By Jada Ying King, grade 11, California

“There is no chance of rain. Zero, zip, zilch. Don’t worry!”

—Jada King, White Stag patrol counselor (PC) to the Tunde patrol. Afternoon of June 22, 2022. Approximately… two hours away from regretting those words.

4:30 P.M.
Light cloud cover hung over the sky. To anyone anywhere except the dry valley that is Piney Creek, Monterey, that signified rain coming. But as I, my nine fellow PCs, and the rest of middle to southern California knew, it does not rain in California in the summer.

Confident in my knowledge, I turned back to look at my seven sweaty little lieges. “Faster we make it up this hill, faster you can get cooking!”

Immediately, all the boys perked up, picking up their pace with shouts of, “Aw yeah!” and “Great!”

We remained ignorant of the coming storm.

5:45 P.M.
“Don’t the clouds look pretty dark?”

Ethan, a particularly persnickety 13-year-old camper, pointed up to prove his point. “The sky’s weirdly yellow. And I think I heard a grumble.”

“Where are we?” I chuckled. But more seriously, I added, “I talked with Tim. He said, and I quote, ‘In the past thirty years, it hasn’t ever rained here in the summer.’ We’ll be fine.”

At that exact moment, a BOOM echoed through the valley below, followed by the quiet patter of raindrops. My heart rate rocketed—we youth counselors planned for basically every situation except rain.

Mind whirring, I barked, “Get out the tarps and take cover; stay low as much as possible! Cover your packs and the cooking equipment if you can.” I took a deep breath, telling myself to remain calm. I trained for these moments; I was the PC here. I had control over the situation. So maybe the second leg of our hike was going to be delayed. But once the rain died down, we’d head for our outpost.

Thunder filled the sky. I shivered again.

9:30 P.M.
The rain continued to pour, although the barrage of lightning had stopped earlier. Unfortunately by then, the sun had already set.

“You sure you’re good with going down first?” asked Ethan, PC of the Attila patrol. The adult staff had called an emergency PC meeting, and because the Tunde patrol was stationed the closest to the route to the outpost, I nominated myself as the forerunner.

I rolled my shoulders and shook out my dripping, stringy hair. Although I wore my water-resistant staff jacket, I was soaked to the bone and freezing cold after standing around in the downpour for half an hour. “Not a problem,” I said. “Plus, it’s only gonna get darker from here on out.”

I trudged up the hill to the Tunde patrol. “Pack up, guys, we’re going down to outpost!” I said, maintaining my energetic facade to lighten up the situation.

But when I brought my seven kids to the pitch-dark, rocky, near-vertical slope down to outpost, my fake cheer faltered. No, I told myself. I could not let myself fall to self-doubt in this sort of situation. Behind me, my patrol whispered uncertainties to each other.

I turned around, my heart running a million miles an hour. “Okay, kiddos. I bet this is going to be the most difficult night of your week.” Murmurs of agreement. “But hey, we’re going to make it down, we’re going to finish this hike, and we’re going to do this together. So get out your flashlights!”

The trip down the hill was terrifying, to say the least. Quite a few times, my shoes slid and skidded on the muddy rocks. I caught one of my kids from falling over once, and figuring out where their patrol site was in the dark and the rain was an entirely different challenge, even with flashlights.

But by 11 P.M., in the utter darkness of the Monterey wilds, in the biting wind and my sopping clothes, I managed to get my patrol in bed, free of injuries, and now with an exciting story to tell to their parents.

Of course, the fact that the staff site was overgrown with poison oak was something we never told our kids. Nor did we tell them that we youth staff only crawled into our sleeping bags at 2 A.M. because we looked for somewhere to sleep for two hours. We just magically showed up at our patrols the next morning with as much energy as we did before, ready to make more enchanting outdoor memories for them.

After all, as a PC, I was there to give them the experience of a lifetime. And isn’t it more fun at summer camp when your counselor’s always giving everything their 110 percent?

Author’s Note:
“I am a Chinese-American 11th grader at Palo Alto High School who enjoys drawing, writing, and hiking—which is why in 2022, I served as a youth counselor for the White Stag Leadership Academy, an accredited outdoors summer program dedicated to enriching youth from the ages of 11 to 17 in outdoorsmanship and leadership.

Our program is entirely youth-led. From September to May, youth counselors train in first aid, outdoors skills, and effective leadership, as well as plan a full week of summer camp for incoming White Stag candidates. Unfortunately, the one thing we didn’t plan for was rain!

I hope that my true story can both inspire individuals to go outside and experience the great outdoors, but also not feel disappointed when nature rains on us. Sometimes the most inconvenient situations that the sky throws at us lead to the most inspiring personal growth—and the most entertaining stories!”

—Jada Ying King, grade 11, California.