Las Animas High School
From the June 4 Orange County Register.
sorry for the long post, but it is a long article.....
Some interesting pictures in the paper too. One shows studient holding a lobster tail she had just ripped of a lobseter in one hand and a large crab
in the other...can you say ILLEGAL)
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Outside their comfort zone
Science trekkers take extracurricular to the extreme.
By SAM MILLER
The Orange County Register
There is a beach called Las Animas on the Baja Peninsula, three hours south of Cingular service, two bumpy hours from the nearest town.
Every spring, fishermen in the area sail for two or three days in Panga boats to glimpse a local legend: The Naked Mermaids of Las Animas.
The mermaids play on the beach for a week, locals say, then disappear until the next year, leaving nothing behind but footprints and a fire pit.
The legend - told in various forms on Baja-themed Web sites, at Pemex gas stations, in local newspapers - is only partly true. The mermaids aren't
mermaids, but high- school seniors.
They certainly aren't naked, though their bikinis show more skin than Dana Hills High School's dress code would allow on most weekdays.
But it's true that, every year since 1973, as many as 85 Dana Hills students have played on the beach as part of a field trip to study marine life in
the Sea of Cortez.
"There's not another high school doing this," said Norm Townsend, a chemistry teacher who has made the trip most years since 1977. "There are very few
colleges that do this, and we put those colleges to shame. They're just lookie- loo and take a hike."
But while the trip is ostensibly a science experiment - about the relationship between biotic and abiotic elements, about how marine organisms live
together - it would likely never have survived if sand samples and crab studies were the main event. Rather, the trip has lasted because it's far more
a cultural experiment, about the relationship between childhood and adulthood, about how high-school organisms live together.
"They think they're here to learn about marine ecology," said Marv Sherrill, the Dana Hills teacher who has led the trip since the 1980s. "Marine
ecology is secondary in this course. They're here to learn about themselves."
LIFE IN THE LAB
On Saturday, May 15, Jeremy Gelbaum was at school at 3:45 a.m., sitting in his mom's Ford Escort. The trip that he'd been anticipating since his
freshman year was finally about to begin, and he was 15 minutes early.
It's a 15-hour drive to Las Animas, with two toll booths, a police checkpoint and a charity toll stop to support a tiny town's hospital.
The final 40-mile dirt road sends trucks jerking clumsily, like old roller-coaster cars.
Late that Saturday night, Jeremy and 60 of his classmates flopped out of dusty sport utility vehicles with barely enough energy to make camp.
Tarps were laid out with space between each, friends finding friends to share an area with.
Jeremy - an affable and vocal senior who, for unclear reasons, refuses to eat or drink anything blue - wasn't satisfied. "Let's just make one big
tarp," he yelled to his classmates. "We're supposed to be bonding."
But bonding takes time. The students ignored Jeremy, and Craig Dunlap laid out the large tarp that he was not planning on sharing.
"These are 60 kids with 60 individual personalities," Jeremy said. "It's hard to get them all comfortable with each other."
Sherrill hardly bothers selling the science portion of the trip anymore. At a parent meeting a month ago, the teacher's slideshow focused mainly on
rolled-over cars, lobster dinners, singing children and sunsets dense with crimson.
There are countless explanations in camp for the changes Sherrill said he sees in students - from minimalism and deprivation to pragmatic social
politics.
Daun Dunlap has sent three of her children on the trip, and chaperoned this year for the first time. "On this beach, nothing has anything to do with
outside wealth. ... Down here, stuff doesn't matter."
Or, it could just be that the social rankings that have built up for 13 years can be chipped at in nine days in a different context.
"It's not like some building that somebody built," said Allison Mooney, a student who kicked off two nights of pillow fighting late in the week.
"Nobody owns all this. No one can say they're above anybody else."
Evan Kertman, a reporter for the school newspaper, has a simpler explanation.
"It's just easier to be friends than be enemies," he said. "You have to be with these people, so it's easier to get along."
