Scarlet Letter 2011-11
6 November 2011 - 6:25pm
The Scarlet Letter
Remember the Scarlet Letter? It's back... in blog form! For those of you who don't remember, The Scarlet Letter is the Red Ravens' official newsletter... when someone could be bothered to produce it. Our officers are men of action and not flowery words (so they tell me, and they used a different adjective starting with 'f'), so as usual, it falls upon me to make this happen. --DS
The Hound of the Baskeyfields
A David Schwartz Mystery
So let's talk NAAMA: The National Association of Ancient and Medieval Arts. Not the nebulous organization, but the annual camp of the same name. This years camp was run by the Irish ("All this drinking, violence, destruction of property... are these the things that we think of when we think of the Irish?"). Coincidentally, it was held the same weekend as the Rugby World Cup final between NZ and France, and the predicted Apocalypse. Fortunately, it wasn't the end of the world... and also that preacher got it wrong.
NAAMA was held out Napier way. I wasn't keen to drive cross-country alone, especially since my car was just out of the shop. Mechanics, like anatomy, is one of those subjects where a layman only learns the names of things when they break. Also, grammar ("What do you mean, I split my infinitive?"). Fortunately, I was able to get a ride with Evan the Viking. Unfortunately, I had to get to Woodville first. The gorge was closed, so this was my first time going over the Saddle Road as a driver rather than a passenger. It isn't any less nauseating.
Smartly, I packed the day before. However, I realized I had packed bottles, but not a bottle opener. Not that I expected a lack of bottle openers at NAAMA (Whenever a reenactor tells me they don't drink, my reply in "Boy, did you pick the wrong hobby!"), but I was going to the Viking's Haul and I knew Evan would have some. Indeed, he did, and while I was looking around the shop I happened upon I novel I'd been looking for: "My Uncle Oswald" by Roald Dahl, based on some short stories he'd written for Playboy. There's a certain awkwardness in discovering your favorite children's author also wrote soft porn. So, yeah, on my way to NAAMA I bought a bottle opener and pornography. I believe one should always start the way one intends to finish.
Evan informed me that a condition of travelling with him was we had to stop at every second hand shop along the way. I'm all, "Have you met my father? This is like every family trip ever."
And after much digressing, I got to NAAMA. The weather Friday was calm and clear, which was good for all the people who inevitably were putting up their tents in the dark that evening. The rain--you knew this was coming--set in about the time a certain person passed out and didn't let up until that person regained consciousness the next afternoon. Some people believe the sun shines out their own ass; few people have proof.
So, yeah, it rained the better part of Saturday. There were actually people fighting out in the rain. I was not one of them. Yes, fighting is fun. You know what's not fun? Pneumonia. Instead, I did the other competitive thing you do at camp: play board games. It's a historically accurate way to spend a rainy day, though possibly not the way we do it. Family Business (http://mayfairgames.com/game.php?id=200&stock=MFG0454&name=Family+Business) isn't exactly Nine Men's Morris (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nine_Men%27s_Morris), although each player does have nine men, who get lined up and progressively removed from the game.
Saturday night there was the usual feast. What to say about a feast? If you haven't been to one, you don't know what you've missed. If you came to this one, you do know what you missed... the curry. After the feast, was held the annual NAAMA Games. This years events included crawling around for some reason, arm-wrestling, and something involving pole arms and cardboard tubes. Representatives of the Ravens won that last event. I feel so full of...what's the opposite of shame? "Pride?" No, not that far from shame. "Less shame?" Yeah...
Sunday morning the weather was overcast, but not raining, the perfect weather for fighting, which I finally did. The main event was a series of line battles (with regeneration) up and down a wooded incline. Having neither shield nor pole weapon (I was armed with axe and dagger), I became designated hole-filler (something Ravens are good at judging by the previous night's games). Although I wasn't always in the thick of things, I did manage to kill more than I died. I'd like to think it's because of my amazing fighting skills, but I have to give some credit to the more than one person on the other side who thought they could break our line by impaling their undefended chest on my axe before they even threatened us.
In the afternoon there were one-on-one contests with various weapons: single sword, sword and shield, pole arm, and by special request, dagger (or as it's known in Vulcan, Pun Farr). I didn't participate in the duels; instead I entered the trivia contest. I was on a team with my nemesis Frolic, his nemesis Conal, and Terence who isn't anyone's nemesis, as far as I know. Long story short, we won. Somehow, we nearly doubled the score of the team in second. The star of the team was, of course, Terence for bringing the beer. Yeah, Conal is a machine, but like the robots in Futurama, I'm pretty sure he runs on alcohol.
Sunday night's feast was even more lavish than the day before: not only did people miss out on curry; they also missed out on salmon. Not that I'm complaining ("My God, that's moose turd pie!"). At least the food was on time, although I think that was mostly due to them wanting to get the feast over with before the rugby started. They also managed to squeeze in a prize giving and a slave auction. Our man Justin participated in both: he won a bow from the archery competition and then bought a slave to carry it around for him all night (as you do).
Then it was time for the rugby. Despite that fact that we were camping in the middle of nowhere, the Irish managed to rig up an aerial and get reception, sort of. Either the picture was fuzzy or it was snowing in Auckland (twice in one year, what are the odds?). I think it may have actually been the latter; I saw pictures later of All Blacks making snow angels.
Monday morning is basically Friday afternoon in reverse. This included the clear, calm weather. So, despite precautions all weekend, I managed to get a sunburn packing up to leave.
So, that was NAAMA 2011. In the end, I got the full camp experience: I escaped the modern world, hung out with friends old and new, got damp, got burnt, fought on the field and across the table, sang songs, talk history, talked hearsay... about the only thing I didn't do was get drunk and wake up in someone else's tent.
