“I can’t believe you are actually going to jump into that
thing. That is absolutely disgusting.” That
thing my fellow ranger, Mike was referring to was the beginning of a dunk tank. More specifically, it was a 500 gallon, steel fuel tank that the park service had fished out of the Yukon River last year after a huge flood had carried it down from who knows where, but for the sake of it let’s blame Canada.
True, this giant, rusty, fuel tank still had some ‘product’ in it, and the diesel smell originating from it made me nauseous. But, on the bright side, there weren’t enough fumes in the tank to create a safety hazard. I know this because I was creating more than a few sparks when I used a sawzall to cut off the top of the tank.
Still, Mike had his doubts, and continued to refer to it as the “rainbow tank” because of the sheen of oil he assumed would be floating on top of the water (I thought this was a curious moniker coming from a person who was, among other things, very sexually frustrated). The trouble was that Mike failed to see the finished product - the big picture. I on the other hand, failed to see the details. Details always get in the way. I no longer worry about details.
‘How hard could it be?’ I initially thought to myself when we were brainstorming float ideas for the 4th of July parade. Most of the libertarian town of Eagle hates the fact that the park service is even here, we might as well give them something they’ll enjoy…like the chance to dunk a parkee. But, in building the dunk tank I assumed that I’d have the help of our maintenance workers. The guys who knew a thing or two about welding, woodworking, and hopefully, quick release hinges. However, as the 4th eeked ever closer and procrastination looked like less of an option, I found myself all alone in the maintenance yard with one large flatbed trailer and an old, empty fuel tank.
I had a vision that was 94% complete when this all started. All I had to do was manifest that vision into something that wouldn’t collapse on my boss or get the park service sued. Progress was slow but steady, and with two days to go, the dunk tank was coming together nicely. The tank had been cleaned out and lined with a tarp. I borrowed the staircase leading up to our house to serve as the anchor point and platform. All that was left to build was the release mechanism: the trigger point that would drop the seat once a softball hit the bulls eye.
It was all just simple physics. Vectors, forces, change of direction, the kind of stuff you learned in 11th grade and forgot before 12th grade. I was pretty sure I could do it I just couldn’t see how. I couldn’t get the other 6% of the vision in focus. Every time I saw Mike he would has me how the ‘thing-a-ma-jig' was coming along. I’d just lie and tell him it was almost done. He was so excited and eager for me to fail on the project that he routinely asked me what the real float was going to be when I gave up on the dunk tank.
At 11pm on July 3rd I quit. It was raining, everyone else had long since gone home, and I was on the 4th iteration of some poorly rigged design that would have been sturdier if I’d instead built it with legos. I rode home in the rain; feeling like I let the town down, but mostly just disappointed in myself. Then it happened. Right there on my bike- the last 6% of the vision; I could finally see it in my head. I had the forces all backwards. At 6am I was back at it sawing and hammering away.
Two hours before the parade and the dunk tank was ready for the first test run. “Okay man, push the bulls eye” I yelled to Rick as I was sitting on the drop seat over the empty tank. He threw a rock right at the bull’s eye, and I hit the bottom of the tank with a thud. “It worked!” I screamed from the bottom of the tank, overjoyed and throbbing with pain. “Holy shit that hurt. We should put some water in the tank before we test it again.”
One hour before the parade started I triumphantly rolled into the visitor center parking lot with the dunk tank in tow. The decorating committee sprang into action, and finished up just in time for us to assume our position as the final float in a 4th of July parade. A parade that stretched almost two city blocks and lasted a good five minutes.
I was convinced that we might get one or two dunks out of the contraption before the entire thing fell apart, and accordingly I kept trying to stall everyone. “Let’s wait for the crowd to get bigger before we start dunking. We might only get one shot at this.” But it was no use, the line of little kids and disgruntled, anti government males was getting longer and longer by the minute.
I nervously set up the trap seat, and asked one of the park service college interns to be the first ‘dunkee.’ I had forgotten the enthusiasm that college kids have for all things dangerous and ostentatious. I was pleasantly surprised at what a good heckler my little intern turned out to be. I guess anything that’s worth putting on Facebook is worth doing.
Some little five year old kid gave George, our ‘creepy grandpa ranger’ 50 cents for which the kid got two chances to hit the target with a softball from five feet away. He nailed the bulls eye on the second throw, and the intern dropped into the tank with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Man, its great having interns around.
Amazingly, nothing had broken. The big boys were getting anxious for their turns, and just to up the satisfaction level we somehow convinced our boss to take a turn in the hot seat. My boss is a beloved resident of Eagle, but also the one that pretty much keeps the park running, and thus is the scape goat for all things federal. The softballs started flying, and I was starting to wonder if people were not aiming for the bulls eye so much as anyone wearing a green hat and NPS badge on their shirt. Thankfully, I had managed to add some chicken wire to the front of the contraption, and it was doing a great job at deflecting poorly aimed and poorly intentioned throws.
Finally, after several Eaglites had shown their throwing accuracy was no match for their marksmanship (there was a rifle shoot after the festival...very competitive), the boss was dunked by a huge man that she had taught way back when at the Eagle elementary school. I guess we all have grudges that are worth holding onto until the time is right.
As proud and excited as I was to have successfully built this contraption that was giving the town a much needed chance to blow off some NPS steam, the greatest victory of the day was Mike’s change of heart. Even as the decorating committee was putting the final touches on the float that morning, Mike still doubted the dunk tank’s probability of success. I calmly asked him to have positive energy today, and was suddenly backed up by a chorus of ‘yeahs’ from all the other rangers who were tired of hearing him complain. And, by the end of the day, Mike was up there, in the hot seat, getting dunked by a 12 yr old girl. Of course, he was the only one complaining about how cold the water was, and that his toes were going numb. But, there was no better vindication and measure of success than seeing the smile on the face of a soaking wet Mike.
Smokey is a little black bear that has been hanging around Coal Creek Camp all summer. He is around 2 years old and 200 lbs. In bear terms, he is a teenager trying to figure out where he belongs in this world. We've tried our best to assure him he does not belong at Coal Creek Camp, but he doesn't seem to be getting the message.