Regardless of the reasons, the students believe Sherrill's promise and work all year to make sure they're academically eligible to go on the trip.
That means passing one of the school's most difficult classes, Sherrill's seniors-only marine ecology course.
On one of the first tests of the year, half the class got a D or an F. By the end, two-thirds were earning A's.
Science plays a big part - and results in a big assignment. The 10 groups of students are each responsible for a 120-page report that is the bulk of
their final grade. It's a trip that has launched dozens of marine biology majors and has made Sherrill's class legendary at the University of
California, Santa Barbara, where many of his pupils have gone for the aquatic biology program.
As Brittany Adam said, "If you really want to learn about classic art, you have to go to Italy and see it."
It's one thing to learn about squid while staring into a jar, examining the limp remains of genus Loligo. It's another entirely to lift a barely
living squid out of the salt water, slice it down the middle, have its ink pouch rupture and drip ink on your toes, feel the stinging suction of its
tentacles, and pop out an eyeball for future study.
Then eat the squid for dinner, with the rest of the day's catch.
"I never liked calamari, but I think now I do," said Enrique Wallace. "I respect the squid. Not only are they one of the smartest marine
invertebrates, they're killers."
Said Jeremy, of the group's newfound enthusiasm: "We're dorks."
WEAR AND TEAR
By Thursday afternoon, everybody is ugly.
The girls haven't been shaving, and wisps of hair glisten with sunscreen on their legs. The boys' faces show pimple clusters. Mud fights have left
caked remains behind students' ears. Countless students have developed bumpy sun rashes, sunburned eyes or peeled skin.
Days of field studies, fishing trips, volleyball games and tanning mean 14 hours of sunshine, fierce from the moment the sun rises at about 5:30 a.m.
Sleep a half-hour past sunrise, wake up with a burned face.
The only respite is in a small shade tent that gets more crowded every day. Thursday, most people sleep through the afternoon, while those who are
awake lob stones at a fishing net that's propped against the kitchen tent. "My days are full, but I have no idea what I do," said Halley Kepiro.
It was that night that the group began to divide. There was a pillow fight for the second night in a row, while a strong wind whipped through the
camp. Timo Prietto - pronounced Tim-Oh, and with an athletic frame that makes him perhaps the last person in camp anybody'd dare to fight - asked the
assailants to shut up or go somewhere else.
He was challenged by another student, but Prietto rolled over and went back to sleep.
"It was like the north winds blew a little bit of Dana Hills in here," Prietto said the next morning.
It was hard for many students to tell whether Sherrill's pledge of group cohesion was coming true or whether the class of 2004 was going to be the
first to waste this week.
On the one hand, there was the group of five boys and girls - one in drama, one in athletics, one a partier, one a good girl, one a floater - sitting
under the shade tent Friday, the last day in Las Animas, talking about their feelings. There were the guys like Kertman and Craig Dunlap, who'd come
on this trip without any best friends in tow, and who now seemed to have countless - including each other. Craig was even sharing his tarp by now.
On the other hand, though, was the tension everybody felt later that night, as the students prepared to leave the next morning. "They don't want the
trip to end, so they invent things to do to stay up," Sherrill said.
So a group of about 15 popular students "steamrolled" their sleeping peers, rolling one by one over rows of bulging sleeping bags. Jeremy Gelbaum, in
retaliation, let out the air in their mattresses - then, like a character in "Lord of the Flies," fled for his life into the wilderness. It sounds
funny, but the threats - "We should all stand over him and pee on him," somebody suggested in the dark, with apparent sincerity - were not.
But the tension is part of the journey, said Jim Wilson, a popular Bible literature teacher who made the trip. The students have by now spent nearly a
week straight without privacy. Everyone has cravings - some for yogurt and Kit Kat bars, others for alcohol and cigarettes, every body for a toilet
and shower. At the same time, the so-called Baja Blues - a wistful reluctance to leave - are settling in.
"A lot of times the last night (spent in a field midway home) is the really redeeming moment," Wilson said. "The sunset makes it real cozy, and they
get a chance to talk about what they've taken from this trip."
