Attack of the Crepuscular Avenger

Friday, April 27, 2007

Page 11

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Attack of the Crepuscular Avenger

By J’AMY PACHECO

When I volunteered to chaperone a group of fifth and sixth graders attending science camp last week, I thought I’d get to do some fun things. I knew we’d be exploring tide pools and sand dunes. I thought we would do some hiking, and maybe a little bit of stargazing. I was pretty sure there would be s’mores in there, s’mwhere.

Never in a million years, however, did I expect to find myself alone (more or less) in the woods hiding behind a row of porta-potties, a yellow rubber ball in my hand and poised for attack.

But I did.

It wasn’t as diabolical as it sounds. (Er, actually it was; I guess what I meant to say is that it wasn’t as mercenary as it sounds. Actually…well, maybe I’d better just get on with my explanation.)

I was involved in a game called “Crepuscular Avengers.” Crepuscular, as you probably already know (doesn’t everybody?) is the word used to describe animals that are most active at twilight.

(Since we played the game our third day at camp, “crepuscular” would not have been the word I used to describe the 35 students who went to camp. “Nocturnal” might have been one, since I’d spent the better part of each night trying to convince the girls in the cabin I chaperoned to stop talking and go to sleep. But that’s another story.)

Crepuscular Avengers is best described as dodge ball in the woods. The students were little animals that had to scurry through the woods to the cabins, collect a food card, and scamper back to the lodge, where they would “store” their food before setting out to obtain another card.

The adults were the predators who tried to stop the little animals from getting their food back to the lodge. This was done using the rubber balls. If a ball touched a little animal, they were “out” and had to surrender any cards they were carrying and start over.

At first, my fellow chaperones didn’t want me to be part of the attack team. They said I was “too nice” to throw balls at people. They wanted me to sit up in one of the cabins and hand out food cards, or help the little guys store their food down in the lodge.

It’s funny how extreme sleep deprivation can change your personality. It’s also funny how enduring six hours of flatulence produced by sixth grade boys while trapped on a school bus on the way to camp can make a person want to throw balls at them.

I insisted I be allowed to participate, and soon found myself hiding behind the porta-potties, waiting to strike.

I was feeling pretty warrior-like when I noticed a deer standing maybe 20 feet away from me. I spotted another nearby, lying in the grass and chewing. A few yards beyond the deer, a wild turkey stood. The animals noticed me, but didn’t seem fazed by my presence. Or the porta-potties, or the yellow ball I wielded.

It was a Kodak moment, but all I had was the yellow ball. I hoped no students would run up the trail I guarded so I could gaze at the wildlife. But the moment the human animals started their stampede from the lodge, their shrieks were enough to cause the deer, the turkey and probably half the county’s population to head for the hills.

It was close to 15 minutes before anybody attempted to escape via my trail. I don’t think the boy expected to find an adult behind the porta-potties, so I had an excellent opportunity to be a predator.

Unfortunately, opportunity is no substitute for poor aim. I missed him and had to chase my ball halfway down the mountain.

You don’t make a mistake like that twice, so my aim got pretty good. I soon tagged one of the girls I was chaperoning, a petite girl who looked at me with sad, doe-like eyes.

“I’m SO sorry,” I said. The next time she came by, I gave her a free pass. “But don’t let me catch you in my sights again!” I called after her. Too nice – ha.

It was an exhilarating way to spend the twilight hour, chasing kids and a yellow ball through the woods. And nobody but the kids knows about the apologies I made with every tag.

Except for the most flatulent boy, that is. I got as much pleasure out of tagging him with my ball as he apparently got by stinking us out on the bus.

The only thing that could have been more fulfilling would have been s’mores…