For Thursday, July 27, 2000                                         Drummer Column, Gibbs, 737 words

 

 

Inside the Real Ray (part III)

 

 

     It was now pre-dawn Thursday morning at Crystal Basin. I was asleep on the picnic table in campsite 85. I wanted to make sure Supervisor Ray would see me during his morning rounds. My son-in-law, Chad, was up and gone. He had two days of summer school to teach back in Rancho. He'd tapped me awake, said good-bye, and laughed. "Good luck with Ray. See you Friday. Don't let him take our sites."

     A half-hour later, I heard Ray's truck pull up. His door slammed. I kept my eyes shut. "Where's your buddy?" he asked as a form of greeting.

     "Eh, he went to get his boat. He'll be back in a few hours."

     "Uh-huh," said Ray. He looked suspicious, but couldn't prove anything, so he moved on. "I'll be back later. Then I'm going to need you to move out of eighty-six and into ninety-one."

     "Sure thing, Ray," I said in my most conciliatory voice.

     Once he was gone, I jumped up, dressed, and hopped into my truck. I was going five miles to the IceHouse Bar-Restaurant-Store to call my wife. Ray saw me as I passed his trailer and flagged me to stop. "I'm just going for breakfast, Ray. I'll be back in an hour." He nodded and let me pass.

     "Honey, sorry to wake you so early. You've got to get up here ASAP, and bring some people with you."

     "Huh? What? What's going on? What's the matter?"

     "I need squatters. I'm one guy watching four sites. Call people. Call Phil Greene. Call Ron West. Pick up some hitchhikers, whatever, just get up here soon."

     "Nothing is packed. I need time. I'll do what I can." Click.

     I gobbled some biscuits and gravy and drove back to camp. Within minutes Ray showed up. "I need you to help me drop this guy's tent in ninety-one." Ray wanted me to help evict a camper. I didn't want to get involved, but I helped him anyhow. Then Ray said, "Now, I need your help over at site 105. I've got another cheater over there and he's got a big tent. Come on."

     Suddenly, I was Ray's assistant, confiscating the property of people who had not occupied their campsites for the first 24 hours, a violation of Rule 14. Site 105 was obviously being held for a family. They had luggage, toys, chairs, hammock, coolers, fishing equipment. Ray and I bundled it all into his truck and off he drove.

     I moved our gear from site 86 to 91, then sat in a chair at site 85, my truck parked over in site 81. I was alone with four campsites to protect. I waited anxiously for my wife and reinforcements, wondering how in the world I was going to keep Ray off for another 24 hours.

     At noon Susan pulled in, frazzled, her car bulging with coolers and clothing, and alone. No one else was available to come early.

     God bless my loving, sweet-talking, wonderful wife. When Ray came back that afternoon, Susan had him drinking coffee, pulled him up a chair, and listened in earnest to his tribulations as camp supervisor. She learned that his parents lived in Georgetown, that he had epilepsy in remission, that he used to work at Stumpy Meadows, that he was lonely and campers were his only family.

     Not only did we have no more problems with Ray, but we basically adopted him. He came by with coffee in the morning, stopped by in the afternoons to tell us which campers were naughty and nice to him that day, and sat for hours at our evening campfire dressed in ninja black. One evening we went out for dinner and Ray showed up at the restaurant, so we bought him prime rib and listened to more of his stories.

     We did spend time with our children and our friends. We had a wonderful week in the woods. However, every few hours we would hear from someone, "Hey, Ray was looking for you," or "Ray stopped by."

     On the day we left, Ray was leaving to do his laundry. We followed him down the hill to Pollock Pines, and waved mightily as we passed him on the highway.