It was so. After a week of lobster, yellowtail and calamari dinners, the students ate canned stew and gathered around their last campfire. "This
trip," said Dana Hills pitcher John Sorensen, "is like an inside joke. People who didn't go just won't get it."
The seniors make plans to wear the hemp-and-shell necklaces and bracelets they've made to school for the rest of the year. Teacher Randy Hudson
suggests everyone bring a round-nosed shovel to school Monday, a bit of inside toilet humor.
"I'm sad I only have two more weeks to spend with all my new friends," Kim Adams said at the campfire on the group's last night together. "I wish I
hadn't waited so long to step out of my comfort zone."
From the dark, a parent's voice countered, "You still have the rest of your life."
----------------------
RELATED STORIES
? Student Evan Kertman's journal
Evan Kertman is a senior at Dana Hills High School. He writes and edits for his school newspaper, and in the fall he will attend California State
University at San Francisco as a creative-writing and philosophy major
Student Evan Kertman's journal
By EVAN KERTMAN
Special to The Orange County Register
Saturday, May 15, 1:03 p.m. On the road, halfway.
We?ve been on the road for something like seven hours, and already I have three regrets. I forgot to give my dad a final goodbye and thank-you. In the
weary early morning after a long day and night, my priorities were far from straight. (Quite similar to this road, actually.) Guilt, I have found, is
perhaps my most formidable enemy, and it shall surely rise to haunt me relentlessly this nine-day excursion in Bahia De Las Animas. Aside from that, I
forgot paper and my tape recorder. A journalist without paper, I might as well be a blind brain surgeon. But I?ll make do as a beggar ? this crowd
seems benevolent enough.
?
Sunday, May 16, mid-day.
Well, aside from the guilt and lack of tape recorder, at least I was able to pick up this notebook at a grocery store a few hours outside of camp.
After 15 hours of driving ? three to four of them on rocky terrain, following a lost truck garnished with an assortment of lights capable of putting
that famous New York Christmas Tree to shame ? we were here. Through the light of lanterns adorned with gnats and other god-awful pests that I won?t
bother learning the names of, I grabbed a spot ?tween two friends and tossed for a while, fearing the unknown creatures I?d only heard about in Baja
horror stories of the past.
It was a big huddle. The mood and atmosphere reminded me of a younger sleepover, with children shouting strange inside jokes into the dead of night,
and then the decrescendo of giggles until finally, silence. Then there?s me, soaking up my moonlit adrenaline high, counting reasons I can?t sleep.
Finally, I do, and I wake up and find that at least half of my fears are extinguished. I made it through the first night, the rest will be easy. Learn
to enjoy nature ? an interesting concept.
After we arose, ate our delectable ?Egg McMarv?s,? strapped on our hiking boots ? or for the less Daniel Boonesque of our crew, Converse and aquasocks
? and made our introductory hike around the ? you know what? I?m not really sure what to call this place. Can?t finish right now, kind of sleepy.
...
Sunday, May 16, evening
There?s a girl here in a black bathing suit who is constantly carrying a diving knife around her calf. I have been hanging around her for hours and
yet, if danger lurked under this awning, I wouldn?t feel a heartbeat safer.
The wasps seem to be less bothersome in the later hours of daylight, and as usual, I feel far more awake now than I did during the day. Not an active
energy, but a thoughtful type. I always get my best accomplished in this fertile state of mind. Ah! A wasp just went by! We could be friends, I?m
sure, if we spoke the same language. I mean, it doesn?t eat me, and I don?t eat it. It?s very simple; our quarrels are based solely on a tragic
miscommunication.
Good feelings all around this deserted Mexican campground. The fishermen discussing their catches, or lack thereof, the nerds playing Risk, the bros
talking through cunning smiles to their favorite pair of breasts, and the rest finding security in their own comforting niche. Corners of freedom
confined in personal hobbies and pastimes. I find at times that simple understandings can be far more fulfilling than our other frustrating attempts
to explain this presence.
