A Week in the Woods Read online

  But today Mark felt hurt. And embarrassed. Today he got the point. And the point was that Mr. Maxwell was punishing him. Mark wanted in, and Mr. Maxwell knew it, but he had just slammed the door in Mark’s face.

  To his credit, Mark didn’t get angry. He didn’t tune out the class and stare at the floor or look out the window. Instead he swallowed hard and tried to keep listening. He didn’t let himself brood about the way Mr. Maxwell was treating him. He kept his mind focused on what the teacher was saying.

  Because Mark truly wanted to learn about the woods and the mountains and the air and the weather—all of it. And whatever else he was, Mark had to admit that Mr. Maxwell was an expert.

  He just wasn’t a very nice expert.

  * * *

  When Mark got home from school Tuesday there were four large cardboard boxes from REI waiting for him in the garage. Leon helped him unpack everything, whistling softly now and then in appreciation, sometimes asking Mark to explain a piece of equipment.

  “Very fancy,” he said as Mark unrolled the bright orange sleeping bag to get a better look at it. “When I was a boy, I had an iron frying pan, a blanket roll tied with a piece of rope, a penknife, and a small axe. That was camping.”

  Mark tucked the smaller gear like the magnesium block and the iodine drops and the flashlights right into the outer pockets on his new framepack. He stuffed the sleeping bag inside the pack to give it some shape and weight, and then Leon helped him to move and adjust the shoulder straps so that it fit on his back correctly. Standing there with the straps fastened and the buckles clipped, Mark imagined himself at summer camp, all set for a ten-day hike. It made him feel strong and independent.

  And at that moment Anya called from the kitchen door, “Both of you, come inside now. Mark, change your clothes and eat before you play with your new toys. Come.”

  Later on Mark took his new compass out into the woods. He sat on a fallen tree and read the instruction booklet from beginning to end. Then he did some of the recommended training exercises. He learned how to sight on a distant object, and he learned to count his steps so he could estimate how far he’d traveled in one direction. He didn’t have a map to test it on, but he understood how to put the clear plastic base of the compass onto a map and then turn the map to line it up and get a true idea about the lay of the land.

  Then Mark laid out a simple course for himself, a big triangle: first east, then northwest, then southeast. With his eyes glued to the red and black needle of the compass, Mark paced off his course. Thirty minutes later he ended up back within fifty feet of his starting point. Mark felt like he’d just sailed around the globe.

  After dinner Mark carried all his new equipment up to his room. He laid it out on the floor and on his bed. Then he got his Week in the Woods packet and found the packing list. Item by item, Mark laid out what he needed to take. Then he refolded all his clothes. Carefully he laid his belongings into his new pack. It all fit in easily, even his hiking boots.

  Mark took another look at the packing list, and in the section about what not to bring he saw, “No knives of any kind.” So he dug into the outside pocket of his backpack, found his new knife and walked across the room and dropped it into his desk drawer. The list also said, “No matches or lighters.” But it didn’t say no magnesium striker blocks, so Mark left that in his backpack pocket.

  Then Mark sat at his desk and made a list of things he still needed, especially things that Mr. Survival said he ought to have.

  He still needed a space blanket, a piece of hacksaw blade, two zip-seal plastic bags, some candy bars, a whistle, Band-Aids, some duct tape, some extra batteries, a magnifying glass, and some dental floss. And a heavy-duty sewing needle. The things he couldn’t find around the house he’d get at Wal-Mart, and Leon could take him there after school tomorrow or the next day.

  Mark pushed his new sleeping bag into its stuff sack—a waterproof nylon bag with a drawstring at the open end. There were special straps on the bottom of his framepack, and after a little fiddling Mark got the bag fastened into position.

  Then came the moment of truth. Mark took hold of the pack and swung it around and up onto his back. He slipped the shoulder bands into place, fastened the chest strap, settled the waist belt onto his hips and then pulled it tight and snapped the buckle. Taking a few strides around his room, he tested the weight. Felt like about twenty-five pounds. Not too bad. Very doable.

