entire field with fainter stars filling the space between. The boy could turn his head to either side and see no trees or objects, only the canopy of stars extending to the horizon. Looking down, the boy could only see his body covered with his loincloth and his toes in front of the field of stars. We crouched behind his field of view so he could not see us if he looked up. I lay there briefly to enjoy this experience myself. It was beautifully disorienting. The sand beneath me retained enough warmth that its temperature was neutral to my body. I felt unmoored from reality and adrift in space. This hastily invented ritual was a game for all involved, but we started to realize that it was becoming something special.

After removing each boy’s blindfold, we waited a few moments for the experience to wash over him. Then we spoke near his ear in a low voice. We gave him instructions to always remember himself in this place and time. We gave each boy a Native American name like “white eagle” or “leaping stag.” We told him to shout that name into the darkness. In the distance, each boy could hear the shouted names from other boys. This had the effect of pulling their thoughts back from their drifting solitude. It reminded them that they were sharing this unique experience with their loyal friends. We instructed them to fly high into the sky with the eyes of imagination and to look down at their brotherhood of boys spread out on the ridge of this dune. We gave them words about the bond of friendship, mutual loyalty, and brotherly love. We gave them a secret watch word by which they would greet each other when they met again in life.

Next, we told them to stand and to look down at the shore. They saw one of my co-leaders holding a torch at the edge of the water. We led them down to the torch where a bow and many arrows lay on a blanket. Each arrow was fitted with a cotton ball. Under the starlight, the boys could see a raft floating 50 feet from the shore. A pole was attached to the raft that held the stuffed archery target shaped like a boy. Each boy took a turn with the bow. He dipped one arrow with its cotton ball into fuel from a camping stove and ignited it with the torch. He released the flaming arrow which arched through the sky toward the raft. The first few boys missed, but Colin eventually struck the target. The stuffed boy was soaked in fuel so that the orange flames quickly spread over its body. We told them that the burning boy served as a reminder that the adventurous spirit of their boyish age shall burn within them for the rest of their lives. The strips of magnesium metal were in the stuffing near the head. When the fire reached the magnesium, a burst of supernaturally bright white light shown out for a few seconds. The assault on our dilated pupils made us immediately turn away and we saw our gigantic shadows on the wall of sand that was lit up behind us. I said that this was the light of our newly formed brotherhood taking its place among the other stars in the night. The brightness quickly subsided. We told the boys that the ritual had concluded and that we should now greet each other as brothers. After hugs and arm gripping handshakes we watched the stuffed boy burn down to the water.

We rowed ourselves back to the lead boat. It was late but the boys were too excited to sleep. Still wearing our ceremonial loincloths, we all crammed onto the benches around the center table below deck and we ate another meal. The skin of our hips pressed together. The skin of our arms brushed across each other when reaching for food. Bare feet from the other side of the table came to rest on top of my feet as there was no place else to rest them. To make more space, I spread out my arms behind the boys on either side of me. Colin was on my right. As he shifted position in his seat, I felt his warm skin glide past mine, and I became aware that streaks of sweat had accumulated between us. I found this closeness to be rejuvenating. A funny memory was shared, and my spine tingled as I felt the bodies next to mine shake with laughter.

The next morning, we followed the principal of “leaving no trace.” We cleared the debris of our burned boy from the water. The boys dived to recover the arrows. We would sail to a few more stops on our way back to the harbor town that we started from. But everybody recognized that the prior night was the crescendo of the sailing trip. I trust that it became a life-long memory for everybody who was involved. The boys all returned safely to camp with rich experiences etched in their minds. The camp received back the full deposit on the boats they rented. I consider these to be measures of success. Stories of our adventure began to spread around the camp with the inevitable exaggerations. Some of those stories may have reached unsympathetic ears. I conclude my own telling of the story without dwelling on any consequences or regrets. Nor will I dwell on what became of the boys and their young leaders later in life. I freely acknowledge that this was a bizarre and rambling story about sailing, archery, initiation rituals, human evolution, pyrotechnics, and loincloths. But I hope that the reader understands it was also a story about the strong and beautiful friendships that naturally form among boys of this age. At age 19, I was technically classified as an adult. But I was still young, and my own transformative years were not so far behind me. That gave me a good perspective to form my appreciation of youthfulness. My maturation into a real adult was still many years in the future. As I age, I appreciate this perspective even more.

WH Scout, 12/21/2021

Art of Vic Payne ~ Ancient Hunter, 2006




Source: fineart.ha.com

Pontiac, lion in the forest
A biography of the Indian chief who united the Great Lakes tribes against the British
during the French and Indian War