...
Sunday, May 16, bedtime
Our first campfire night. It started out as most after-school specials tell me it should: ?Introduce yourself, tell us what makes you unique.? And
then the utterly silly response, ?I?m Joe, I have six toes and three moms.? Then everyone laughs, and running jokes for the trip burst out of their
blocks to fuel contagious laughter for the remainder of our stay. Next, the majority of the adults left, and we young bucks were left to fend for
ourselves, armed only with guitars, my harmonica, and whatever bravery we might have mustered up from the previous ?love thy neighbor? activity.
Apparently, whatever we gained simply wasn?t enough.
The night was covered in unfinished songs and separate sing-alongs for each clique, the loud ones singing rap and the others trying desperately to
cover old rock songs from people they probably deem ? the only true rockers left.? But, it simply wasn?t enough. It takes a lot more for
near-strangers to not be cautious of making complete (fools) of themselves. Well, we?re here for 9 days for a reason, right?
...
Wednesday, May 19, midafternoon
Woke up this morning in the same hazy mood as my peers. Later night than usual ? grumpy morning sifting through heat and lethargy, as we all wish we
were asleep. Few of us will nap, but most of us should.
I just finished an orange, bitter and dry but better than the relentless PB and J, once cute and lunch-friendly, now irritating and hazardous to the
appetite. No, I?m lying; it?s not that bad, but I do miss ice cream.
The majority of the crew is busy cutting up a beached squid. A few of them surfaced this early Wednesday afternoon. Nobody is sure why. I wonder if
they?re planning on eating it. If not, let it die quickly, or don?t bother it at all. The continuous prodding of suffering animals is a pastime of
?environmentalists? I have never fully understood. I suppose it?s all ?in the name of science,? we must understand the creatures before we can help
them. But why would they need our help? They seemed to be doing plenty fine before we showed up. It?s just our unmanageable human curiosity. There are
no Taoist scientists. Let it be, watch, eat when necessary, don?t mock.
...
Saturday, May 22, bedtime
I?m a horrible writer. This journal is such a mess of thoughts and ridiculous tangents that the idea of compiling it into one entity is both absurd
and frustrating. Whatever, it?s mine.
The first day ? or night, I should say ? I became terrified of washing my plate in the ocean when I noticed small crabs swarming the dark waters like
ants on the melted Snickers bar I left on my nightstand. Fortunately, Lizzie my friend slapped some guts into me with the most patient of hands, and
the rest took care of itself. Nature is not that bothersome kid with the loose jaw in the back of your math class, relentlessly plucking away at your
final bits of sanity. It is, in its own nearly indescribable way, perfect ? absolutely, without a doubt, perfect.
My initial social intentions were to keep to myself, but that, too, proved unnecessary and absurd. Strong bonds and irreplaceable conversation
surfaced as the trip proceeded to grow in all directions. Though I came unaccompanied by my closest companions, my wandering attempts at being a
random conversationalist proved successful! People can be people around people! There is not an unbreakable thread wrapped around those with
similarities, and narrow roads can be widened for those that make the effort.
So ? my conclusion ? my attempt at wrapping up over a week of complete culture shock in a comparatively small fraction of my memoirs: simple. The
ability to diversity your perspectives must first be achieved through pursuit of self-analysis. In short, Baja made me smarter. So, thanks.
---------------------------------
RELATED STORIES
? Reporter Sam Miller's Baja journal
Reporter Sam Miller's Baja journal
By SAM MILLER
The Orange County Register
It is good to know what you are doing. The man with his pickled fish has set down one truth and has recorded in his experience many lies. The fish is
not that color, that texture, that dead, nor does he smell that way.
By going there, we would bring a new factor to the gulf. Let us consider that factor and not be betrayed by the myth of permanent objective reality.
If it exists at all, it is only available in pickled tatters or in distorted flashes. "Let us go,? we said, "into the Sea of Cortez.?
