A Week in the Woods

by Andrew Clements

  Mark took the hatchet and started to chop at the wood, but Leon said, “I show you a better way. First you break off all the small pieces—good for kindling.”

  Mark watched as Leon took a pine bough about eight feet long and snapped off the smaller twigs until it was just the main branch, silvery gray and about as thick as a man’s wrist.

  “Then you find a big rock, like so. Now stand a little to that side and watch.”

  The rock stuck out of the ground about two feet. Leon stood behind it and lifted the branch over his head. He brought it down sharply so that it struck the rock about eighteen inches from the end of the branch. There was a sharp crack, and the end of the branch snapped off cleanly and dropped to the ground. Raising the stick, Leon hit it again, and another piece cracked and dropped. Crack, crack, crack, and all that was left was a short piece in Leon’s hand.

  “Now you try.”

  Mark picked out a limb, stripped off the twigs, and took a big swing. The branch bounced and stung his hands. Nothing broke off.

  Leon chuckled and said, “Try it again, but this time don’t hit so close to the end.”

  Mark quickly got the feel of the process and cracked the branch up into usable firewood. And even though his hands hurt a little, he knew it had been a lot easier than the chopping would have been.

  There was no rain in the forecast, the black flies and mosquitoes hadn’t begun hatching yet, so they made their beds under the open sky, Leon on one side of the fire, Mark on the other.

  Anya had thought they were crazy, but the two of them had insisted that they wanted to cook their own dinner over the campfire. As the sunset faded in the west, Mark and Leon feasted on charred hot dogs and canned baked beans, washed down with lukewarm cans of Hawaiian Punch. They roasted about ten marshmallows apiece for dessert.

  By the time the fire had burned down to embers, Mark was glad that Leon had come along. This was not like sleeping in the barn. The towering trees swayed and whispered in the breeze, and beyond the red glow of the coals all was darkness.

  Both of them slid into their sleeping bags and for almost half an hour they talked back and forth across the dying fire. Then Leon yawned and said, “Time to sleep now. A peaceful rest to you.” And with that, he turned over onto his side and pulled his cap down to cover his eyes.

  As quiet settled over the campsite, Mark felt like his ears were growing. He heard every tiny sound, every little stir and rustling in the underbrush. He felt completely surrounded by nature, but it didn’t feel dangerous or frightening to him. It was simply unknown. It was like a big book that had been lying open in front of him all his life, and he’d been ignoring it. Not anymore. Now Mark was determined to read the whole thing. And he knew he was only on page one, maybe page two.

  Lying on his back, breathing the cool pine-soaked air, Mark looked up at the circle of sky above the clearing. He had noticed the sky every cloudless night since they had moved to New Hampshire, but noticing the sky is different from looking at it. And now Mark really looked.

  As he stared upward he couldn’t find any words for the way it made him feel. There was no end to these stars, and no beginning either. Beyond numbers, beyond distances, beyond ideas like “big” and “far.” Mark felt as if his mind was being pulled out and up, off into the hugeness of space.

  Back on earth, Mark heard a sound from the other side of the fire pit. Leon had begun to snore softly, his breathing slow and deep. The rhythm was comforting, and after a long day it was all the lullaby Mark needed.

  Twelve

  Gearing Up

  The world of camping gear was a revelation to Mark. After the computer in the family room had been linked up to the DSL connection, Mark discovered more than a dozen terrific stores on the web that specialized in getting people ready to deal with Mother Nature. Eastern Mountain Sports, Mountain Equipment Co-Op, L.L. Bean, Sierra Outfitters—the list went on and on.

  Mark’s favorite was REI—Recreational Equipment Incorporated. The REI Web site was organized by activities, and each category branched off into a tantalizing selection of gadgets and tools and necessities for enjoying time in the great outdoors. Tents, sleeping bags, rock climbing gear, mountain bikes, kayaks and canoes, camping stoves, knives, communication equipment, maps and direction finders, shoes and boots of every imaginable kind, sunglasses and binoculars, and an endless assortment of different kinds of special outdoor clothing. The variety was overwhelming.

