Hot Rocks

As a Patrol Leader in our Boy Scout Troop I had a favorite practical joke that I would trot out on every new boy’s first backpack trip.  It was intended to build a little comradery in the patrol, teach a little lesson, and mark the acceptance of the new boy into the patrol.  Ultimately all the boys seemed to enjoy it, though I must admit it wasn’t as well received by some of the parents or my eldest brother.

Barry particularly disliked this particular stunt.  

It went something like this:

The entire patrol group (usually 6-8 boys ranging in age from 11 to 16) would gather together early before the trip was to begin.  Whether it was a Friday night, or Saturday morning, each of the boys would have to show up with all of his gear and proceed to empty the entire contents of his backpack and pockets out for inspection.

The Assistant Patrol Leader or I would look over all of the items, pick out any contraband and make the boys hand it over to their parents (although the definition of contraband was fairly loose most of the time as things like firecrackers, playboy magazines, switchblade knives, throwing hawks, slingshots, and other assorted items just never seemed to get out of the packs and onto the ground for inspection). 

Then the boy would be issued his share of the patrol equipment and food to carry and he would repack his belongings and load his backpack into one of the pickup trucks for transport to the trailhead.

When we arrived at the trailhead, each boy would shoulder his pack along with the rest of the boys in the patrol and gathered together as a group, we would set off to walk to whatever destination was planned, and on arrival we would set up our patrol campsite slightly removed from any other patrol site or the adult area.

This was to foster team spirit and identity.

So were the hot rocks, at least after a fashion.

You see, although the new boy didn’t have a clue what was going to happen, or even that something was going to happen, after it was all over, he realized that he had shared an experience with the rest of the patrol and that made him an “insider” and part of the team.

After setting up camp, the new boy would be included in all of the activities. He worked on his advancement skills with us, swam when we swam, and fished when we fished.  He had responsibilities like the other boys, maybe firewood gathering, maybe dishwashing, or water hauling, but, just like the rest of the team, his efforts were part of the critical support for the weekend activity.

At the end of the day, we would all sit around a roaring (often ragingly smoky) campfire and tell stories, play with sticks in the fire, melt glass bottles, drip burning plastic, joke with each other, and generally wear ourselves out until it was impossible to keep our eyes open any longer.

Morning would come, breakfast and the breakfast fire would pass, and it would be time to pack up our sleeping bags, tents, and other gear for the walk back to the cars.

At this point, I would call the whole team together just after the sleeping bags and tents were rolled, and just before the gear was put back in backpacks.

Once gathered, I would solemnly remind the assembled patrol about the “Outdoor Code” and that we had to do our duty and be environmentally responsible.  I would tell them that the ground and grass was too dry to risk a wildland fire.  And that they were each going to have to carry a hot campfire rock home.  Because leaving those hot rocks out there just might cause a forest fire before they cooled down.

Of course, with the exception of the new boy they had all been through this little sham, most of them several times.  They all knew what was coming.  They all knew what they were supposed to do.

One or two would half-heartedly object because the rocks were going to be heavy, but others would shush them and select a hot rock, carrying it back to their pack area and setting it down right next to the pack, get on with their packing.  One by one every boy in the patrol would pick up a warm, smoke-blackened rock and carry it off to their area for “packing”.

Sometimes eagerly, sometimes hesitantly, at some point, the new boy would step forward and gingerly pick up a filthy campfire rock to carry back to his pack.  Most of them I am sure thought the rest of us were nuts.  Most of them were sure there was no way that a rock was going to start a fire.  But everyone else was doing it, and so the new boy would too.

The “insiders” would check and when the new boy was too focused to notice, they would just roll their rock around the tree their pack was leaning up against, or under the brush right next to it, and finish packing their stuff and tie down.

The new boy, if he had second thoughts about this whole rock thing, would look around and see some rocks by packs that were still being worked on, and no rocks by ones that were packed, and so would mentally shrug, pick up his grimy, smoky, sooty, warm rock and nestle it gently into the main section of his pack.

The trip back to the cars was lighter, shorter, and easier; for everyone except the new guy.

Now, I wouldn’t want to be accused of disabusing you of any of your notions about how principled Barry was back then in objecting to this stunt of mine.  And I suspect he wouldn’t have minded it at all, and would have found it pretty funny too, except…..

Barry was the Senior Patrol Leader at the time and as such he was responsible for anything that was seen as a “problem”.  And invariably whenever I pulled this stunt on a new kid, Barry got a Sunday night phone call from an irate parent who found a sooty black rock in their son’s backpack.

Personally, I think the parents were more embarrassed than mad.  I mean come on.  How would you feel if after spending 11 years caring for, teaching, and nurturing flesh of your flesh, you found out there was every probability that you still had 60 years of caring and nurturing ahead of you. 

I mean, be honest. 

If you found a 15 pound sooty rock messing up the inside of your son’s backpack; and if when you asked him why it was there he told you it was there to stop forest fires….you’d be pretty sure he was never going to be able to be let out unattended, wouldn’t you? 

And that surely would be enough to anger you and make you strike out at someone.  After-all, admitting that your son had been that foolish was tantamount to acknowledging that your seed was just a tad bit under-cooked.

You might be surprised to know that solid rock cools off faster than parents do. 

Be that as it may, after both had some time to come back to normal temperature, many of the father’s made a point of seeking me out and telling me that had been a great lesson for their sons.  Something that would teach them to think for themselves and not buckle under peer pressure.

I’d like to claim that had been my intent all along, but after all, the first point of the Scout Law is Trustworthy, so I’ll just leave it right there.

© Copyright 2016, Marty Vandermolen