?"Sea of Cortez," 1941, Steinbeck and Ricketts.
This blog recounts my seven days with 61 teenagers at the Sea of Cortez.
SATURDAY, May 15
How are we ever going to sleep? We?ve been awake since 3:30 a.m., driving for 15 hours, sucking down dust and holding our noses. "Your nose gets a
workout down here,? said Norm Townsend, as we drove through one Mexican town. Still, it feels like a slumber party this first night ? chatting and
joking and hollering good night at people across the camp.
Boy 1: I spy, with my little eye, something starry.
Boy 2: Ummmm, a star?
Boy 1: I?m terrible at this game.
And, my favorite:
Girl: The stars are so freakin? beautiful.
Boy: Your mom is so freakin? beautiful.
Jeremy: I need something to drink that isn?t blue.
Jeremy Gelbaum doesn?t eat or drink anything blue. He?s not sure why, but he knows blueberries are really purple, so he?s fine with the restriction.
Jeremy, perhaps more than anybody at this point, wants this trip to bring the group closer. He shouts for everybody to move closer to each other, to
move the tarps all into one giant tarp, to bond.
He?s ignored. Still, sleeping arrangements are cozy. No tents are allowed. "If you don?t have any privacy, I can?t invade it,? teacher Marv Sherrill
tells them. Besides, he says, tents promote cliques. Not having tents means the kids sleep in what they call a rookery, or a living space for
penguins, sea lions or seals.
SUNDAY, May 16
It?s already obvious that this group thrives on inside jokes. I?d suggest that, while adults generally share an objective with their acquaintances ?
carpools, for instance, or work goals ? teenagers are more likely to befriend people who share their tastes, histories and cultural points of
reference. So while my co-workers and I talk in profit margins and industry jargon, high-school seniors talk in inside jokes. It would be said many
times in the course of the trip that Baja would become its own inside joke ? full of what Townsend calls BS, or Baja stories.
Here are the most prevalent jokes that students brought with them:
? "Dey tukar chobbes!? (Said in an extremely aggravated, incomprehensible tone. Translation: They took our jobs!)
? Origin: South Park.
Explanation: In one episode, "time immigrants? come to the present searching for jobs. South Park?s more-conservative residents grow envious and start
complaining that "They took our jobs!? They become increasingly agitated, and decreasingly articulate. In mimicking it, the more over-the-top, the
better.
? "Do it. Just do it.? (slurred)
? Origin: Starsky and Hutch.
At first, everybody was quoting the movie. But Taylor White quoted it most distinctively, his lip ring giving it a mush-mouth quality. Every time he?d
say it, Taylor Moson would explode, as though for the first time. "Why do you say it like that? You sound so stupid!? By the end, more people were
impersonating White?s impersonation.
? "Cookies? Who said you could eat my cookies?? (Said in an Austrian accent)
? Origin: Kindergarten Cop.
Explanation: Arnold Schwarzenegger says it to a student in the movie. Why?s it funny? No clue, but it is, every single time. For one thing, I suppose,
it?s because the fact that our governor starred in Kindergarten Cop is funny to many of these students. For another, the fact that anybody in high
school ? especially someone as contemporary and hip as Ryan Glennan, who started this one ? would memorize and quote Kindergarten Cop is funny in
itself. But this one is only funny because everybody has laughed at it so much.
Ryan was a walking inside joke on his own. Early on, he resolved to bring back all the jokes of his childhood. First was psych ? offering a high five
to somebody, then pulling it away while exclaiming "Psych!? Humiliation at its most childish. He later started making fart noises in his sleeping bag,
and threatened wedgies in a pillow fight. He made for a very funny week. His study group?s team name makes clever use of a common sea slug?s name, the
nudibranch: "The boss is riding me at work, my wife is freaking me out, I?ve got a whole bunch of one-dollar bills and I need to find a good
nudibranch.?
MONDAY, May 17
Ryan Anderson created a new euphemism today.