  On Sunday morning when his mom called from London, Mark told her about how he had camped out with Leon Friday night. Then he said, “I really want to do a lot of overnight trips at camp this summer, maybe even do the ten-day mountain trip in Maine. I looked at the booklet from camp, and it says if you’re twelve, it’s all right—and I’ll be twelve in June.”

  “Well, we can certainly talk about that, Mark,” his mom said. Mark could tell she didn’t like the idea. But she hadn’t said no, so that was okay, and it was the perfect opening for what he really wanted to ask her.

  Mark said, “Well, since I want to get into camping, I’ve been looking at some catalogs that have equipment and stuff. So would it be okay if I got some gear, just so I could be ready? In case I get to go on some overnights this summer?”

  And just like he knew she would, his mom said, “Why, of course you may, dear. Get whatever you think you need. When I talk to Anya I’ll ask her to let you use the American Express card. Just promise me you won’t get anything that’s dangerous, all right? No big knives . . . or axes—nothing like that, all right?”

  Mark said, “Nothing like that, I promise. I just want to learn how to be a good camper, that’s all.”

  “Well, I think that’s wonderful, dear.”

  Late Sunday afternoon, Mark turned on the Mac. Then he opened up the browser and clicked on the REI Web site. And he realized he had a problem. His problem was that he wanted everything. And thanks to his mom’s credit card, he could actually afford everything. Well, not everything, but there were still way too many choices.

  Mark had to decide what he really needed. So he opened a new window in the browser, clicked on a search engine, and typed in “camping essentials.” On the second page of listings, he found a web page put together by a guy from Wyoming who taught outdoor survival classes. He called himself “Mr. Survival.” He had organized his list of essential gear by looking at the greatest dangers people usually face if they get lost in the wilderness.

  The first danger on his list was getting too cold—or too hot. So he had a section of information about clothing layers, and choosing the right socks and footwear. Mark felt proud that he’d already figured out those things on his own. Mr. Survival also recommended carrying a plastic “space blanket.” You could put the shiny side in to keep warm, or put the shiny side out to keep the sun off. It would also shed rain or snow.

  Next on the danger list came thirst and hunger. He recommended carrying at least two water bottles and also having a way to purify more. Mr. Survival’s personal favorite was a tiny bottle of liquid iodine drops. He wrote,

  You can scoop water right out of a stream or even a puddle, add a few drops of iodine, wait ten minutes, and take a drink. It might taste bad, but you won’t get sick from germs or parasites, and most importantly, you won’t get weak from dehydration or die of thirst.

  About hunger, he said,

  Even a day-hiker should carry five or six energy bars and two or three regular candy bars. A candy bar doesn’t weigh much, and it might just give you that jolt of energy you need to get yourself up out of the ravine you fell into.

  The list went on:

  • Take at least two ways to make fire, plus a fire starter.

  Best emergency fire maker: a magnesium block and a striker made from three inches of hacksaw blade. Direct a shower of sparks onto some scrapings from the block.

  Best fire starter: cotton balls covered with petroleum jelly—ten will stuff into one plastic film container. If you don’t have this, use finely shredded bi
rch bark, dry grass, lint from your socks, or a candy bar wrapper.

  • Take a compass, and know how to use it.

  • Take a small waterproof flashlight or headlamp—and extra batteries.

  • Take a pocketknife.

  • Take a loud whistle, like a lifeguard’s whistle, to help others find you if you get lost or separated.

  • Take a dozen cloth-strip Band-Aids and a small roll of duct tape for cuts or foot blisters.

  • Take a small magnifying glass for map reading or starting a fire.

  • Take two zip-seal plastic bags for carrying water.

  • Take a roll of dental floss or other strong, light cord—at least a hundred feet—and a strong sewing needle.

  After reading what Mr. Survival had to say, Mark felt ready to start shopping. He clicked back to the REI Web site, and started filling his online shopping basket.

