Pint 3: And a shot of Ireland’s finest whiskey

One of my fondest memories as a child is of a camping trip I took in the 6th grade. My family and I were living in Douglas, WY. Dad was the pastor of First Baptist and I was a PK. The youth group had planned a weekend trip out at Laramie Peak State Park. Laramie is south of Douglas, west of Cheyenne. Its main attraction is Laramie Peak, a 10,000 ft mountain that you can hike to the top of.

The camping trip was two nights, three days. Jim Pellerin, the youth guy and good friend, lead all of us kids, about 15. He is a real outdoors man. Someone whose influence in my life I probably will never fully recognize or understand. Jim taught me to repel, that you should always leave a place better than you found it, and that your job and your hobbies are two different things. Jim lives in Oregon now with Jeanne, his wife, and two kids, Jamie and Jason. Jamie and Jason are both college age and last I heard they are in school in Jackson, WY. If I made a list of great place to go to school, Jackson WY would definitely be high on my list. I should really go visit them because it has been ten years.

During the camping trip, we did all sorts of things. I learned how to load my own rifle rounds. Jim brought his 22-250 rifle and we practiced shooting. I made my first confirmed kill that weekend. My victim was a ground marmot. I shot it through the neck at 300 yards. I wasn’t actually aiming for the neck, but it did the job. We cooked out over a fire, not the marmot, and I learned the game Truth or Dare. I “French kissed” for the first time. Don’t remember her name. She was a friend of Tiff’s and older sister to my friend, Terry Hollister.

There were so many great memories, but the one thing that stands out the most and that I think of every time I am outdoors is the wind. Growing up, my family wasn’t much of a camping family. We would do hikes and vacations, but when it came to real camping, we did hotels. So when I did eventually camp that weekend, I was grossly under equipped. I had what I call today a slumber party sleeping bag. You know the all cotton ones that unzip completely and can form a blanket or can be combined with its matching set to make a double size one. Those bags when fully zipped still have a huge opening and no drawstring or elastic. That was my bag.

We slept out under the stars. No tent, no cabin. I was on the hard ground without a pad, a covering, or pillow if I remember correctly. Bart Lesco and I slept next to each other and the first night was rough, at least for me. The wind was blowing steadily all night. It wasn’t extremely cold, but cold enough that I couldn’t leave my head exposed. Without a drawstring on my slumber party bag, I was forced to gather up the open end in both my hands and hold on all night. It was sort of like being in a bread bag. I had turned the opening in on itself, grabbed hold, and then slept with my head on my clenched hands. I don’t remember if I slept that first night at all, but I do remember being cold.

The second night, Bart and I moved to a small rock formation near by. We found a depression that had a two foot shear rise on the windward side. I snuggled up against the rock face and slept there. That second night was when my memory is forever etched. I remember being balled up in my slumber party bag, grabbing the opening, making a hole just big enough for my mouth to get fresh air, and listening to the wind as it howled across the rocks. I can hear the wind. It was so much warmer that night out of the wind and with the pronounced sound, I slept like a baby.

Now, whenever I am anywhere in nature and the wind is blowing, I remember that night. Today, I sit and write on the smooth black, water worn rocks of the Irish coast. The wind is once again blowing steadily. Again, I have climbed close to the cliff so I am blocked from its full force. This time however, the sound of the crashing waves has drowned out the wind, but I know it is still there.

My God, this is beautiful. If words could only describe this majesty, they would then begin to describe Yours. But words can not. My heart can, but only through Your Spirit with utterances beyond words.

Until then and tomorrow.

Jason