A Tale of Fire and Water
A Tale of Fire and Water,
Or, Carbon Canyon at Cottonwood Cove, 2005
[This is, unavoidably, a very narrow account of the trip, limited mainly to what I was involved in, and thus to what I myself felt about it. It is certainly biased by my personal likes/dislikes, etc. In other words, your experience may vary.]
Thursday, or "How It All Began"
Friday Morning, or "Gallivanting about on the Lake"
Friday Evening, or "Things Really Get Started"
Saturday, or "The Day I Learned to Waterski"
Sonday, or "The Chasm of the Winds"
Monday, or "Wave-Runner Ultimatum"
Thursday, or "How It All Began"
For Memorial Day weekend, Pastor Kincer and the Youth Leaders planned a trip to Cottonwood Cove (in Nevada), for a weekend of jetskiing, waterskiing, good food, and scorchingly hot sun. The Wednesday before, Dave Kincer and the Davises went up to claim a few sites. The next group, which I accompanied, consisted of Becky Kincer and her van, towing a U-Haul trailer; and the Sillas with a truck and an SUV. We assembled at the Kincer's house Thursday evening and loaded the trailer up with all kinds of tasty treats, tents, sleeping bags, and miscellaneous cooking instruments. Then we loaded up the cars with people...er...I mean...we got in the cars... and began the journey up to Cottonwood land.
Time flies when you're having fun, and thus I was rather surprised at how stiff and sore I was when we finally reached our destination. That's what generally happens when you sit in a car for four hours. After a short drive in the dark, we found Pastor Kincer at the campsite near the Davises' boat. The Sillas assembled their tent, and we waited for Becky to arrive.
Mrs. Kincer had to drive more slowly, since she was towing a trailer, and we had a while to wait. A short time after the Sillas finished their tent, Julianna and Morgan showed up and raised their tent. Then we waited and looked at the stars, very clear in the dark sky. Eventually the van pulled into the camp site, and the camp was alive with people taking their tents out of the trailer and putting them up all over the place. Soon, it looked like a veritable tent village, with Kassia's Kathedral tent at the centre. Once we had finished all the unpacking and tent building, I said goodnight. The temperature is really nice there at two in the morning. Thus ended Thursday.
Friday Morning, or "Gallivanting about on the Lake"
While I slept, Mark Davis took a group out for waterskiing. All I know about that is that Suzanne, on her first try ever, managed to water-ski for five minutes without falling, a feat I myself witnessed that afternoon. Later that morning, Pastor Kincer gathered a group to go rent a boat at the docks. There, Runson and I bought some doughnuts and milk (note to self: next time, don't get non-fat), and the group breakfasted while Pastor Kincer arranged the boat rental. With Mr. Silla at the helm, we puttered out onto Lake Mojave and skimmed across the water. We caught sight of Julianna, Christina, and Morgan flying about on a jetski, and once we managed to get their attention, they led us to Mark's boat.
On the way, Mike blew up the innertube and cast it out behind the boat. He was the first to try it, and despite the wind and waves, he held on quite a while. I volunteered next, and leapt out into the water. Brrr. I took hold of the 'tube, and gripped the handholds as best I could, trying to see through the showers of water as the 'tube skipped over swell after swell. Ultimately, the tube flipped over and I let go rather than drown under an oversized yellow donut. After that, no one else stepped forward, so we pulled the 'tube in. Mike put his skis on, and went for a ride. However, the water was by this time so rough that he found it difficult to stay up for very long.
Others continued to water-ski, and Runson, Kelsi, and Pat tried unsuccessfully to ride the jetski. Roger joined them without luck, and then disaster struck. The jetski stalled. It kept stalling, so Miss Woods hopped on to see what she could do. We accompanied her halfway back to the docks, and it finally stalled and wouldn't start again. Hooking a tow rope to the back of the 'ski, Mark brought her the rest of the way. As it was nearing lunch time, Lu brought the boat back to its berth and we headed back to camp.