  First he picked out a new sleeping bag. The one he’d been using had been to summer camp three times. It was plenty warm, but it weighed too much. The new bag Mark picked out was filled with goose down. It weighed less than three pounds and packed up into a thin, tight roll.

  The next essential item was a pack—not a simple backpack, but a framepack. Mark had used one at camp last summer. It was called a framepack because it had a built-in frame of metal or fiberglass to keep it stiff and spread out the weight of a load in the best way possible. After reading the descriptions of about ten different packs, Mark looked at a chart and picked the one that was best for a person of his height and weight.

  From about twenty different kinds of flashlights, he picked a Mini-Maglite that used AA batteries. He also chose a headlamp, like a flashlight on a head strap. The one he picked had three different levels of brightness, and would run for anywhere from 12 to 150 hours on three AAA batteries.

  The magnesium fire-starting bar seemed kind of silly to Mark. Why bother carrying that if you already have matches or a lighter? He flipped back to Mr. Survival’s Web page and clicked on the link about fire making. And Mr. Survival made it simple:

  Matches go bad or get wet, even the waterproof kind. Lighters rust or break or leak. Some magnesium scrapings and a shower of sparks from a bit of hacksaw blade will always work, no matter how long you’ve had them and no matter whether it’s raining or snowing or ten below zero.

  So Mark clicked on the magnesium fire block with the built-in striker bar and put it into his online shopping basket.

  Even though Mark knew he wouldn’t be allowed to use it by himself, he picked out a little gas-powered cooking stove anyway. And then he found a good compass, a pair of lightweight binoculars, and six pairs of special “moisture wicking” hiking socks. Plus a dozen chocolate chip energy bars.

  He looked at the boots, but the Italian hiking boots he had gotten before camp last summer still fit perfectly, and they were all broken in, too.

  When Mark went to the page that showed the knives, he remembered what his mom had made him promise. She’d said no big knives or axes. But she hadn’t said he couldn’t get a smaller knife. After all, his dad had already given him a Swiss Army knife for Christmas two years ago. So Mark picked out a lightweight knife with a black plastic handle and a single blade that locked open. Definitely not a big knife.

  He could have kept finding great stuff all evening, but Mark felt like he’d better stop. He clicked on his shopping basket, and then on the “checkout” box. The total amount came to more than eleven hundred dollars!

  Mark stared at the number. Eleven hundred dollars was a lot of money. He started to look at the list of things he’d chosen, trying to figure out which ones to put back.

  Then Mark remembered the skis and boots and poles his dad had helped him pick out when they went to Aspen that time. Plus the jacket and goggles and gloves. Mark had used those skis for less than a week, and now all that equipment was lying in a closet back in Scarsdale, too small to ever use again. And those things had cost his dad more than nine hundred bucks.

  So getting all this stuff for only eleven hundred? Suddenly that seemed like a bargain. And Mark knew he wouldn’t be using these things for only a week or two, either.

  He quickly filled in the shipping information, typed in his mom’s credit card number, and clicked on the Buy Now button. Less than ten seconds later a confirmation screen appeared and promised that the purchased items would be delivered to his house by Federal Express on Tuesday afternoon.

  Mark printed a copy of the confirmation page, closed the browser, and shut down the computer.

  Then he went to the kitchen to get himself a snack. All that shopping had made him hungry.

  Thirteen

  Readiness

  After the announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance on Monday morning, Mark was surprised when the principal’s voice came crackling out of the speaker in his homeroom.

  “Good morning, fifth-graders. This is Mrs. Gibson. By this time next Monday, you will already be well on your way to Gray’s Notch State Park. Mr. Maxwell tells me that three of you have not yet turned in your signed permission slips for your Week in the Woods. If you are one of those three, please take care of this right away. You must turn in a signed slip or you will not be allowed to get onto the bus. The buses will leave from the front of the school building at seven-thirty next Monday morning. That means you all should be here by seven o’clock at the very latest. Your information packet is very clear about all the details. Please read through the information with your parents again this week. And students, make sure that you don’t bring too much with you. We have a problem with this every year. Each student may bring no more than one medium-sized suitcase, one book bag, and a sleeping bag. There is a very clear packing list, and if you follow it, you’ll have just enough of everything. If you have any questions, ask any of your teachers or, of course, you may ask Mr. Maxwell. Have a great week, everybody.”

