Shenandoah I

For many, many years I considered Shenandoah National Park to be the setting of one of the worst experiences of my life. It was a Boy Scouts camping trip, and more specifically a canoeing trip. We set out early on a Saturday with all of our camping gear in a fleet of canoes, and were to camp overnight by the side of the river before proceeding again the next day to the pull-out point. I remember every single thing as having gone disastrously. By definition I was a young teen at the time, and therefore judged others much more harshly, a dire trait to have when it seemed that everyone else was so much worse at canoeing than I was. I recollect spending nearly every moment of the canoeing feeling only like I was being held back and forced to wait as less fluvial Troopmates made their way down the meanders. I also got partnered with the least-skilled canoeist of the group, a situation I should have treated with much more kindness but in the moment made him only the target of my ire. When…

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