  And again Mark had that feeling of strength and independence. Still, he had to admit, it felt good when he took the pack off his back. But he knew he’d have plenty of time before summer to get used to hauling it around. He would start tomorrow. He’d wear the pack when he went out walking after school. Before long he’d hardly notice it. He could even add a tent—the little ones were only about five or six more pounds. By summertime he’d be ready to take the long hiking trip with the big guys at camp.

  Of course, for next week, his framepack would just be like a medium-sized suitcase, just an easy way to carry stuff to his cabin at the state park.

  Then Mark had a satisfying thought: When Mr. Maxwell saw him show up with all his gear, maybe the guy would know he wasn’t looking at some little dork. Mr. Maxwell would see he was dealing with a kid who knew a thing or two about being outdoors.

  There was another thought, a thought that Mark didn’t even put into words. It was more like a hope that he kept hidden from himself. Because Mark hoped that when Mr. Maxwell saw him so pulled together, so serious, so well prepared, then the man would ease up, cut him some slack. He hoped the man would show him some respect.

  Because Mark knew he deserved that.

  Fourteen

  Zero Tolerance

  As the black Mercedes pulled into the school driveway at seven o’clock on Monday morning, Mark wished that he’d gotten up earlier, or maybe Leon should have driven faster. Because tons of other fifth-graders were already at the school.

  Three big yellow buses sat at the curb, their doors open wide. Parked behind the buses there were five pickup trucks and four minivans. The cargo beds of the first two pickups were already loaded with luggage.

  Mark saw a tall, rough-looking man talking with the principal. He had a clipboard, and so did Mrs. Gibson. She was pointing at the first bus, and the man was pointing at the second one.

  With a start Mark realized what he was seeing. That tall guy? That’s Mr. Maxwell!

  He was wearing dark brown trousers, tan lace-up hunting boots, a red flannel shirt, and a dark green jacket. His blaze orange cap was pulled down over a wild mess of graying brown hair, and it was plain to see that Mr. Maxwell had not shaved all weekend. He was headed for the woods.

  A group of other cars pulled up behind them, and Leon said, “Out you go now. You have a good time, Mark. Or, how about you drive home, and I will go to the state park, eh?”

  Mark grinned. “Sometime we’ll go together, okay? And do some real camping. See you, Leon.”

  Leon popped the trunk open and Mark jumped out. He grabbed his pack and slung it onto his back. It was about three pounds heavier than it had been when he had tried it out in his room that first night. The extra weight wasn’t because of the last few items from Mr. Survival’s list—the space blanket, the extra flashlight batteries, and the other items weighed almost nothing. He’d found a couple of other neat things at Wal-Mart too, like the saw that was just a piece of rough wire with a ring on each end, and the plastic emergency poncho. But that stuff was real light too. The extra weight in his pack came from the school materials he was required to bring along.

  By the time Mark got onto the sidewalk, about ten other kids were in line ahead of him, waiting to be checked in by Mr. Maxwell. Mark was surprised to see that two of the boys and one of the girls in the line had framepacks too.

  He suddenly wished he’d just thrown his stuff into an old suitcase. Compared to the packs these kids had, his looked brand-new, because it was—and his was also a lot fancier. The fact that his pack was bright yellow di
dn’t help. And the one-liter water bottles he had tucked into the mesh pockets on either side of his pack seemed silly now, unnecessary. Like he was showing off or something.

  When it was his turn, Mr. Maxwell glanced at him, then ran a quick eye over his gear, and said, “Toss that into the fourth pickup and then get onto the first bus.” That was it. No greeting, no comment, no smile.

  On the bus Mark was glad to see Jason Frazier sitting near the back. He waved at Mark and then pointed at the seat across the aisle from him.

  As Mark sat down Jason said, “Did you check out Old Man of the Mountain Maxwell?”

  Mark nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t even recognize him.”

  “Takes this whole deal pretty serious, y’know?” said Jason. “Sort of too much, maybe. But who cares? No school, man—that’s what I like! And my brother said the food’s good too. Not like the stuff at our cafeteria.”

  When the bus was almost full, Mrs. Stearns and Mrs. Leghorn got on. Mrs. Stearns smiled and joked with a group of girls sitting near the front of the bus. She had on hiking boots, jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt. She was in a good mood, and she was ready for the woods.

