Making Tracks

By Kat Bryant

I reported recently about the Klondike Derby, the annual Boy Scout event that was cut short by high winds. I was part of the committee that decided to evacuate the camp. It was a unanimous decision, and I know it was the right one.

It was breezy as I walked from the staff cabin to my post that Saturday morning, but it certainly didn’t feel dangerous. I settled in to help at the registration desk, signing in the few groups of Scouts that hadn’t arrived and set up camp the night before. Meanwhile, volunteers came in to pick up the materials we’d prepared for them to run Klondike’s 35 activity stations.

After registration was complete, I walked around taking photos as Scouts participated in everything from archery to pancake flipping to (ironically) building a fire in a hurricane. With the wind and intermittent rain, I recall sending my mom a mental hug for the jacket she’d given me, which is wonderfully weatherproof.

And then things started to go sideways. Literally.

A large tree blew over in one of the outlying campsites, and branches of all sizes started to drop. As these reports reached the ears of the committee, the decision was made to shut down the activity stations and summon everyone to the dining hall at the top of the hill — away from all the trees — to wait out the storm.

Less than an hour later — with the electricity out, a couple more trees down and no end in sight — we met as a committee to discuss options with the resident camp ranger and our BSA council representative. At that point, we decided to evacuate the area for everyone’s safety.

The process went smoothly, and to the best of my knowledge there were no injuries, despite a couple of near misses. The “all clear” was given the next morning for people to return and clear out their belongings.

Through it all, I couldn’t help feeling a sense of déjà vu. My only Scout camp experience during the year I lived in North Dakota was also interrupted by a windstorm — a much stronger one.

In July 2016, I served for a week as a commissioner at Camp Wilderness, a BSA camp in Minnesota. It was a beautiful place, with perfect summer weather and lots to see. I stayed in a visitors cabin just outside the camp boundaries, where I was allowed to have Rose with me. My sweet dog didn’t much like being confined to the cabin while I was working, but we got to do a lot of hiking during my downtime.

That Tuesday evening, the alarm sounded: A storm was looming, and we had to take shelter. Being closer to the bunker in the neighboring family camp, Rose and I went there. It turned out to be a minor thunderstorm, and we were released fairly quickly.

Two days later, after the dinner hour, the alarm went off again. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my flashlight, a bottle of water and Rose’s leash, and we made our way to the shelter once again.

But this time, it was no laughing matter. As we hunkered down — I think it was three hours before the all-clear was given — winds approaching 80 mph roared through the camp along with lightning, thunder and pounding rain. Rose did her part to help calm the frightened Cub Scouts there, allowing them to cuddle up to her and pet her as the storm raged outside.

When we emerged, the carnage was shocking. Hundreds of trees had been splintered, flattening numerous tents and a couple of small structures. A church van in the parking lot had been crushed. Roads were blocked. But all of our people were safe.

I learned the next morning that the Scout troop from the farthest campsite had barely made it to shelter in time because they, too, had rolled their eyes and assumed it was no big deal. A staff member risked his own life to go get them, and they later told us trees were crashing down right behind them as they ran.

We were even more humbled by the news that the storm had continued that night up to Northern Tier (a high-adventure Scout camp on the Minnesota-Ontario border), where downed trees had killed two people and injured two others.

With those horrifying memories at front of mind, it was a no-brainer for me to vote with my fellow committee members to shut down Klondike for everyone’s safety.

After witnessing up close what wind can do to a forest, I will never underestimate such a threat in the future.

Kat Bryant is lifestyle editor of The Daily World. She now fully understands why major buildings in Scout camps tend to be in areas clear of trees. Reach her at kbryant@thedailyworld.com or on Facebook at Kat Bryant-DailyWorld.