Snow camp

My school was based on the traditional Anglican/English model. You can imagine something like Hogwarts, minus the magic and girls.

It was a boys school, with four houses named after the founding fathers of the school. We wore a full uniform of grey and brown. Our blazers had white and blue stripes.

Being sensitive and with a somewhat anxious disposition, I at first struggled in this environment. But within a year I learnt what it takes to survive there. Once in a while you had to let some fire out. Somewhere in the 8th grade I got a new pencil case, I was so proud of it and made the fatal mistake of showing it. After going to the bathroom I came back to find a lewd picture drawn all over my prized pencil case in permanent marker. Given the detail of the work, I knew only one person in the class could have been responsible for it. I looked over at him with a grim face and he smirked at me. Calmly I took at a sturdy pen from my now destroyed case, went over to him and stabbed a dozen holes in his pencil case.

After that and a couple of others things people learnt not to mess with me. Still I never really felt at ease there. I sort of floated between groups and never got deeply involved in the numerous activities that the school offered.

The exception was year 10 camp. It was something of a right of passage at the school and among other things involved staying for 24 hours alone in the forest and camping in the snow for four days.

I begged my parents not to make me go, but it was no use. They and the school were adamant that all must attend. I remember my parents saying to me at the time that one day you’ll be glad you went. Parents have a way of being right about these things. So after packing the long list of equipment required, I boarded the bus early one morning and we drove up to the school’s alpine camping retreat in the Strathbogie ranges.

After spending a couple of days at base camp going through some preparatory sessions and activities, we were all driven up into the forest. Each of us was plonked about 2 km apart on the road and told to walk 50m into the forest, where we were to make camp and remain for 24 hours. We were forbidden to return to the road or attempt to meet with others. The consequences of breaking these rules would be severe, potentially even expulsion from the school. Only in the case of a medical emergency were we allowed to return to the road where a car would be patrolling periodically.

We were all scared. We didn’t even have tents, just a mat to lay on and a small tarp to cover us from any rain. The day time was scary enough, but at night, every little sound in the forest set off alarm bells. Some wise guy also decided to tell us a scary story about a witch who abducts people on a camping trip. That really didn’t help.

Most of us made it through the night, though a few people broke the rules and met up. They were severely reprimanded and it remained a blot on their school record, for which they were made later to account.

With the hard part done we moved on to the next part of the retreat, a hike up into the snow capped mountains and a 3 night camp. With us we carried cross country skis, since that was to be the day time activity. Students were arranged in 4 groups who were to tackle courses of varying difficulty depending on their skiing experience. I had at least touched snow before, so I was put into the second lowest group.

After a bit of trial and error I got the hang of skiing. It was just a matter of balance and placing enough weight on the leg you wanted to push off from. At the centre of the skis was an area with groves that when put under pressure would make contact with the snow and give you grip. The other important aspect was learning how to stop, the advanced form of which was angling both skis to the side. That was a bit much for me, but I mastered the less effective snowplow technique, which is angling the two skis towards the centre. This was worryingly ineffective on steeper slopes.

While my group was ambling about gingerly the advanced group were hurtling across the slopes like wild men. On one occasion the red haired “New Kid” who never managed to escape the name given to him on arrival at the school, came racing across a ridge. Unable to control the speed, he leapt off the side of the path only to fly between the forked trunk of a gum tree and disappear into the snow behind it, narrowly escaping serious injury. We were relieved when a hand stuck out from the snow and waved at us.

At night we were all famished. I’ve never felt hunger like that. After being in the cold and skiing all day I could have eaten anything. We had only the food supplies that we brought with us. Towards the end of the trip I still had a bag of sugar left, so I stirred half a cup of it into some warm milk and drank it without hesitation. I had saved the best for last though. A stick of salami. With a smile I went to dig it out of my bag, only to find that it was missing. My blood instantly boiled. Another prank from somebody in the camp no doubt.

Fuming I went around and questioned everyone in the camp. After jabbing my finger in peoples chest for 15 minutes I finally gave up. On the final morning as we were packing up I reached on the outside of my backpack lining by mistake and found the salami had been there all along. I had a good laugh with my friend Jason who I was camping with, and we agreed it would be best if we didn’t tell the others that I had in fact misplaced it.

I’ll never forget the feeling as we came down from that mountain. All the groups came together and we were completely elated at what we had achieved. The jostling and acrimony was gone. We came down that mountain as brothers. The bond that we shared that day I’ll always remember. The boarders between us had diminished and we were one tribe. How missing that is from modern adult life.

That evening we sat in a large circle and our teachers congratulated us on completing the camp. We also had a special guest, our much respected principal Rod Fraser came to give us a talk. He was something special Mr Fraser. He had a Gough Whitlam, Malcolm Fraser type demeanour. Calm, dignified and strong. But being the wild bunch that we were, and the elation that we felt after having completed the camp something was going to give. During one of Mr Fraser’s pregnant pauses, New Kid unleashed a baritone and resonant fart, perfectly timed, that echoed throughout the wooden cabin. We all erupted in uncontrollable laughter.

Mr Fraser just got up and walked out. After a few minutes one of the teachers came in and gave us absolutely hell for about 20 minutes straight. He just screamed us into submission, and quite right. Still it was hard not to laugh.

So, that was Snow Camp and some of my favourite memories. Since that time the property the school owned in Strathbogie has been sold off, the school has become co-ed and I doubt they drop kids off in the forest for 24 hours.

Things change, each generation has to accept that. Still there can be no doubt, we were something special, the class of 2004.