  Mrs. Leghorn was wearing a pair of bright white tennis shoes, some pale purple slacks, and a long red wool coat with wide sleeves. A large black purse was looped over one arm, and in her other hand she kept a tight grip on a tall stainless steel coffee mug. She stood stiffly, flinching every time a kid yelled or laughed too loudly.

  Mrs. Stearns called off the names from the list on her clipboard. Two kids hadn’t arrived, but by the time she’d read off all the names, they had slipped aboard. The bus driver climbed on, buckled her seatbelt, yanked on the door lever, and as soon as Mrs. Stearns and Mrs. Leghorn took their seats, the bus lurched forward.

  A Week in the Woods had officially begun.

  * * *

  When they arrived at Gray’s Notch State Park, the boys on the first bus were divided up into three different groups. Mark and Jason and eight other boys were assigned to a one-room cabin called the Raven’s Nest. A man named Mr. Frost—Jessica Frost’s father—was their cabin chaperone. He looked nice enough to Mark, but he wasn’t an outdoors type. More like a salesman, or maybe he worked in an office.

  Mr. Frost helped the boys find all their luggage, and then he led the way down the campground road, past the restrooms and bath houses, past three RV slabs and two other cabins. Pointing at a log building down a short path from the road, Mr. Frost said, “Here it is guys, Home Sweet Home!”

  The Raven’s Nest had the smell of wood smoke and pine logs, and Mark liked the place instantly. It reminded him of a cabin at his summer camp, except this one was larger and brighter. Six windows, one on either side of the door and two on each of the long walls, let in the midmorning sun.

  There were six bunk beds, three along each side wall, leaving an open space in the middle. The wooden floorboards were painted a pale gray. At the end of the cabin opposite the door there was a stone fireplace, but the opening had been covered with a sheet of black metal. A woodstove stood in front of the fireplace, and its black pipe ran up and then back into a thimble two feet above the fireplace mantel. The stove was lit and it threw off a comfortable warmth.

  There were three sturdy tables, two on the left of the fireplace, and one on the right side, each with four wooden chairs. The table tops were made of thick pine boards. The chairs and the table legs had been painted dark green.

  While Mark stood in the middle of the room looking around, a mad scramble for the beds began. He turned and rushed to the nearest bunk, arriving at the same moment Jason did. But what looked like a contest never happened, because Jason yelled, “I call top!” and Mark shouted, “I got the bottom!”

  Amid the jumble and noise Mr. Frost said, “All right, boys, take it easy, now. Plenty of room for everyone. Get your sleeping bags unrolled, set out your shoes and boots, just sort of get settled in. And if you’ve got things to hang up like coats and jackets or towels, use the hooks on the walls, or the hooks on the ends of the bunks. Don’t be throwing stuff around or dropping it wherever. We’re going to be here a while, so keep things organized, okay? Now, on my schedule it says we’ve got some time here before the general meeting at the big lodge at eleven. But that doesn’t mean you can wander off somewhere. No one goes anywhere unless I know about it first. And I mean anywhere. All week. We clear on that? Everyone?”

  All the boys nodded, so Mr. Frost said, “Good. Now, most of your things should stay in your suitcases, and you should keep them pushed under your bunks so we’re not tripping over them. So just get your stuff organized a little, and then we’ll explore the area if there’s time.”

  It turned out there wasn’t time, because once everyone was settled in, Mr. Frost decided to organize a firewood brigade. “Listen up, guys. It’s not going to get above fifty today, and it’s going to be downright chilly tonight. So anybody who doesn’t want to shiver all night, line up.”

  All ten boys from the Raven’s Nest followed him down the road to the parking lot beside the gatehouse at the entrance to the campground. Mr. Maxwell had arranged to have two cords of split stove wood dumped there. The boys lined up beside the pile and Mr. Frost pulled back a corner of the big blue tarp and began to load wood onto the outstretched arms of the first couple of boys.

  Jason was in front of Mark. Mr. Frost stacked three pieces of wood onto Jason’s arms, and then he motioned to Mark. But Jason said, “I can carry more than this. Give me two more—at least!”

