Some patrols get better equipment. Others get better leaders.

Seattle, Washington, Queen Anne High School, June 8, 1999, Saturday morning, 10:30am.

On the grass lawn to the side of the old gymnasium, the orienteering equipment has been laid out in several piles. Each pile contains four eight-foot wooden poles, a few coils of rope and one canvas tarp. Eight piles, eight patrols. Whatever they are building, every patrol starts with the same materials.

Arnav counts the piles as he walks with is patrol . He scans the piles the same way he reads a pitch in a Cricket game back home. He notices Kyle Kelly, his brother Michael, the Delvechio twins, and two others have claimed their space at the first pile.

“Let’s take the second pile,” Arnav tells his squad. They start heading over to the second pile, next to The Red Devils. As Kyle sees the boys approaching the second pile of gear, he yells at them.

“That one is taken. You have the third pile,” Kyle scolds them.

“Taken?” Arnav asks himself. There’s nobody here. But not wanting to start an argument, he and the boys position themselves in front of the third pile.

Danny stands at the center of the lawn with Scoutmaster Miltner and raises his voice over the noise.

“Alright, listen up,” Danny yells. The lawn settles. “Today’s challenge is a combination of first aid survival and pioneering challenges. Each patrol will construct a functional stretcher by lashing together the poles and securing the tarp between the poles. Once your stretcher is constructed, you must carry a scout fifty feet across the lawn to the finish line marked by the two orange cones. The first patrol across with their patient wins. Any questions?” Silence.

“We can do this,” Arnav says with confidence to his teammates. They nod in agreement, feeling confident in their leader.

Danny continues. “Good. Patrol leaders, get your teams to your pile. You start on my whistle.” Danny’s whistle cuts the air.

The boys turn to their pile of equipment and find disaster. Kamal holds up the first coil of the rope, the fibers split and fuzzy, the middle section visibly kinked from being coiled too tightly for too long. He looks at Arnav without saying anything. Ashwin unfolds the canvas tarp. A long tear runs across the center. It’s not a clean cut, but a rip, like something sharp was dragged across it. He holds it up, and daylight shows through. Deepak picks up the second rope. Better than the first, but not by much. The outer braid is worn through; the inner core slightly exposed. The four

The boys look at their pile. Then they look across the lawn at the Red Devils’ pile. Coiled rope, clean and unkinked. A tarp that folds out flat without a mark on it. Kyle Kelly is already crouching over his materials, back turned, pointing and directing.

“Okay,” Arnav says. He picks up the frayed rope and runs it through his fingers, thinking, planning, and adapting. This isn’t going to stop him. He finds the worst section, a six-inch stretch near one end where the fibers have separated badly. He measures it against his hand. He looks at the rest of the rope. Eleven feet, maybe. Most of it is still good.

“We work with what we have,” he says. “Kamal, hold this end.”

The boys spring into action. “I’m sure we’ve all done this challenge before, back home in Bharat scouts,” Kamal encourages them.

The other boys nod, their confidence returning.

“The frayed section here,” Arnav says to Kamal, pointing to the bad six inches near the rope’s end. “We cut above it. We lose a foot of rope. We can still make the lashing work if we are efficient.” He picks up the first spar and lays it on the ground. He picks up the second and lays it parallel, shoulder-width apart. “Ashwin. The tarp. Lay it between the poles, centered.

”Keep the torn corner at the foot end; that end carries less weight.” Ashwin spreads the tarp. The tear grows slightly. Arnav looks at it. He picks up the third rope, the least damaged of the three, and makes a quick mental calculation.

“We reinforce the torn corner before we lash,” he says. “We fold the tarp back on itself here,” he demonstrates, folding the torn corner under to double the canvas thickness at that point, “and we lash through both layers. The fold distributes the load.”

The boys jump into action, each at a different corner of the stretcher.

“Don’t use a clove hitch,” Kamal calls out. “Use two half hitches. That will be stronger.” The others listen and follow the suggestions. The rope locks in. They pull them hard with both hands.

They don’t move.

Deepak studies the tarp. “How many lashings across?”

“Four,” Arnav says. “Evenly spaced. Use the square lashing at each attachment point, wrap first, four wraps. Three wraps, two wraps. Pull the wraps tight between the poles, not around them.” Arnav looks at his friends. They are truly working together as a team. He takes a break to review the chaos around him.