Remember the Scarlet Letter? It's back... in blog form! For those of you who don't remember, The Scarlet Letter is the Red Ravens' official newsletter... when someone could be bothered to produce it. Our officers are men of action and not flowery words (so they tell me, and they used a different adjective starting with 'f'), so as usual, it falls upon me to make this happen. --DS
The Hound of the Baskeyfields
A David Schwartz Mystery
So let's talk NAAMA: The National Association of Ancient and Medieval Arts. Not the nebulous organization, but the annual camp of the same name. This years camp was run by the Irish ("All this drinking, violence, destruction of property... are these the things that we think of when we think of the Irish?"). Coincidentally, it was held the same weekend as the Rugby World Cup final between NZ and France, and the predicted Apocalypse. Fortunately, it wasn't the end of the world... and also that preacher got it wrong.
NAAMA was held out Napier way. I wasn't keen to drive cross-country alone, especially since my car was just out of the shop. Mechanics, like anatomy, is one of those subjects where a layman only learns the names of things when they break. Also, grammar ("What do you mean, I split my infinitive?"). Fortunately, I was able to get a ride with Evan the Viking. Unfortunately, I had to get to Woodville first. The gorge was closed, so this was my first time going over the Saddle Road as a driver rather than a passenger. It isn't any less nauseating.
Smartly, I packed the day before. However, I realized I had packed bottles, but not a bottle opener. Not that I expected a lack of bottle openers at NAAMA (Whenever a reenactor tells me they don't drink, my reply in "Boy, did you pick the wrong hobby!"), but I was going to the Viking's Haul and I knew Evan would have some. Indeed, he did, and while I was looking around the shop I happened upon I novel I'd been looking for: "My Uncle Oswald" by Roald Dahl, based on some short stories he'd written for Playboy. There's a certain awkwardness in discovering your favorite children's author also wrote soft porn. So, yeah, on my way to NAAMA I bought a bottle opener and pornography. I believe one should always start the way one intends to finish.
Evan informed me that a condition of travelling with him was we had to stop at every second hand shop along the way. I'm all, "Have you met my father? This is like every family trip ever."
And after much digressing, I got to NAAMA. The weather Friday was calm and clear, which was good for all the people who inevitably were putting up their tents in the dark that evening. The rain--you knew this was coming--set in about the time a certain person passed out and didn't let up until that person regained consciousness the next afternoon. Some people believe the sun shines out their own ass; few people have proof.
So, yeah, it rained the better part of Saturday. There were actually people fighting out in the rain. I was not one of them. Yes, fighting is fun. You know what's not fun? Pneumonia. Instead, I did the other competitive thing you do at camp: play board games. It's a historically accurate way to spend a rainy day, though possibly not the way we do it. Family Business (http://mayfairgames.com/game.php?id=200&stock=MFG0454&name=Family+Business) isn't exactly Nine Men's Morris (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nine_Men%27s_Morris), although each player does have nine men, who get lined up and progressively removed from the game.
Saturday night there was the usual feast. What to say about a feast? If you haven't been to one, you don't know what you've missed. If you came to this one, you do know what you missed... the curry. After the feast, was held the annual NAAMA Games. This years events included crawling around for some reason, arm-wrestling, and something involving pole arms and cardboard tubes. Representatives of the Ravens won that last event. I feel so full of...what's the opposite of shame? "Pride?" No, not that far from shame. "Less shame?" Yeah...
Sunday morning the weather was overcast, but not raining, the perfect weather for fighting, which I finally did. The main event was a series of line battles (with regeneration) up and down a wooded incline. Having neither shield nor pole weapon (I was armed with axe and dagger), I became designated hole-filler (something Ravens are good at judging by the previous night's games). Although I wasn't always in the thick of things, I did manage to kill more than I died. I'd like to think it's because of my amazing fighting skills, but I have to give some credit to the more than one person on the other side who thought they could break our line by impaling their undefended chest on my axe before they even threatened us.
In the afternoon there were one-on-one contests with various weapons: single sword, sword and shield, pole arm, and by special request, dagger (or as it's known in Vulcan, Pun Farr). I didn't participate in the duels; instead I entered the trivia contest. I was on a team with my nemesis Frolic, his nemesis Conal, and Terence who isn't anyone's nemesis, as far as I know. Long story short, we won. Somehow, we nearly doubled the score of the team in second. The star of the team was, of course, Terence for bringing the beer. Yeah, Conal is a machine, but like the robots in Futurama, I'm pretty sure he runs on alcohol.
Sunday night's feast was even more lavish than the day before: not only did people miss out on curry; they also missed out on salmon. Not that I'm complaining ("My God, that's moose turd pie!"). At least the food was on time, although I think that was mostly due to them wanting to get the feast over with before the rugby started. They also managed to squeeze in a prize giving and a slave auction. Our man Justin participated in both: he won a bow from the archery competition and then bought a slave to carry it around for him all night (as you do).
Then it was time for the rugby. Despite that fact that we were camping in the middle of nowhere, the Irish managed to rig up an aerial and get reception, sort of. Either the picture was fuzzy or it was snowing in Auckland (twice in one year, what are the odds?). I think it may have actually been the latter; I saw pictures later of All Blacks making snow angels.
Monday morning is basically Friday afternoon in reverse. This included the clear, calm weather. So, despite precautions all weekend, I managed to get a sunburn packing up to leave.
So, that was NAAMA 2011. In the end, I got the full camp experience: I escaped the modern world, hung out with friends old and new, got damp, got burnt, fought on the field and across the table, sang songs, talk history, talked hearsay... about the only thing I didn't do was get drunk and wake up in someone else's tent.
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