  So Mr. Frost said, “Okay,” and put on another two pieces of wood.

  It was Mark’s turn, and Mr. Frost put three pieces of wood on his arms and then said, “Next boy.”

  But Mark shook his head and said, “I can take at least two more pieces, maybe three.”

  Jason had turned to start walking back, but when he heard Mark say that, he looked over his shoulder and said, “Sure you can—in your dreams!”

  But Mr. Frost shrugged and said, “Fine,” and loaded Mark with two more chunks of wood.

  When the last piece of wood was balanced on his stack, Mark turned and started walking. Jason was about twenty feet ahead of him. Mark lengthened his stride. After about thirty seconds he was only a step or two behind. Mark felt the muscles in his shoulders complain about the weight of the wood, felt his wrists ache from being bent upward at such an odd angle. But he didn’t care. With a grim smile Mark notched his speed up a little higher.

  As if he had radar, Jason glanced over his shoulder and saw Mark closing in. He grinned. “Oh no, you don’t!” he said, and he sped up.

  It was an all-out race. Every time Mark tried to pass him, Jason accelerated and swerved like a NASCAR driver. Both boys were huffing, their faces red from exertion, and they zoomed by the other two kids who had loaded up before them.

  At the last second Mark surged forward and managed to get next to Jason. Shoulder to shoulder they reached the path that went left from the roadway back toward the Raven’s Nest. The path went between two trees, and it was narrow, and Jason had the inside position. Mark had to give way—but he wouldn’t, and he didn’t.

  The racers collided, their loads of wood clunking into the tree trunks and clattering to the ground as the boys tumbled into each other and collapsed into a gasping, laughing heap.

  Jason reached over and gave Mark a friendly thump on the arm. “That was cheap! I had you all the way!”

  “Yeah?” said Mark. “Then how come you’re flat on your back?”

  Jason didn’t answer, and Mark sat up and turned to look at him. Jason was looking up over Mark’s shoulder. He wasn’t smiling.

  Someone said, “You all right?”

  Mark knew that voice. It was Mr. Maxwell.

  The boys scrambled to their feet, and Jason said, “Oh sure, we’re fine.”

  “We bumped into each other, that’s all,” said Mark, turning to face the man.

  When Mr. Maxwell saw it was Mark, he scowled and then spoke gruffly. “Well, be
more careful—both of you. Now get that mess cleared away.” Then he turned on his heel and walked off toward the lodge.

  Jason and Mark started picking up the wood.

  When Mr. Maxwell was far enough away, Jason whispered, “I still beat you, loser!”

  Mark whispered back, “Dream on—maybe you tied, but only because my wood was heavier than that little baby load of yours!”

  Once their wood was stacked outside the door, Jason chased Mark into the cabin and they beat on each other with pillows until Mr. Frost arrived and added “No pillow fights” to his list of rules.

  * * *

  After the big meeting in the lodge, everyone ate lunch, had a restroom break, and then gathered outside in the council clearing at one o’clock. All the kids sat on logs that were arranged in a series of expanding circles. It was like an outdoor auditorium, and the stage was in the center. Except it wasn’t a stage, just an open space with a stone fire pit. Next to the fire pit there was a big iron bell mounted on a sturdy wooden post.

  Once everyone was settled Mr. Maxwell said, “We’re going to start off our Week in the Woods with the annual Nature Study Scavenger Hunt. Here’s how it works.”

  Then he explained that they would split into teams made up of one boys cabin and one girls cabin—about twenty kids and three or four grown-ups each. Every team would get the same list of seventy-five things to search for—little things like an acorn, a piece of mica, a white oak leaf, a pine cone, a piece of quartz, a piece of granite, a shred of birch bark, an aspen leaf, a maple twig—on and on. Mr. Maxwell explained the special rules designed to keep the park from being trampled or ripped up, especially rules about where to search and how to collect the samples. For example, all the plant samples had to be picked up off the ground, never from living trees or bushes. Each team had to stay in a certain area of the campground. Plus, every hunter had to keep a written record of where each object had been picked up so that everything could be returned to its right place in the ecosystem after the hunt.