The patrol next to him is making slow progress as they lash their poles together. He looks down the row at Kyle and the Red Devils. He notices they are behind. They are arguing with each other; no one scout is in control. If one scout is struggling, he is pushed out of the way and another barges in. Their progress is slow and they are clearly behind Arnav and his group.

Two minutes later, the stretcher is taking shape. Three minutes later, the tarp is lashed to both poles at four points, corners reinforced, the whole structure taut and centered.

Arnav grabs the middle of the stretcher with both hands and pulls upward sharply. The tarp sags but does not separate. The lashings hold. He pushes down on each corner, testing the weakest points first. The folded torn corner flexes slightly but does not give. He looks at his patrol.

“We’ve got this,” he says. The excitement in his voice is obvious. “We’re ready to move!” And then the four of them look up at the finish line fifty feet away. And then they look at each other. Four boys. Four corners. Nobody to carry. Confusion derails their excitement.

“We need a fifth person,” Kamal says.

“I can see that,” Arnav says.

“Maybe we ask Danny,” Ashwin says.

“Danny is judging,” Arnav replies.

Arnav scans the other patrols for a status check. Are they still ahead? Most are still building their stretchers. The Red Devils are arguing loudly about knot technique, Michael and Kyle talking over each other, the Delvechio twins holding a spar each and waiting for someone to make a decision.

Arnav stands and scans the field, making eye contact with Danny. Arnav points to the stretcher and shrugs as if to say, “What do we do now?” Danny, the good leader he is, instantly understands Arnav’s predicament. He looks at the sidelines of the field.

Standing on the edge of the field is a lanky, skinny boy. His curly hair is cut short, making his ears stand out. He is not dressed in a scout uniform. Instead, he is wearing blue jeans, black and white checkered vans slip on shoes and a black T-shirt with the words THE REPLACEMENTS lettered across the front. The boy is the same age as Arnav and straddling a bicycle. Arnav recognizes the bicycle as the same one Danny was riding when they met earlier this week.

Danny grabs the boy by the wrist and guides him aver to Arnav and his team’s area.

“Guys,” Danny says. “I’ve got a new team member for you. I’ve been trying to get this kid to join for the past year. Now’s his chance.”

“I’m Sawyer,” he says. Sawyer looks at the stretcher on the ground. He prods one of the lashings with his toe, then crouches and pulls it with two fingers. “Looks solid.”

“Okay,” Sawyer says. “What do I do?”

“You lie on the stretcher,” Arnav says. “We carry you to those cones.” Sawyer looks at the cones. He looks at the stretcher. He looks at the four boys around him.

“Yeah, alright,” he says. “Is it dangerous? Can I get hurt?”

“No, we’ll take good care of you,” Arnav says.

“Bummer,” Sawyer replies. “It’d be more fun if it were a little dangerous. Sawyer drops down onto the stretcher, folding his hands across his chest like a skate punk vampire.

He looks up at the boys: “Make it bumpy. And do me a favor.”

“What’s the favor,” Arnav asks.

“Embarrass the shit out of those asshole Red Devils,” he laughs nodding his head in their direction.

“Positions,” Arnav laughs.

“Kamal, you take the left lead position. Ashwin, you take the right forward position. Deepak left foot. Kamal, right foot.”

He moves to his own position, left foot, beside Deepak. He looks down at Sawyer.

“When we lift, stay centered. Don’t shift your weight.”

“Maybe,” Sawyer smirks. “I may decide to do some stretcher surfing mid-course.” He laughs. “Let’s see what happens.”

“On three,” Arnav says. “One. Two. Three.” They lift. The Sawyer-loaded stretcher lifts clean and level; the tarp holding his weight evenly across all four lashing points. The torn corner that is reinforced, folded, lashed through two layers, does not move. Arnav feels the weight of it in his hands and makes one adjustment, stepping his left foot outward slightly to square his load. The stretcher levels.

In a race like this, fifty feet is not that far. But when your stretcher is made of frayed rope, torn canvas and substandard equipment, all while carrying a one hundred and ten pound “patient”, it’s an eternity.

As the boys step off the starting line, Arnav scans the field. Two other patrols, the Blue Gorillas and the Wolverines, are ready to pick up their stretcher. A scan to the right and Arnav can see the Red Devils. They too are ready to pick up their stretcher.

“We got this! Let’s go,” he tells his team. “Keep our eyes forward,” Arnav coaches the team. “If we keep on a straight line, we’ve got the shortest path.

