02/13/2020
Minutes of the 2020 PMSC Meeting
Those present: Mark Braun, Brian Wagner, Paul Brown (PB), John Pappas, Ron Brown (RB), Jacob Lau, Dan Del Zappo(DDZ), Brandon Morgan, Nick Del Zappo (NDZ), Joe Cunningham, Chris Harker, Mariano Sestre
The morning of Thursday, January 23, 2020 dawned cloudy and snowy. As the PMSC crew gathered in the parking lot, various members created excuses to enter the office area and use the men’s room, primarily to spend a few minutes visiting with Ranger Brittney, the last female they would lay eyes on for days. Ever cheerful and helpful, Brittney implied several routes around the regulations that would have prevented the PMSC from holding their pentannual meeting. Armed with this powerfully useful information, the men proceeded to pack their sleds heroically with poundage of meat, gallons of beer, wine and bourbon, together with the necessary iron grates, large bags of vegetables, catcher’s mitt-sized potatoes,tubs of sour cream, and a little tiny jar of salt that would be required to turn the meat and drink into real meals.The Secretary, being designated the Senior Member on looks alone, was allowed to pack a single box containing two large bags of potato chips, (one dubiously flavored with “Michigan Cherry Barbecue Sauce”) two loaves of grilled cheese sandwiches and some peanuts.
It was decided by the group that this year the goal should be not only to travel so deeply into the wilderness that tents were not visible from the parking lot, but also to forge ahead on the trail into unknown territory far beyond last meeting’s site, indeed, that we should travel even around one more curve in the trail. Trail conditions being favorable, pickup trucks being locked and unloaded, the group set off as one organism into the woods. No brother was left behind until the Secretary’s snowshoes fell off near the dumpster, due to the fact that he did not know there was a heel strap to lock. Fortunately the Del Zappo men had an extra pair, which would only take 30 minutes or so for Cunningham to figure out how to attach to his boots.
The Secretary set off into the woods confident the Del Zappos were close behind, eventually to encounter a small group of brothers dazed with the effort of hauling the sleds uphill, unsure where the rest of the party was. At that point it also became clear the Del Zappos were scattered back along parts of the trail unknown. It was decided that some should go forward, some back, and some to stay in place until it stopped snowing and matters started to sort themselves out.
After forty or fifty confused minutes of group effort on the trail, President Braun and PB were sent on an exploratory mission into the woods to seek a site with all the necessary conditions for a successful meeting: snow, trees, and a certain aesthetic balance of snow and trees. Hearing their excited calls and secret whistles, the other members proceeded to stream into the woods anxious to secure the best sites. The layout was created more or less like any prairie dog village, with each member “dog” digging into the snow according to some primitive homing instinct.
The sprawling campsite was comprised of individual neighborhoods that would come to be known by their local nicknames: Outer Pappaston, Brownsville Station, The Zapzone, Upper Sastre Valley, Brandonburg, Harker-Lau Commons, Cunningham Flats, Wagneria,and Braunback Alley. Location of the fire pit and snow bench ring having been determined by a careful analysis of the place where a chipmunk track intersected with the shadow of an ironwood tree, the gathering of firewood commenced. The Secretary proposed a toast.
In previous meeting years darkness was descending as the campsite was still being built within the forest, creating a wild scramble for spots on the snow bench so the brothers could watch the dinner show, with Braun flipping vegetables in the giant pan with one hand while keeping a studious eye on the hunks of grill meat, spatula in the cross hand. This year, the camp was organized, the kitchen was set up, the firewood was cut and stacked, the necessary bucket was placed in a scenic spot behind a tree and the PMSC members were gathered around the fire at approximately 2:40 PM. The group became gradually less raucous until a hush fell over the scene, snow softly falling on the knit caps and hoods. An awkward silence ensued.
Wagner burst into the silence by calling for a meeting, unauthorized and without precedent in the history of the group. Startled, the President and Secretary exchanged worried glances, concerned for the future. If members could call for a meeting on the merest whim, then wouldn’t they simply call for one all the time? Nevertheless, nerves steeled against the unknown future, trusting the judgement of Wagner, a super senior member of long experience and proven abilities, the President gave a slight nod. The Secretary had no choice but to comply and so called the meeting into order. Pappas stood and announced he had been but a hapless pawn in the soon to be revealed project. Wagner retreated to Wagneria, returning triumphant, waving a folded textile, which, when unfurled could be seen to be a flag-size piece upon which was printed a picture of Shakespeare in a winter hat and the (apparently) new group motto, “Thou Shalt Not Pisseth in Thy Sh*tter.”
