As the final week approaches, it’s hard not to begin summarizing the trip into favorite moments. One of my first memorable recollections took place during the second week when our group arrived to Jungle Island—a small bamboo-infested island accentuated with an array of mystery creatures making their debut during late night hours. Our group finally arrived to this plot of land after a long day of canoeing and decided to reside here after desperately searching for any suitable camping ground. I am going to be perfectly honest, the thought of cramming four tents onto this island did not excite me in the least, especially while the open plot of field across the island teased me for the entire stay. The island was completely too small and had hardly any open space for tents; and even if the area was slightly open, it was full of bamboo and/or ants. But as the day continued, Jungle Island began to grow on me—that is, until it turned dark. As Meredith, Kayleigh, and I crawled into our tent and began to fall asleep, a whippoorwill decided to start whistling… loudly. Despite attempts to shush this incessant bird with barking, mooing, and a variety of other animal noises, the whippoorwill did not stop. Yet the noises did not finish with the obnoxious bird, they proceeded with a mysterious scratching noise at the corner of our tent. By this point, Kayleigh had already fallen asleep—which is also another mystery of that night—but Meredith and I had to resolve the scratching noise issue. Attempting to bring the noise to an end, I smacked the area from which the noise was originating, but this only worked for a short time before the noise continued. Fed up and ready for an end to this nuisance, I busted out of the tent and began smacking the tent hoping to scare off the monster. Feeling accomplished and filled with pride for having the courage to crawl out of the tent to face who-knows-what, I went back into the tent and snuggled myself back into my sleeping bag and started to close my eyes. But the scratching did not leave. Attempting once more to bring this war to an end, I reeled back my arm and began karate chopping the noisy area. Victory was mine. The noise ceased and Meredith and I were able to finally settle down and finally have some well-deserved sleep.
Kelli Straka is a rising sophomore journalism major from Hickory, NC. She is not a ginger despite the comments Alex and Hutch might make and refuses to be called Special K.