The first official meal wasn't scheduled until Friday evening, so a number of the youth, along with Miss Woods and a few other adults, went down to the diner by the docks and ate lunch. They served typical American fare--hamburgers, fries, onion rings, pattymelts, etc.--and their selection rivaled that of the best restaurants I know.
Friday Evening, or "Things Really Get Started"
Starting that evening, Mrs. Kincer prepared meals for the group. She provided us with pancakes and sausage for breakfast, and for dinner we had chilidogs one day, and spaghetti another. There were other meals, too, but I neither wrote them down nor helped to make them, and so my memory fails me.
Every night, after dinner, we all met under or near the central canopy and sang several worship songs, led by Miss Woods on her guitar. Afterwards, Pastor Larry or Pastor Dave would give a short message. Friday, Larry emphasized the Scriptural importance of rest, starting from the following passage:
Mark 6:30-32 (emphases mine):
[30] The apostles gathered together with Jesus; and they reported to Him all that they had done and taught. [31] And He said to them, "Come away by yourselves to a secluded place and rest a while." (For there were many people coming and going, and they did not even have time to eat.) [32] They went away in the boat to a secluded place by themselves.
I would venture more examples, but I fear my literal, exceedingly photographic memory has failed to keep any conscious record of the other messages, as I could not see well enough to write them down.
The next two days, a few early birds took some canopies and staked a claim at one of the secluded coves north of the swimming beach, within easy walking distance of the camp (or a hard hiking distance, if you wanted to be adventurous and take the high road over the hills. And especially hard and long if you missed the cove altogether. Yep.) The boats could come close into shore here to pick up and drop off passengers and get back on the lake, and we could swim or lie on the shore, or even build castles in the sand.
It was from this cove that I caught Mark's boat the second time, when I finally learned to ski (more or less). I had tried to learn on Friday, but my skis kept flying off, and Christina had yet to give me the idea to put them on in the water, so I gave up after two tries and got back in the boat. Then Suzanne tried to ski on one ski. She managed to get up after a few tries, but she wasn't able to keep balanced as well as with two skis.
Saturday, or "The Day I Learned to Waterski"
Saturday afternoon, Mark came by the cove to see if anyone wanted to ski. Matt, Steph, Kathy, Christina, and I joined Mike, Morgan, and Mr. Daigle the third time he came 'round. Mike, Christina, and Steph went first, and then I took up the skis and jumped into the lake...OI! COLDNESS! Yes, so, I put the skis on in the water, found my balance, and tried to keep the skis steady. With the experience of the previous day, and a mote of extra motivation, I overcame all these difficulties by the second attempt. The third time I leaned back too far and my right ski soared off as I fell backwards. At last, on the fourth try, I got up, and for half a minute I rode the waves, ending when I leaned too far forward and caught thirty feet of air. After one last try, my exhausted muscles convinced me to abdicate, so I left it at that, content with getting up once.
Back in the boat, the wind, the exertion, and the water, and possibly another factor, combined to make me shake almost uncontrollably for a large portion of the rest of the trip. After me, Kathy (in full surfing regalia) got out on one ski and made a grand effort of it. When she grew weary, Mike rode the wake board and caught a little air, and didn't fall too badly. Mark then took his turn on the wake board while Kathy drove, catching a whole lot more air, and tumbling wildly into the waves whenever his balance proved faulty. Ouch.
Sonday, or "The Chasm of the Winds"
As the winds approached gale force, Mr. Tavis took the rental boat out on a tour round the lake. Marj and Ellie, Ruthie, and Kelsi were there, along with Matt and I...and Steph, obviously. Returning from Arizona Bay with no sign of Mark, Vince saw some caves on the riverbank, and encouraged Matt to see if any sasquatches were at home. When he declined, I took his place and swam out to investigate. Not very deep, not very interesting. Further south we saw another, much deeper cave, and Matt and I swam out to the cave together. Its floor was obscured in murky water, but we pressed on, holding to the sides and seeking out ledges with our feet. Other than being a good hiding place, it appeared rather nondescript, no sign of any unclassified humanoids (not that we expected any) or hidden treasure. Regardless, 'twas an adventure.
