On the Edge

(Wilson’s Snipes)

Each fall, Beaumont Scout Reservation outside of St. Louis would fill with thousands of scouts and their leaders from the region at a gathering known as the Camporee. It happened annually beginning on a Friday night and ending Sunday afternoon. Old musty tents were the domicile of choice and food was cooked over hundreds of small campfires up and down the valley. Today, there would probably be bad air warnings getting in the way of all the fun. There were also a myriad of skill-based activities to master and badges to be earned.

Of course, each year, there would be hundreds of first-timers at the event, all eleven years old, naive, and a little overwhelmed—perfect targets for initiation pranks. For example, a newbie would be singled out by an adult or senior scout to visit neighboring troops to borrow an urgently needed left-handed monkey wrench. Doing his very best to find the essential tool, a kid would be laughed at each time he stopped at a troop headquarters and made the meaningless request. I guess the scout who tried hardest to comply and visited the most troops became the biggest joke. Not all that funny.

Another prank sent the newbies at sunset into the rapidly darkening woods on a snipe hunt. No one really knew what a snipe was, but the older scouts were all in on the joke and eager to send scared little kids into the woods to find one.

Except me (and possibly a few others). I was totally cranked to go find a snipe because I was a birder before I was a scout. I was thrilled that we were going to head off and seek a typically difficult-to-find bird. Wilson’s Snipes, of course, were what was on my mind. I was, however, confused and a bit worried about the wisdom of the older scouts in that Snipes are birds that live and feed along marshy edges of ponds and lakes and there were none of those anywhere on the Reservation. Needless to say, no one found anything resembling a Snipe, but fun was had by all. I imagined that most of my peers would crawl into their sleeping bags that night, stare at their canvas ceilings, and wonder, “What the hell was that all about?” I, on the other hand, was thinking, “Maybe dawn would be a better time to go find one.”

Wilson’s Snipes are terrific birds, profusely striped, long beaked, and completely unable to fly in a straight line. I’m sure their erratic flight helps them avoid winged predators, but I get a chuckle every time I watch their antics. This image was inspired by several, which were photographed by Becky at one of the Texas refuges we visited. A first for me, in this instance, was seeing about a dozen in close proximity. I guess bumming together on the southern end of their winter migration was a nice way to end the day.