Stunned, the group gazed upon the banner with awe, some calling for a toast. In the confusion the Secretary forgot to adjourn the meeting—which means it is still officially in session. Meeting adjourned.
Since the Del Zappos would be leaving early, President Braun polled them to determine food order for the three main meals. Which meat should be prepared while they were still on site and of which should they take slabs on a to-go basis Saturday afternoon? DDZ proposed 10-oz hamburgers Thursday, 16-oz steaks Friday and pork chops of valiant size for Saturday. Braun laid the burgers on the grill. Beers were produced. Wine flowed freely from the little red spigot sticking out the bottom of the box. Lau offered to be the butter man when the sticks needed to be dropped into the boiling vegetables, RB commandeered the enormous pot. PB offered the first Toivo and Einu jokes. Morgan and Harker fell quickly into the rhythm of the PMSC evening, consuming proffered beverages like long-time members and sharing embarrassing personal anecdotes. Snow continued to fall.
In a PMSC first, Wagner somehow got his hands on the spatula and began determining for himself when the hubcap-size burgers should be flipped and seved on the mini buns. The president eyed the grill suspiciously, but seemed to relax when the first members pronounced the early burgers perfectly done. As snow splattered on the overflowing buns, members stuffed themselves and discussed protocol for the upcoming days. Would there be readings both Friday and Saturday evenings? Should toilet paper be dropped into the bucket or carefully wrapped in a baggie and kept separate? How far away was the warming hut and outhouse? Did the president think it would rain? What type of bottle works best for relief in the middle of the night when you don’t want to leave the tent? Did anyone want any more wine?
Members began to drift off to their tents, empty bottles in hand, except the hardiest of them all, President Braun. Everyone knows of the President’s dislike of confinement, his love of the open air, his disdain for protection against the elements. So it was no surprise that he eschewed the safety and claustrophobic experience of a tent to sleep out on a simple pad under the stars, or, rather, there being no stars due to the continuous snowfall, perhaps loosely covered by a tarp.
In the morning, then, all were astonished to hear that Braun had endured a night of misery, having lost all his equipment in the snow, having peed on his own feet and sleeping bag, and having become buried in the snowbank like a sled dog, then forced to walk barefoot to a safe urination station. Nevertheless, fortified with Wagner’s powerful camp coffee, the president took command. In one sentence he directed a member to open a can of orange juice concentrate, another to split some wood and a third to help him open the morning’s seven one-pound bags of sausage. Groggy members assembled around the fire, enquiring after each other’s well-being. Lau had apparently kicked Harker hard a few times. Morgan had urinated 11 times. Declarations of intent to explore the area beyond the lookout point we had reached last meeting. Sausage sizzled. Frozen eggs dropped by the dozen into the leftover fat. Orange juice was mixed and drunk. Braun served courses heedless of tradition: a mound of sausage first, with scrambled eggs thirty minutes later. NDZ and DDZ slept their traditional 12 hours and arose approximately 173 minutes after breakfast was served.
Snow continued falling. Never discouraged by the weather, members began to form travel groups. Lau and Sastre volunteered to return to the park headquarters and refill the five-gallon water supply. Also, the warm restroom. Others chose to snowshoe and ski up to at least the lookout point and perhaps to the warming cabin beyond. Also, the outhouse.
Parties formed up. Some discovered that our campsite was located over 50 yards further than last meeting’s site. Wagner donned an old pair of downhill skiis for the uphill trip. The secretary voluteered to join the main group, thereby slowing progress by 42%. Harker stayed at the site as security. PMSC was on the move.
Approximately 10 minutes into the trip, the group was widely scattered, with confusion and misdirection rampant. Braun called for order, but the rates of ascent were so varied that some could not hear the instructions, some chose to ignore them and the rest continued toward a dimly recalled viewpoint. PB suggested the trip should last about 20 minutes. 80 minutes later, we struggled the last few vertical feet to see the view from the viewpoint. All enjoyed the cotton-like fog, like a blanket of mystery over the scene.