So, we made our merry way back to the cove, and picked up a few more passengers, and also dropped off most of the girls, planning to fuel up and go on a journey to the hot springs. The voyage took us through the widest part of the lake, and then into a craggy, clefted canyon, weathered by wind and water into wondrous shapes--tall pillars and columns, towers lifted high above the river, lofty walls and ramparts, fortified to heaven, gazing haughtily down upon the waters below. Ah, for a camera. Rounding a bend, we came to Willow Beach and stopped there to refuel for the last leg of the journey.
It was there we learned that the rest of the lake was restricted to paddle boats (kayaks, canoes, etc.) on Sondays and Mondays. All that way and we never made it to the hot springs. Following a bit of difficulty getting gas, we raced back, while the rising winds turned the lake into a raging sea. That was a wet, wet ride, but the scenery more than made up for any discomfort. That was our last voyage in the Rental Boat. We pulled into the marina for the final time, took all our things, and returned to camp.
That night, after the Spaghetti, the worship, and the message, Pastor Kincer told us about his special arrangement for Monday. We were going to stay that night in Laughlin, in an actual hotel; and after breakfast and whatnot we'd go down and rent a few jetskis, since our own had broken down. Inspired by this news, the formerly weary campers hurriedly tore down their tents and packed everything in the U-Haul trailer. Within the hour, we were carpooling down to Harrah's, where Pastor Kincer had arranged for rooms. Most of us stayed up talking until sometime after midnight, and then we went up to our rooms, to sleep upon real beds.
Monday, or "Wave-Runner Ultimatum"
That morning, we breakfasted upon cereal, or took food at one of the restaurants on the ground floor. When the guys had all made their way to the arcade, Runson and Patrick came up with the idea to buy presents for each of the girls with the tickets gained there. We put our coordination and reflexes to the test, obtaining not a small sum of tickets. At last, we had enough tickets for eight leis and a beachball. Six girls then came to bring us to the beach, and Pat gave out the leis on our way.
Those eighteen or older went to the shoreside office to sign release forms for piloting the two jetskis Pastor rented. I signed the form with some trepidation. With the paperwork complete and the financial concerns worked out, everyone rushed down to the water and the small shed there, where Dave made the final arrangements. Everyone donned lifejackets, and Mike and Christina took the two jetskis out on the Colorado River. The rest moved to the other side of the beach, where the 'skis could come right in to shore after each run.
We had the skis for about four hours, during which time everyone who wanted to ride did so, including myself (actually, I drove, with Pat and Matt's help....) It was great fun flying over the water, your direction (and whether you flip or not) completely in your hands... literally. Yehaw! While the two pairs (a driver and a rider (the latter often holding on for dear life)) were out on the water, some of the girls started a volleyball game at the beach.
"The End of the Tale"
Sadly, in this world all things come to an end. Our ski rental was no exception. When the four hours were complete, everyone went back to their rooms, and brought their luggage down to load into the U-Haul trailer. Around five in the afternoon, we packed ourselves into the cars, and Christina and Christine drove us homeward. The sun set in a blaze of red and violet as we barreled down the highway, and an hour later we stopped at an In-N-Out to take nourishment (or, colloquially, to eat). Returning to the freeways, the caravan broke up to meet again at the church. The time passed in song and laughter, with here and there a few serious words, and at last we pulled into the parking lot at Carbon Canyon. When we had sung a few more songs of worship, Miss Woods and the U-Haul trailer arrived and we promptly it emptied of its contents.
Parents, friends, and who knows who else drizzled by, picking up one person here, three people there, and of course all the things belonging to them. At long last [ah, but too soon!!] my mother arrived, and I hefted my slightly excessive suitcase and other assorted belongings into her van, and said goodbye to those still remaining. Then, with a strange mix of feelings, I got into the car, and Mom and I drove off, at the end of a long, hot, wet, and thoroughly glorious weekend.
-- Gregg Johnson
posted by Gregg Johnson at
3:27 PM
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