  The whole rest of the day was just as surprising to Mark. Everything was about the big trip. No school Mark had attended had ever focused on a single idea the way that Hardy Elementary School zeroed in on A Week in the Woods.

  In language arts Mrs. Bender taught a lesson about keeping a journal, and then each student made a small booklet to write in during the week away. “We shall do our best to make our observations original, interesting, and accurate.”

  In social studies they learned about the Native Americans who had lived in the region, and on a special map Mrs. Farr showed a hilltop at the park that was off-limits to all hikers. Some Abenaki artifacts had been discovered there last year, and over the coming summer there would be a formal archeological survey of the area. Then Mrs. Farr gave each kid a folder with a topographic map of the park. She explained how to read the map, and how to use the position of the sun or even where the moss was growing on a tree to figure out which way was north. She said, “I want everyone to bring these folders with you to the park next week. On Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon, we’ll be doing some trail finding and some orienteering, and I don’t want any of you getting lost.”

  In math class Mrs. Leghorn had them do some problems about rate and distance.

  “All right, class,” she said. “If you walk at six miles an hour, and you hike for three hours and twenty minutes—my goodness! Why anyone would want to go tramping around out in the cold for that long is beyond me. But if you did go hiking for that long, then how many miles would you have walked? Assuming you were still alive, that is.”

  Mark didn’t think Mrs. Leghorn was very excited about going to the woods.

  In gym class Mr. Harris had turned half of the general purpose room into an obstacle course. The course involved a lot of ducking under things, a lot of climbing over things, and some careful walking across the low balance beam without falling into the fake water. He had also built a small hill out of fifteen or twenty tumbling mats and the pommel horse.

  Even the music teacher put preparations for the fifth grade spring concert on hold so everyone could learn some campfire songs.
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  The whole fifth grade was moving toward the same goal, and of course, Mr. Maxwell was leading the charge.

  When science class began on Monday afternoon, Mr. Maxwell smiled broadly and said, “This time next week, we’ll all be seventy-five miles away from here, breathing in some cool mountain air. So let’s talk a little bit about air quality, shall we? First of all, what is air made up of?”

  A girl named Chelsea raised her hand, and Mr. Maxwell nodded at her. She said, “Oxygen? And nitrogen?”

  Mr. Maxwell nodded. “Yup. Anything else? Anyone?”

  No other hands went up.

  Mark knew something about this because he’d done a science fair project in third grade about air pollution. So he raised his hand. His was the only hand in the air.

  Mr. Maxwell looked around the room. It was impossible to miss Mark’s hand.

  “Anyone?” Mr. Maxwell asked again. “No? Well, air is actually made up of a number of gases, and oxygen and nitrogen are two of them, just as Chelsea said.”

  Mark brought his hand down, and he felt his face start to get warm. He felt like he’d been smacked on the cheek.

  He wouldn’t have been able to put it into words very well, but Mark knew what was going on. He knew what this thing with Mr. Maxwell was about. And Mark felt like it was pretty much his own fault. He knew he had been unpleasant and rude to Mr. Maxwell during his first couple of weeks. Mark knew he had offended the man, especially by not getting excited about the big trip.

  But Mark also knew that for his part, he’d let all that go. All of it. He wanted to be part of the class now, he wanted in. And he thought he’d been sending clear signals to Mr. Maxwell, friendly signals.

  For a while Mark had thought that the science teacher wasn’t getting the message. And then for a couple of weeks Mark had felt that maybe Mr. Maxwell had a right to ignore him, to keep him out in the cold, test him to be sure he was sincere.