After the traditional photograph in the fog, some members headed for the warming hut and also outhouse. Wagner, confused but hardy, decided to try his luck on the ski slope, disappearing into the fog before PB could shout the last of the directions. There was a general disbursement of the group in the woods. Soon Pappas appeared, dapper, testing his new shoes and skiis. Then he, too, disappeared into the fog.
A thoughtful calm prevailed back at camp as members prepared themselves for the evening meeting and reading. Pizza appeared and was devoured. PB pierced the calm with a stream of Toivo and Einu jokes until Lau decided he wanted to build a quinzee. This set off a storm of advice and directions from the elders, who comandeered all shovels for the task. Thickness gauge sticks were placed. NDZ took a break from extreme woodcutting to engage in extreme piling and digging snow. The Browns calculated the proper angles of ascent and repose for the inner chamber.
Snow fell. The Secretary sought inspiration in a proffered flask of K**b Creek for the coming meeting. Braun and Sastre built a storm shelter with two sleds and a thin red line to support a tarp. Planning ahead, Braun also decided to sacrifice one of his water bottles for “chamber” use in the night, a practice often employed by all those too soft to slip on boots and step out of the tent for a minute in the middle of the night.
As darkness fell, foil boulders were arranged around the fire, the better to reflect heat upward. PB stared wistfully at the folded map. Lau crawled into and out of the quinzee, his first ever apartment. Solemnly, Braun placed the first few mighty slabs of beef on the grill. Wagner, veteran of 7 long years at Ponderosa, called the action from 12 feet away. “Move the right one a little toward the front...better flip the back one—it’s almost medium rare...who wanted rare medium rare?...pull that other one out a bit...flip it…”etc. The crew ate in shifts as the steaks staggered off the grill in groups of three—all that would fit. The foil packs were unfoiled to reveal the prebaked potatoes within, potatoes the size of adolescent woodchucks. It was decided by the group to forgo vegetables for this one meal. A motion was made to start the reading early, probably so members could just stop eating for a while. The secretary, acting as the ad hoc parliamentarian, explained that no way. Also please pass the wine.
When every plate had been sanitized, every knife wiped on a pants leg, every homemade cookie devoured and every commercial cookie as well, it was time to call the meeting to order. Braun announced that he could envision retiring after one more meeting of the PMSC. A search committee has been formed to find a replacement. Qualifications: Organizational abilities, driving experience, charisma, solid pitching, cooking, wood shop, strength of bull, swimming and cycling, large circle of friends. Also willing to sleep under tarps.
A motion was made to accept the minutes as posted on the page. Seconded. Motion was carried unanimously. Secretary announced new titles bestowed on two members, titles without power or voting ability: PB, in recognition of his near constant stream of highly amusing anecdotes, stories and Toivo/Einu jokes, has been designated PMSC Toastmaster General. JP, in recognition of his graphic contributions over the years, his astounding dot production and his drawings by which the PMSC is known the world over, has been designated Illustrator In Chief. These titles, it was emphasized, carried absolutely no benefit whatsoever.
Stories were announced, beginning with the President’s moving account of working with his 10-year-old crew in 1968 to construct a ball field, eventually to be named the Robert Kennedy Memorial Field. Then to Wagner, who read a hilarious exchange of chess letters by Woody Allen. Pappas entertained mightily with a selection of original poems. Lau read an O. Henry short story from his phone, a first. PB read a song by Shakespeare and a pair of Native American stories about his favorite bird, the raven. Sestre, without a reading selection, extemporaneously expounded upon the subject of how blessed he was to be in this spot, by this fire with this bunch of geniuses. RB recited another Robert Service poem mostly from memory. Cunningham read a bit from Supernatural Strategies for Making a Rock and Roll Group. NDZ read an account of the formation of the Clash, fascinating rock history. Morgan demonstrated the value of a literary education by citing Jim Harrison. DDZ stayed with a Michigan theme, regaling the crew with facts and legends. Harker an essay on blue whales.
