By Matt Strother
During the Monday and Friday campfires, one
program area is assigned to camp security. They have to make sure the rest of
the camp is in order while everyone else is at the firebowl. This includes
checking all the campsites, program areas, and the lake. They carry a two-way
radio with them to communicate with each other and with the medic.
During a Monday campfire in 2001, Josh was performing the
security check at the lake. He went out on the dock, and somehow managed to
drop the radio into the lake. The point where he dropped it was about 6 feet
deep, not counting the god-awful mud.
The next day,
while we were at the lake, we went out onto the dock and I asked him
“OK, Josh, where’s the radio?”
He pointed his arms in a V shape off the edge of the dock, indicating about a six foot section, “Here.”
I got myself a snorkeling mask,
and eased myself into the water, so as to cause minimum disturbance to the mud.
(as if it would really have made any difference). Then I started swimming along
the surface of the mud, raking it with my arms, which were in that rotten plant
silt clear up to my shoulders. And that mud can’t be warmer than 40 degrees.
I’d make one pass through the six foot section, come up for air, move six inches
toward of away from the dock, and then go down again.
After a half hour, the people
standing on the waterfront, including Wendi and two scoutmasters, saw first an
arm, then a person come up out of the water, pump a radio in the air, and shout
“BOOYAH!” at the top of his voice. They saw him toss the radio onto the dock.
They saw the radio roll off the other side and back into the lake. Then still
at the top of my voice, they heard me shout “SON OF A BITCH!!”
In a motion that was described to be like that of a seal, I threw myself onto
the dock, and slid across it and off the other side. I found the radio
again about two minutes later, and set it gently on the dock.
It can receive messages, but it cannot send.
