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A Eulogy for Dear Swimmy

by Liz Schibuk

It was our last morning.  My co-leader and I, much in the spirit of BOLT, had decided to let the group decide for itself what was an appropriate time to rise.  We helped them figure out the mileage and terrain left, told them our pick-up time, and hoped that they would see the need for an early rise.  We had figured 7:30 AM was appropriate, but were prepared for the moans and groans that might ensue.  Following Thursday's long trek, we hoped they would forgive us for once again depriving them of a nice long sleep and a lazy morning. 

Nonetheless, the high spirits of Group J shone once again as the group decided that 6 AM was an appropriate time to rise and as every lady wearing a watch cheerfully set her alarm.
Dawn came all too soon.  The cool morning air danced into our tarp, beckoning us ten cozy cuddling ladies out of our sleeping bags.  And so we rose, and in a now pleasantly mechanical fashion, rapidly went through our morning routine: tarps down and folded, bear bag untied and contents sorted, a cold breakfast of granola, peanut butter, grape nuts and pita laid out, ten pairs of hands mindlessly but enthusiastically at work.  Soon enough we were set to go, packed up and stuffed to the gills--there was but one matter of business to still take care of...

"Swimmy!" called Cappy.  Right!  Swimmy: the swimming waterbug that had been living in her Nalgene since our first night.  Swimmy was large enough and had proven so iodine-resistant that we didn't want to drink him down (and besides, BOLT is a vegetarian trip!).  Meanwhile, we had put so much iodine in the bottle trying to kill him that it would have been highly un-LNT to simply dump the water back into the environment.  What to do, what to do? For four days we had deliberated, pondered, and contemplated the fate of our dear Swimmy. 

The time had come, however, on this last morning, to take charge and do the only thing that was right for our dear Swimmy: release him!  And so, before setting off on the trail, we walked down to Gordon Pond and, as the morning sun was just breaking through the fishscale clouds, and as a warm mist was rising off the water, we said goodbye to the eleventh (and only male, though this was never scientifically confirmed) member of Group J. 

"An ode to dear Swimmy!" Cappy called, reaching into the nalgene with a plastic spoon to fish out our friend, while minimizing the amount of iodine water we would put back into the pond.  Never fear BOLT friends - 'twas an LNT-conscious Swimmy release ceremony.  "You were such a loyal Swimmy.  The best Swimmy a girl could ask for!"  Glass-eyed, Cappy continued "So resilient, he lived four days, yes FOUR DAYS, without food or fresh water, swimming in iodine sludge, without friends or family.  Let us have a moment of silence for our dear Swimmy."
And so we did.  One last moment of quiet on our final morning out in the wilderness together.  When I finally looked up, Cappy was still glassy-eyed, but this time she was chuckling as well.  There we were: ten girls, ten smiles, ten seconds of shared mourning for the departure of Swimmy and the end of our trip.  Ten seconds of shared excitement for the ten months of good times ahead of us. 

"Everyone ready? Anyone not ready?  Let's go!"

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