"Going all the way.? When you?re making a quick trip to the bathroom cacti, you?re only going part of the way. When you?re making a more substantial
trip, it?s "all the way.? Curious about a friend?s bowel movements? Just ask him if he?s gone all the way lately.
I know, this is an uncomfortable subject, but it happens. When it happens in Baja, there are three primary methods: The downhill skier, the Baja
pooper and the estuary. We?ll examine them one by one.
? The downhill skier
Percentage of boys who use it: Roughly 70 percent.
Take the long walk away from camp, with a round-nosed shovel and a Bic lighter in hand. Find a good lomboy tree. Lomboy trees are durable desert
plants, very few blossoms, with easy-to-grip, unlikely-to-break branches at about waist level. Hold onto a branch and pretend you?re on a
black-diamond slope at Big Bear.
Positives: It?s respectable and time tested, and gives the user a feeling of outdoor smarts. Also, snapping a branch releases a goo that makes an
effective, if bad tasting, chapstick.
Negatives: Vulnerability, tired arms. And there are only so many lomboy trees in the desert, so it requires care to avoid picking a second-hand plant.
? The Baja pooper
Percentage of boys who use it: About 27 percent.
Taylor Moson created the Baja pooper, a lawn chair with its seat removed and a cushioned toilet seat added. The hybrid has an alternative name, the
choilet: chair plus toilet. It?s the second year somebody brought such a creation to the camp, to much teasing. Somebody stole the Ziploc ties from
the pooper this year, but it still worked. "I?m just mad,? Moson said. "It?s sabotage.?
Positives: An upper-class way of going in the woods. Plus, there is a great article about Kobe Bryant in the issue of Maxim provided for your reading
pleasure.
Negatives: Having to admit that the contraption students spent a month making fun of actually works; having to ask where the pooper is.
? The estuary
Percentage of boys who use it: 3 percent ? one student ? would admit to it.
Jeremy Gelbaum was the only person who?d admit to defiling Las Animas. His was the simplest method. He?d kayak to the estuary, peek over the side for
stingrays, hop into the water and paddle back into camp smiling. Nobody much respected the method. At a closing campfire, students teased him about
it. "It?s none of you business,? he shouted. "It?s my business!? That?s right, Jeremy, it?s your business. That?s why it?s gross.
Positives: Swimming is fun.
Negatives: Public ridicule.
TUESDAY, May 18
Can you bring out the constellations in their season; or can you guide the Bear with its sons? Do you know the limits of the heavens; can you
establish their rulership on Earth? Job 38:32-33.
Part of Sherrill?s pitch to parents is the two-hour study siesta that students take every day, so nobody falls behind in class. But it?s the last
month of senior year, and the beach at Las Animas creates a virulent strain of senioritis. With Risk and Scrabble boards, countless card games,
kayaks, paddleboards and soccer against Mexican algae fishermen, there?s really not much studying going on.
The exception is Jim Wilson?s Bible literature class. Unlike the finals looming back at home, Wilson?s final exam is imminent. He goes on the trip and
takes students out on rubber boats for a couple hours to fish and talk God.
Today, Ryan Anderson is reading Exodus, the part about Joseph and his jealous brothers. In Baja, though, Wilson says it?s more fitting to read the
passages in Job that the group studies. After 30-plus chapters of letting Job suffer, God finally tells the man to shut up and look around. To
paraphrase: Sit down, boy, and check out how awesome what I?ve created is.
"If you don?t get that down here,? Wilson said on the boat ride back from one final exam, "Geez.?
Speaking of suffering: Wilson?s boat isn?t nearly as faithful as Job was. When Jill Cardwell and Halley Kepiro took the test, Wilson motored out to a
cove, four or five miles away from camp, and out of sight. Then, the motor died.
The three-hour tour stretched to, well, four or five hours, before the girls and Wilson finally kicked and paddled the boat back into the open.
Fishermen later told us there were sharks swimming in the area that afternoon.