Bourbons were passed. Secretary wondered how the Zinfandel would go right about now, after all that Pinot. Members wandered off toward the various neighborhoods, Gatorade bottles in hand. Lau crawled into his quinzee. Some members thought they could hear the sound of a distressed coyote, perhaps one that had been caught in a trap, but it was subsequently learned that the sound emanated from Wagner’s tent. Snow fell softly.
The morning dawned to the smell of Wagnerian coffee and a full seven pounds of bacon being cooked in the skillet. Orange juice. Snow falling in light swirls. Three dozen eggs, waffles. Toast.
Sleeping arrangements, Gatorade bottles, water bottles, etc., were all reported to be significant improvements over previous night. Toivo and Einu had their first adventure of the day. The Del Zappo men commenced the goodbye ritual, which would only take a few hours to execute fully.
Eventually a plan coalesced: the majority of PMSC brothers decided to snowshoe to the warming hut. Also, the outhouse right beside it. The President and the Secretary, having noticed that the 5-gallon water container was low, decided to make the trip downhill to the park headquarters and refill it. Valiantly, Secretary leapt to the job, securing the empty container to an empty sled and racing downhill. The President, it was determined, would pull the return sled.
At the headquarters Ranger Dan, or some such person who was not Brittney, greeted them cheerfully as first one, then the other raced toward the men’s room.
The President was startled to comprehend how much heavier a container was when filled with water. The Secretary felt bad, but a deal, he explained, was a deal. Wagner flew by on his skiis, pausing only to explain he was on his way to another warming hut to spend a few hours reading. The Secretary offered near constant encouragement to the President as he lugged and towed and yanked the incredibly heavy load uphill back to camp. At last, fifty yards from camp, the Secretary took over, only to be disappointed when he pulled it--unwitnessed--into a completely empty camp. The two brothers launched the lunch program: grilled cheese sandwiches and forget the soup.
Many brothers spent the day in the uphill warming hut, occupying it so fully that other potential visitors were discouraged by their leering visages and ripening smell. Others wandered aimlessly, sometimes picking up stray firewood.
At this point, the trip began to be a simple waiting game for the evening’s meat dish, in this case, pork chops from giant pigs. The bourbon was running low, there was little left for PMSC members to explain about the state of their bowels, the snow continued to fall. Knives were produced and sharpened for the coming meatfest. As the President lifted each pork chop with his legs, not his back, and placed it before a brother, all joking ceased. There is nothing funny about trying to eat a pound and a half of pork, no matter how carefully cooked. Some begged to have only a halfchop, some simply requested “the smallest one you have.” The whole process lasted approximately 114 minutes, with only young Lau still professing to be able to eat more.
One by one, each member of the group left the fire circle to try to sleep off the pork chop, until only Pappas, Lau and the Secretary were left around the fire, together with a modest amount of bourbon, a bladder of Malbec and something else to drink I don’t remember what. When all the everything had been imbibed, most of the firewood had been dried out and burned, there was little else to say or do, until Pappas produced a high quality slingshot and a bag of ceramic beads. “See if you can hit the shovel!” “See if you can hit the tree!” “Let me see it!” The contests were fierce and most entertaining, right up until the secretary saw something glinting in the trees and aimed for it. Crash! A direct hit on the globe of the Coleman lantern thoughtfully hung by RB.
The morning brought more light snow, Wagnerian coffee and a final raid on the food supplies. Anything not eaten would have to be towed out, along with the empty bottles and the bucket of joy. Camp was cleared of any sign that 12 hardy woodsmen had spent days cooking, eating and drinking around a fire. At the end of the process, campsite looked as if a single squirrel had dug around a little for an acorn. Cunningham volunteered to lead the way out the shortcut trail and promptly got lost in deep snow. PB and RB shared the “Best Packed Sled” award. Reassembly in the parking lot was so efficient, award ceremony was deactivated. Officers having already received awards galore, remaining team members were to be cited as listed below:
Citations of Merit:
Mariano Sestre, Spontaneous Architecture Award
Ron Brown, Most Consistently Helpful Member Award
Jacob Lau, Appetite of the Century Award
Nick Del Zappo, Tireless Team Member Award
Chris Harker, Elevation of Discourse Award
Brandon Morgan, Most Enthusiastic Camper Award
Dan Del Zappo, Best Father Award, (obviously)
