There are a few universal truths that govern the daily affairs of all trail crews. Rocks are heavy, pinecones must wipe with the grain, dirt is an abundant kitchen spice. Another universal crew truth is the unspoken conviction that one's crew is the best: the most fun, the most rugged, the most eclectic and unique. And, of course, no one is right in believing this, because my own Crew J has already taken all of these titles. Having endured the humor, cooking, and company of my crew this first week, I feel as though I've known each of them for well over a month. Rather than bore you with a generic description of our physical labor and the unspeakably beautiful scenery, I'd like to take a moment to indulge in a brief description of the carnival of personalities that make up my crew.
There are the quiet ones, who abide in silence and, occasionally, naps. There are the bloomers, who began in quietude but have become outspoken participants in all crew shenanigans. There are the clown and the joker, the shameless glue who expose, invigorate, and uplift everyone with unrelenting humor. They provide the essential counterweight to the spoilsports and the over-self-conscious ones, and must be avoided in the pre-dawn breakfast at all costs. There are the reformed ones, who bear a personal history and advice enough to disturb or enlighten a boulder. There are the adventurous ones, who wander in bare feet and jump in frigid waters. There's the guitar kid who knows three bar chords and Stairway to Heaven. There are the readers, the pop philosophers, the students of ecology and outdoor recreation and geography, the flower and insect enthusiasts. There are the daydreamers who stare at the horizon and the night dreamers who cowboy camp under the stars. There are the horse girls and the city slickers.
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