The curious incident of the Englishman and the Arborist

For those of you who remember the curious incident of the Mazda and the tennis court, you'll love this...

This weekend, Nicci and I went with a group of about 80 people from the Central Peninsula Church 'Twenties' group to Westminster Woods, which is a couple of hours north of San Francisco in the Redwood forests. It was a great opportunity to really establish some of our new friendships, get to know some new folks and to get some good meaty bible teaching.

We were billeted in single-sex cabins each holding around 8 people and I, having been one of the first to check in, nabbed one of the top bunks. It was a sleeping bag-type arrangement, and the beds were quite narrow and the mattresses were plastic-covered (probably waterproofed as the same cabins may be used by kids on summer camps who may not yet have nailed down their potty training. Not a nice thought....) But anyway, sleeping isn't necessarily the main focus of this sort of retreat, the aim being to get just enough so as to be able to function the following day. On the first night we played a great Capture the Flag wide game in the dark, and then later a small group of us went on a short night hike up to the top of one of the nearby hills (in spite of the possibility of meeting a mountain lion!) and enjoyed the clear nighttime skies, picking out constellations and praising the God who made it all.

The first night's sleep wasn't great. Unfortunately I wasn't there when Leon, a dear brother in the Lord, was handing out earplugs to the rest of his cabin-mates. They would have been very useful. I had turned in before he had but nonetheless (and don't you just hate it when this happens?) Leon managed to fall asleep before I did. As if to rub it in, he then proceeded to snore so loud it shook the foundations of the cabin! At times like this, you can only be pleased for that person, to know that they are getting the rest they need... (And I love that he thought to bring earplugs for everyone!) At one stage in the night I lost my pillow down the back of my bunk, but was able to reach down and retrieve it, and after some more tossing and turning I did finally manage to grab a couple of hours kip.

Saturday was a great day. My French language skills were really pushed to the max as I attempted to simultaneously translate the talks to Florent as the speaker was speaking. I'm not sure I did a particularly good job, but I hope he got the gist of the message! There was a fair amount of free time during the day. I played a bit of 'touch football': a game which, in spite of what you might think, doesn't involve your feet. It is very hard to re-program your brain when it is used to thinking in terms of Rugby so it times a team mate would call "block for me", an action which in Rugby would be a penalty offence, but it was fun all the same. Basketball in the afternoon I was a bit more familiar with but, again, I think there is some sort of positional awareness around the court that you acquire when this is a game you play all through your life, and I was somewhat off the pace - but again, had a good time. Later in the afternoon we chilled out by the pool, trying to swim as far as possible holding your breath underwater and pulling off death-defying stunts from the diving board. That doesn't sound too much like chilling out, but there was plenty of lying back, chatting and soaking in the sun too.

After dinner was the evening group session, and then we had a great campfire out in the woods and sang songs and were introduced to 'smores'. I had toasted marshmallows on a fire before, but smores take it to a whole other level. With a smore (and I may be spelling it wrong), the melted marshmallow is just the glue that keeps a cracker and chocolate sandwich together. Calorie counter overload. The setting was like something out of the Ewok's village in Return of the Jedi: beautiful tall trees, star-studded skies and the fire roaring. After the singing, it was great chatting with Art and others around the fire. But eventually, as with everything else, all good things had to come to an end and I headed off to bed.

Perhaps it is the fact that I am more advanced in years than most of the others in the Twenties group (the name of the group refers to how old you are meant to be, but Nicci got us some fake IDs and we managed to sneak in without any worries) - but I was the first to turn in. Coming back from the wash room block I was startled by a couple of raccoons rummaging around in the rubbish bins. They are a feisty creature, and apparently rabid, some I'm glad they didn't attack.

Anyway, I got ready for bed, turned out the light got into my sleeping bag and my wretched pillow disappeared off the back of the bed again. There was no head-rest and the bunk bed was bolted to the floor 8 inches away from the wall, and with the slippery mattress there was always the chance of that happening again. Anyhow, as I had done the night before, I went down after it to retrieve it. The pillow had fallen a little lower than Friday night and as I stretched that extra inch to grab it, my slippery sleeping bag slipped on the slippery mattress and I went a little further than I had planned. I managed to stop myself falling further, but couldn't see any way back out the way I had come, so decided the best play was to slip down further towards the floor and get out round the side. However the bed post was only six inches from the wall and, having slipped down to the floor, upside down and legs now trapped in the sleeping bag, my chest got wedged stuck between the wall and the bed post. I took a brief moment to reassess my options (and bear in mind: I am alone in the cabin):
- could I shake off the sleeping bag? No. Zero maneuverability given the narrow 8-inch space, the inherent lack of wiggle-room in sleeping bags and the fact that the top of the sleeping bag was wedged with me behind the bed post...
- could I push myself back the way I had come? No. I was stuck, my right arm was out but, with my chest wedged, there was no way I could twist my shoulders to push back up. And having been this way for a minute of two, my arms were getting a bit tired...
- could I...? No. Swallowing my pride, I knew there was nothing else for it...

"HELP!!" I yelled, hopeful that the thin wooden cabins would allow my voice to travel far enough to be heard. "HEELLLPP!", a second time - and, thankfully, a timid knock on the door and Ethan and Des'ree: "are you OK?"
"Turn the light on", I said.
"What's wrong?" said Ethan.
"I'm stuck", I said. And as the light came on, the full glory of the situation was revealed: an Englishman trapped upside down in his sleeping bag, wedged between a bunk bed and the wall.

Action stations. Word got around and within seconds other keen but bewildered folks came to the rescue. They tugged at me, they tried to yank the bed away - but to no avail: the bunks were bolted both to the wall and the floor. They tried to lift me up, but I was well and truly wedged, now becoming more L-shaped as my legs were still in the air, my chest stuck behind the bottom right bed post, head visible round the side but the rest of me unable now to keep straight. Jordon had the presence of mind to push his leg through the bottom bunk to give my side some support as Ethan, an arborist / tree surgeon, ran to his truck to get his tools. (He had suggested using a chainsaw, but the consensus (wisely) was that perhaps that might be a little risky and best not....)

Out in the woods in an area with no mobile phone coverage, people were sent in search of Jen, the girl with the walkie-talkie and our only contact with the outside world. Chinese whispers being what they can be, I'm not sure quite what the details of the message were that got around - but at the end of the day it didn't matter as Ethan returned to the scene with a saw and set to work sawing away at the side bar of the bottom bunk in an attempt to cut me free. It was a hack-saw designed for cutting through metal and not perfect for the job of sawing through a block of wood six inches wide by two inches thick - but he stuck with it. And all the while I, still upside down and wedged behind the post, was breathing in the sawdust as Ethan got closer and closer to the final break through and as the other 'helpers'/spectators looked on. When it came, it wasn't too hard to get me out. The whole operation since my calling for help must have taken around 10-15 minutes.

The next morning at breakfast I had become something of an overnight celebrity. (Indeed, "get me out of here!" would have been quite appropriate given my situation the night before.) I wasn't sure whether or not everyone knew already quite what had taken place, but clearly some rumours were abounding. Nicci hadn't had a clue about it - but in our final group get-together on the Sunday morning I got to recount to story in full detail and to rapturous applause.

I told Leon (the snorer) that I was worried I was going to be known for ever more as 'the guy who got stuck upside down in his sleeping bag behind the bunk bed'. He reassured me: "No. You won't be known as that guy. You'll be know as the guy who got stuck upside down in his sleeping bag behind the bunk bed from England". Alas, I may have forever damaged the way the Americans view us English. Ah gee....