The New Jersey Pinelands is one of my favorite places, and not just because I grew up not so very far away. I love it because of it's contrasts. There are towering cedars and shrubby, bent pines. One of the world's richest aquifers lies just beneath it's dry, sandy surface covered in layers of dry, quick-to-burn pine needles and oak leaves. There's cactus and coyotes -- in New Jersey. There is a full and complete solitude in the most densely populated state in the nation. The New Jersey Pine Barrens are beautiful.
I especially go for the excellent paddling. A few years ago, a friend introduced me to kayaking. It was my idea to paddle along the Batsto River. It was his idea to paddle in a kayak. I loved it so much, that I soon bought my own small kayak. I took my son with me on another trip, and not long after that, I bought him a kayak.
This past weekend, I returned to the Pines with a small group of older boy scouts to paddle the Batsto River from Hampton Furnace to Batsto Lake. We spent the night at Lower Forge, a remote, paddle or hike-in campsite. It was an interesting trip, if not totally peaceful. I mean, I have to be realistic. I was going into the woods with six teenage boys. I knew the din would be less than that caused by the usual 20 or so boys I travel with once a month, but I knew the quiet of the Pines would be disturbed.
And so it was. Just two minutes after we began our downriver trip, one of our new kayakers found himself chest deep in the river with the kayak submerged. He had a good grip on it, so at least it didn't float away down the river. We took a few minutes at this juncture to demonstrate how to exit the river, pump a kayak nearly empty, pull it on shore to flip some water out and pump some more. We did this twice more with two other scouts over the course of the weekend. After all, there's nothing quite like excellent audiovisuals as teaching aids.
Even with the minor mishaps we had a good trip the first day. The boys seemed to enjoy the challenge of the fast moving water, unusually high after recent heavy rains, and the quick succession of hard turns. If there's one major lesson to be learned when paddling a Pine Barrens River, it's how to steer a boat. You don't float these waters! There were a lot of river bank crashes, a lot of thumps into fallen trees, and not-quite smooth turns. But I still enjoyed my time on the water. The woods were blushing with red and pale green of spring buds. Hawks soared, small birds twittered, turtles sunned on logs. It was gorgeous.
We reached our campsite around 3:30 and went about searching for firewood. This is always a challenge at Lower Forge. It's a well used campsite and downed wood is picked clean. Most paddlers carry in firewood in canoes. But kayaks don't afford that kind of available space. Still, with some sharp eyes, we were able to glean enough wood from the forest floor, a forest which still showed signs of a fire not so very long ago. We started a fire, began dinner, and dried out a couple of wet sleeping bags.
And just as I was thinking that the trip was going ever so well, I was reminded that I was camping with boys. The crude sounds of farting and laughter began. I usually let these things go on very briefly. I know that boys will be boys, but I don't think they should stay boys -- 7-year-old boys at that. Some of the more mature boys in our group were as disgusted as I was, and we quickly set the more gaseous offenders straight. As I worked on my home-dehydrated beef stew that I was sharing with my adult companions and our soon-to-be adult Eagle Scout, I looked over to see how our younger campers were making out with food. As expected, a trough of ramen noodles was being prepared. It seems as though the average American boy lives on a diet of sugary cereal and salty ramen noodles. And just as the trough of noodles began to soften, one of the young men realized he had left his utensils at home. This was not a problem, apparently, as he simply dug his river muddied hands into his ramen noodles and slurped through his fingers. By now I was fairly disgusted.
You'd think I'd be used to this sort of behavior after 11 years as a scout leader. But, I actually consider it a blessing that I haven't become used to this at all. I gave a brief lecture on the meaning of "Be Prepared", and returned to my stew tending. Eventually, our meals were completed, including a birthday cake which was transported in via a double-thickness of Zip-Loc bags, topped with a rousing, off-key chorus of "Happy Birthday" (The you-look-like-a-monkey-and-smell-like-one-too version.) After I gave a detailed campfire description of the origins of the Jersey Devil and all of his notorious sightings over the past 250 years, we discussed marauding nighttime raccoons, and decided to hang our food a la bear bag fashion. One scout hung a bag quite high and quite effectively. This bag contained only sugary treats and highly salted ramen noodles, along with two cans of Spam. Our discerning furry visitors that night never bothered this bag at all. The bag full of nutritious food, including bagels, instant oatmeal, various dried meats, fruit, and trail mix was hung at eye level and about six inches from the tree trunk.
I know that I told the scout in charge of this project that the bag needed to be further from the tree trunk, but I didn't follow up on those instructions before I went to bed. Not so very long after I crawled into my tent and zipped up my sleeping bag, I heard the unmistakable sound of chewing coming from the direction of the food bag. I thought to myself, "You should really get out of this tent, put on your shoes, take your flashlight and scare the little beast back into the forest. Then, you should re-hang the bag properly so that in the morning you can have a decent breakfast." The fact of the matter is, my self-reply to that thought was, "The hell with it." I just rolled over and went to sleep.
Later that night I awoke several times. Each time I heard the sound of plastic being chewed, followed by an occasional light thump, and the chatter-giggle of a raccoon who was obviously pleased with his treasure-filled pinata. I was sure that every bit of our food bag had been torn apart and was strewn about the campsite. The following morning I was surprised to learn that the bag was still hanging, and that it had only a small hole chewed in it's base. The little thief had simply made a small opening and reached his arm and hand (Yes, they absolutely have hands.) into the bag and yanked out whatever he could reach. And he reached all four of my longed for cinnamon bagels, tore open the precious jam packets that I had collected from McDonald's and licked them pristine-clean. I was saddened by the loss, but I couldn't help smiling at the thought of the little guy's happiness as he discovered these delights. I am, however, sorry that he profited from my laziness and reinforced his bad behavior. I'm sure he will continue to visit other campers in the future.
And I don't want to forget to mention two wonderful sounds heard that night. The whipporwills of the Pines were calling. I try to stay up and listen as long as possible, but their chanting rhythms always put me to sleep. And I also heard my very favorite sound of all, the hoot of owls. Around 4:00 a.m. I heard one very near. He called out several times, very clearly, Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoooo. I knew that if I listened closely, I'd hear his partner somewhere further off. Sure enough, a faint, slightly different call answered. The pair called to each other for a short time, and then the calling stopped, as the owl flew off silently. Whenever I hear owls calling at night, I consider it a very great gift. It's a lovely, lovely sound.
All in all, I had a very nice trip. It was a bit insane at times as being with the boys can sometimes feel like herding squirrels. But I had the chance to spend a night in one of my very favorite places.
