The trip started off as you might
expect, at the beginning. The beginning
for me consisted of what appeared to be two run down red brick buildings on Ann
Ave in St. Louis, Missouri. Pipes were
hanging out here, wires were exposed there—the primary indicator that the
structures were even in use was the windows.
While the bricks were weathered by both age and element, the windows
looked new and without blemish. These
portals gave passers-by the feeling that there was more to the structure than
meets the eye. Beyond the blackened
steel gate topped with stars and an emblem showcasing the letter “A” is one of
the hidden gems that St. Louis has to offer: the AmeriCorps St. Louis Headquarters.
Much like the TARDIS, the
AmeriCorps St. Louis Headquarters is much bigger on the inside. The building on the right looks like it had
once been either a barn or a warehouse.
One side was converted into a rock climbing wall. The loft in the back is covered with cots and
sleeping supplies as the structure doubles as a homeless shelter in the colder
months. The rest of the place is pretty
much open space with scattered art pieces along the edges, many of which are
graffiti and all of which describe what it takes to be an AmeriCorps member.
The more worn building on the
left can best be described as a labyrinth.
Do not be alarmed if you find David Bowie wandering its many halls
leading a musical number… I’m sure it happens from time to time. This place has a little bit of
everything. It has a library (both of
books and of games), kitchens, offices, a computer lab, huge spaces that look
like living rooms, TONS of storage, three levels, and really just about
anything one could ask for in terms of disaster relief supplies. Overall, the inside the HQ looks like it
couldn't be more than a couple years old—a stark contrast to its exterior.
When we arrived at HQ we gathered
on the side with the climbing wall for a briefing. For the past several days we had been filling
out paper work and listening to lectures.
While the information we covered was crucial for our integration to the
program, there was one key element that most of us were missing: experience. Bruce, the director of the Emergency Response
Team, and his wife, Kathleen, hinted that while we knew what to expect and that
many of us even dabbled in the field of disaster relief, a number of us had not
truly experienced the mindset that will occur when our nation calls us into
action. Their solution for this was a
thing called Quest.
Quest is a sort of initiation to
the Emergency Response Team. Over the
course of four days the team is divided into smaller groups and given tasks to
accomplish out in the woods. Teamwork
activities, orienteering, and wilderness survival skills were all large
components of Quest, but the hardest factor was the unpredictability of the
wilderness and our own human nature.
Speaking of unpredictability, we
were not informed as to where Quest was taking place. After we did about an hour of name games and
icebreakers (I taught them the gun game we always played in Roial—they enjoyed
it) we jumped into some trucks and we were off!
My group, team yellow, was dropped off by a lake as the sun was starting
to set. We were given three maps,
compasses, and canoes with an appropriate number of oars and our heavy packs
that held our food for the days to come.
In addition, before we embarked on our adventure we encountered two
other travelers. Their names were Gary
and Titanium. They were a couple of eggs
that needed our protection for the duration of Quest. As I still had some space in my pack I took
charge of Gary.
By the time we got the canoes in
the water the sun was notably lower. Our
first task was to find a particular point on the map and convince our leaders
(we had two Alumni and a Fellow: Quinn, Andrea, and Clare) that we were at the
proper place. We found the first spot
pretty quick, the second wasn't too hard to find, but by the time we were
paddling to our third destination the sun was disappearing behind the tree
line. Realizing we weren't going to find
the place before dark, we slowed our pace and enjoyed the view as the sky
shifted from bright shades of pink and yellow, to red, to a rich dark blue.
Not since my time at Ghost Ranch,
New Mexico have I seen a pristine night sky like this. The Milky Way glistened like a celestial
river among the shimmering stars. When
I looked down at the lake to see the spectacle’s reflection, I was met with a
surprise. The entire body of water was
blanketed by a light mist. With each
stroke the clouds parted and revealed a score of twinkling gems below. It felt as if we had transcended to the
heavens.
Cutting through our moment of Zen,
our leaders announced that they had another challenge for us. From this point forward we could only proceed
so long as our boats were tied together.
After we lashed our vessels together the scene took a drastic turn. The light mist had transformed into a thick,
menacing fog that severely limited our visibility. Fortunately Haley did her research and bought
me a head lamp that sliced through the obstacle as easily as a samurai sword
would butter (and many other things).
The light revealed a minefield of fallen trees in our wake and another
enigma: tornadoes. At random tornadoes
would rise a good seven to eight feet out of the fog. My instinct was to flee but these anomalies
were but shadows of their true forms and held no real power. So on we went dodging debris and watching the
dance of the ghostly spirals.
Once the tree-ridden straight was
cleared it was full speed ahead. Despite
nature’s best attempts to distract and dishearten us our spirits were
high. Thriving on our camaraderie we
became the “party barge,” an undeterrable force of fun. There was just one issue. Our landing point had some sort of magical
charm about it making it identical to the Isla de Muerta in the sense that it
could not be found except by those who already knew where it was. A couple of us tried to sneakily obtain the
coordinates from our leaders but they wouldn't budge. Good secret keepers those ones. So, we concluded that the lowered water
levels must have altered the location’s appearance and decided to head into
port around where we estimated the mark was.
Upon landing Andrea let out a
little cheer and told us that we did really well considering that it was
dark. The congratulations were followed
by a dramatic pause. We weren't at our
final destination yet. After our leaders
gave us a rough idea of where our next target was, we set our bearings and
began bushwhacking. Through thorns and
poison ivy, around widow makers, up hills, over fallen trees, and down ravines:
the party barge did everything but ford a river as that never works in Oregon
Trail. About a half hour into our trek
Quinn announced that while we did “really well” sailing in the dark, the
leaders never openly claimed that our last mark was the correct landing
point. In short, our bearing could be
(and was) horribly off. In an attempt to
reorient ourselves we consulted with the map... and realized that they were
dated back in the early 1970’s. Even if
we were where we thought we were, this revelation meant there was no guarantee
that the abandoned road we were shooting for existed anymore. We had to turn back.
It was so cold now that I could
fill a sauna with the steam I was expelling.
All of our watches and cell phones were confiscated back at HQ, but the
chill was a big enough indicator that the sun had been set for some time. Team yellow pushed on diligently but our
fatigue was beginning to affect our rationality. We kept second guessing ourselves, group
consensus was taking longer to reach, and we started seeing what we wanted to
see both on the map and in our shadowy surroundings. Moved by our stubborn persistence, the
leaders of our group made us a deal.
They would show us where we were on the map in exchange for the silence
of three of our comrades. Completely
lost, we agreed.
Of course they chose the three of
us that were most comfortable using the map and compass. I took the lead at this point because I
faintly recalled how to orienteer from my time in the Scouts… problem was I was
so tired that I couldn't piece the memories with the vital information together. Our solution was simple enough—the leaders
never said that the silent ones couldn't set the bearings or play
charades. After what felt like another
hour of bushwhacking and guesswork, we reached the spot and the silent spell
was lifted. Life was good! We still had another point to reach, but we
were content with snacking on trail mix and calling it a night.
