Anyone got any match sticks?

This morning my alarm went off at 3:30am and it wasn't that my clock was confused and thought Daylight Saving Time was over. Today was when reservations open for the Park where my son's Cub Scout Pack has their annual camp, and according to the former Pack Master and the Ranger assigned to the Park people started lining up at 4am to make sure they got the date they wanted.

After performing my morning ablutions I staggered downstairs and outside to where the father-in-law's car waited for me, sans FIL of course (I'd borrowed the car, not him as well). I made good time getting to the Park entrance and inadvertently blinded the drivers of the few cars already waiting as I blew past with my lights on High (so I could see any coyotes, not that I did, but I might have). Dipping the lights I turned around and drove back to the entrance, pulled another U-turn and got into line.

It was only 4am and there were already 4 cars ahead of me, but either I'd miscounted in the dark or one of the cars was carpooling because when the Ranger turned up at 5:15am and started handing out the tickets I received ticket #6, not #5.

I heard her say she hoped to start processing folks at 7am, and I thought about heading back home, fixing myself some breakfast, and relaxing for a little while, but while we live close to the Park, we don't live so close that it was a no brainer, and after a few minutes I decided to drop my seat back down and try to catch up on some more sleep. I'd dozed off a couple of times earlier and woken myself up snoring. How I did it, I don't know, but twice I woke up to a rattling sound that stopped when I evened out my breathing so it was obviously coming from me.

A little before 6am the Ranger opened the gate and the convoy started up and drove down into the Park. Again I tried to catch some zZzZzZ's but now folks were walking around and talking and dawn was starting to break so I got out of the car, grabbed my bag, and followed some stragglers into the Ranger's office. Well, not quite her office. First there's a small room featuring some of the local fauna, stuffed and alive, plus a living reproduction of the wilderness outside, including a small pond surrounded by local flora. Off this room is the Ranger's office. I sat down, took out my current read, and settled in.

At 6:50 the Ranger emerged and called out "Number One? Who's lucky number one? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?" (Okay, so she didn't do the Bueller bit). She went outside and found number one, probably asleep in his truck (Of the first 10 vehicles in line mine was the only sedan; everyone else was driving an SUV or a truck.) Meanwhile, back inside, I overheard one woman talking on her cell phone. "Yeah, I've got number 11," she told the person on the other end of the line. "I was here at 4:30 and I'm number 11," she said incredulously.

Lucky Number One emerged from the Ranger's office and Almost Lucky Number Two went in, to emerge five minutes later, according to one fellow who felt inclined to time the reservation meetings. When Number Three emerged and Number Four slipped into the Ranger's office I packed up my book, picked up my bag, and took my place near the door behind the young lady I thought was probably Number Five, but wasn't.

Finally it was my turn in the Ranger's office. I headed in armed with three dates, one early June, just before school lets out, and two in May. The June date was preference number 1, and the later May date preference number two. Both were already spoken for but preference number three was still available. The Ranger handed me the card to fill in with the contact information of the person in charge of our camp. That would be our camp I'd just scheduled for May, 2011, being after my son takes part in his Arrow of Light ceremony and moves on to Boy Scouts, which is when I will step down as Pack Master. I'd just lined up at 4am to reserve the campground for my son's Cub Scout Pack's annual camp which we won't be attending. I knew that going in, but I couldn't put my own Contact info down as they'd send the reservation packet to me and I'd prefer it to go to my current Assistant Pack Master who will take over from me at the Arrow of Light ceremony.

I grabbed my phone, ran through the directory and found my APM's name. Hit Dial, and my phone said, "I'm sorry, John; I can't do that."

No signal.

"You can use my phone," offered the helpful Ranger, pointing to her desk phone.

Fortunately it was now 7:20am which is early, but not so early that you can't get away with calling someone at home. My APM answered and I quickly got his address and cell phone number, filled out the card, and bid him a good day. Handing over the registration card I thanked the Ranger, who replied, "That's it. Thank you. Number 7?!" and away I went.

Next year my APM will do the same thing, also for a Camp which he, too, will not be attending. Of course that's all part of the Scouting Movement; doing good turns for others.