WEDNESDAY, May 19
Yesterday, Allison Mooney dumped a bucket of water on Taylor Moson, who probably had it coming. Somewhere along the telephone line, the bucket of
water became a bucket of fish water, and Taylor had to strike back. A live crab in her sleeping bag was thought to be too violent, so he and his
friends settled on a pillow fight.
Or, rather, a pillow assault.
Overheard in the fight:
Ryan Glennan: "Crucify her!?
Allison Mooney: "No, no, I?m loved!?
Jeremy Gelbaum: "Don?t hit me, I?m just the flashlighter.?
Alise Corea: "It?s like the Rodney King video.?
Taylor Moson: "Ay, Dios!?
Ryan Glennan: "Stop, stop, stop, stop! Ok, go again.?
Allison Mooney: "If there?s a girl out there that?s seeing this ... save me! Oh, gosh.?
Taylor Moson: "Did she just say ?gosh?? Golly! Like, gee jiminy willikers. For God?s sake, Allison.?
THURSDAY, May 19
We?re singing around the campfire tonight when a sharp wind scatters sparks into the group. Moments later, Sherrill finishes the song we?re singing
and tells us we need to secure all our stuff. The wind is getting stronger, the flaps on the shade tent are beating, and Sherrill is worried about a
chubasco.
A chubasco takes about 15 minutes to develop, Sherrill tells the kids, and can bring winds of 50 miles per hour or more. About three years ago, such a
wind swept through. Students could hang on to the bars of the shade tent and have their feet blown off the ground ? or, at least, that?s what the
legend is.
It never gets to that point this year. We stuff paper plates into our sleeping bags, fold beach chairs up, put decks of cards back into their boxes.
That?s about it.
But, in seven days, we were always aware of nature.
Most obvious was the sun. I spend perhaps an hour in the sun most days, generally in my car. In Baja, the sun came up at 5:30 a.m., set around 7:30
p.m., and was painful the entire time. In time, it became oppressive in its perseverance. We knew, going to bed at night, that tomorrow would be 14
more hours in the sun. A small burn on Monday never healed.
As Halley found out, there is no escape. At a hike the group took Sunday, the sunscreen she?d put on her eyelids dripped into her eyes. "I?m never
putting sunscreen on my eyes again,? she declared.
By today, though, her eyes are so badly burned she needs to skip her group?s field study and lie alone under the shade tent all day, hidden behind
polarized sunglasses.
More innocuous, but still strange, was the lack of a moon, which rose and set so late at night/early in the morning we never did see it in Las Animas.
Enrique Wallace suggested first that the moon doesn?t come to Mexico, that America has an exclusive contract. When it finally showed up on our way
home Saturday, he softened his explanation. "It was just stuck in immigration,? he said.
FRIDAY, May 20
We?ll wake up here tomorrow, too, but Sherrill suggested last night that we all make sure to see a sunrise at least once before we leave, and I?m not
taking any chances.
We?ve all seen the sunrise, in a sense. Camp wakes up moments after the sun pops up on the East ? though, because we?re on the opposite side of the
water, we?re all convinced it?s the west. That?s something that takes more than a week to adjust to.
But that?s not the sunrise. To get the full force of the sunrises here, it?s important to be there before it happens, at least 20 or 30 minutes
before. The sky glows with deep orange and crimson streaks, and minute after minute passes. It?s a slow buildup with nothing to do but stare at an
empty sky. By the time it finally appears, the few shards of light dazzle more than any fireworks show I?ve ever seen.
It reminds me of a movie Andy Warhol made in the mid-?60s, where, for more than five hours, Warhol trained his camera on a sleeping male. Sound
boring? It was. But after an hour of seeing the subject?s chest heave up and down steadily, with no movement, sound or other activity, even the most
banal action ? the sleeper turning over, for instance ? was almost as exciting as the Kung Fu sequences in the Matrix.
About eight other campers woke up early for this morning?s sunrise.
"I?m going to tell my grandkids about this,? said Eddie Kabanni minutes after the sun finally appeared.
"It was totally worth it,? said Hunter Jacobson.
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