THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, March 22, 1996 TAG: 9603220063
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY JONATHAN HUNLEY, CAMPUS CORRESPONDENT
LENGTH: Medium: 73 lines
I'LL NEVER LIVE anywhere north of Virginia.
I've concluded this not by weighing the pros and cons of living in different areas of country, but by taking one course here at William and Mary.
The class: Winter Camping. The meeting place: The Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York.
I initially decided to take this class because it fit into my schedule well - meaning in my course registration bulletin the class time was listed as TBA, or to be announced.
After enrolling, I learned that the class met only over Spring Break, March 1 through 9. I thought it would be perfect because by taking it I could finish my physical education requirement and not have to attend class at all during the semester.
It seemed like a great deal. A scheduling masterpiece. A loophole lost on the less keen students.
This keen student, however, was eventually told that this is the ``most strenuous'' P.E. credit course. And, it's presumably the only one that requires a 15-hour bus ride to get to.
Possessing a physique and endurance approximately equal to that of the average dairy cow, besides being tormented by a bacterial infection for the two weeks before the trip, I just barely made it out alive.
Anyway, even though I believed myself to be near death on numerous occasions during the trip, I gleaned some some important knowledge - important, that is, if you plan to LIVE IN ALASKA.
For instance, one night on the trip, my friend Adam Jortner and I slept in an igloo that we had made by constructing a huge snow mound and hollowing it out after it had time to freeze in place.
We put a plastic sheet on the floor of the igloo so that our sleeping bags would not get wet. I realized the significance of the plastic when I awoke in the middle of the night to find that I had rolled off the sheet and was sleeping on so many flakes of H2O.
This night was the first time I thought I was going to die.
The second came as we hiked up scenic Blue Mountain - 3,000 feet of pure hiking satisfaction unless, like me, you are carrying a backpack that I swear was made of pure lead, wearing wood-and-net snowshoes and are particularly afraid of getting frostbite or hypothermia.
In all seriousness, I wasn't sure if I was gonna make it up that little hill. I would've just plopped down in the snow and cried but, of course, it was TOO COLD to cry.
We also sledded one day and cross-country skied more than any human should really have to.
At first, I abhorred cross-country skiing, but I actually came to enjoy it by the end of week. I found it to be a much more pleasurable activity when I realized I could sing to take my mind off the cold.
On one of those one-and-a-half hour skiing exercises I sang an especially absurd medley of Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan, Phish, Blues Traveler and Lynyrd Skynyrd tunes, several hymns, and ``Hark, the Herald Angel Sings.'' I even hummed the Allman Brothers Band instrumental, ``Jessica.''
Safely back at college, I've reflected on what I really learned from my trip. Mainly, I'm thankful for modern conveniences. My next-door neighbor told me I was ``one of those people civilization was made for.''
More than that, though, I'm thankful for all those in my life - my Mom and Dad, sister and brother-in-law, my dog Sugar Magnolia, friends - that I wasn't sure I'd ever see again when I was trying to scale Blue Mountain.
Oh yeah, I'm also thankful for settling that living situation for my post-college days. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
Jonathan Hunley
by CNB