Arnav’s unnamed team is the first team off the starting line by a few steps. To his left he sees the Blue Gorillas and the Wolverines have their stretchers up and starting to move. Arnav notices that they are running.

“They are moving too fast,” Arnav thinks to himself. The boys in each stretcher are bouncing wildly up and down as their crew runs. The constant pounding up and down is loosening each of the lashings on their stretchers. In addition, both of those patrols are not watching where they are going. The Blue Gorillas stretcher begins to come apart first. The back right corner comes completely untied. The scout at that corner can’t keep it together. “Abort! Abort! We’re breaking up!” The young scout trying to hold the stretcher together yells.

Eventually the separating poles and unraveling lashings are too much. He drops his corner. The sudden unbalancing and dragging of the back corner of the stretcher sends the Blue Gorillas veering a hard left off course. Not looking where they are going, they crash broadside into the stretcher of the Wolverines. For the next few years, the rest of those boys scouting careers, they will always debate around weekend campfires; did the Blue Gorillas accidentally go off course and crash into the Wolverines stretcher? Or, as many will swear by, did the Blue Gorillas kamikaze their stretcher into the Wolverines on purpose? The memory of this day will stay with them long after they finish their scouting days.

Either way, the collision of two stretchers was a spectacular crash forming a cartoon like ball of dust, poles, tarps, arms and legs scattering across the battlefield. “Epic” is how it will be remembered around campfires for years to come.

“We have an open field. We can win this!” Arnav yells at his team. They pick up the pace towards the finish line.

Midway across the field, Arnav catches a glimpse of trouble on his right side. The Red Devils have picked up their stretcher and are making a dash for the goal line. They are in an all-out sprint. Arnav realizes the Red Devils can soon overtake them.

“We’ve got to pick up the pace!” Arnav calls out to his team. The boys break into a cautious jog, worried if the stretcher will hold. Sawyer sits straight up and yells:

“Fearless men are far more dangerous than cowards! Forward boys,” Sawyer yells.

“What the heck was that?” Arnav laughs as they pick up the pace.

“Moby Dick,” Sawyer replies over his shoulder to Arnav.

At that moment Sawyer looks over at the Red Devils.

“Warning! Warning! Monstro off the starboard side!” Sawyer points to his right. The boys look over just in time. The Red Devils are doing everything in their power to keep their stretcher together. But it’s obvious their stretcher is starting to fall apart.

“Ramming speed!” Sawyer yells. “Brace for impact!”

“What are they doing?” Arnav asks.

“They know they can’t make it to the finish line,” Sawyer yells. “So, if they take us down with them, nobody wins. And they don’t lose.

“HOLD TIGHT!” “We’ve got this!” Arnav yells at his team.

Eight feet.

Five Feet.

Three Feet.

Contact!

As the two stretchers smash into each other. Chaos erupts. Arnav and team dig their feet into the grass to absorb the impact. Sawyer pivots, now laying perpendicular to the stretcher. On impact, he extends his legs with all his might and pushes the Red Devils stretcher away. Sawyer catches the opposing stretcher broadside and starts to roll it over. Their stretcher rider loses balance and starts to fall off the far side. In a last gasp of desperation, he claws at the tarp, ropes, or any pole he can find and grabs it. This twists the Red Devil’s stretcher in a way so that their inferior lashings can’t hold the structure together. Like a sinking ship in the ocean, the Red Devils ship collapses in the dust. “Go! Go! Go!” Sawyer yells. “Forward!” Arnav yells. Ninety seconds and 25 feet later the boys cross the finish line. The entire crowd explodes into a frenzy of cheers and applause. Arnav and his team relish in the victory. “We did it!” The boys yell, jumping up and down and hugging each other.

“We did it,” Arnav repeats to himself. “I found it. I found my team. I found my place.” Arnav thinks back to his days in India as captain of his Cricket team. This victory feels just as powerful.

He remembers Vikram, his friend, yet his toughest competitor, and he realizes it’s time to practice what Vikram taught him. Arnav walks across the field to Kyle and the two Delvechio twins, Tommy and Bobby. As he approaches, it becomes obvious to Arnav that the boys are still arguing and blaming each other for the loss. “Excuse me,” Arnav says.

The three turn to look at him. They are stunned that Arnav would even approach them.

“Cocky bastard,” Tommy snarls.“Did you come to rub it in?”

“No,” Arnav replies with shock in his voice. “I want to say it was a good match. Thank you for including us. I hope in future meetings and outings we can be teammates.” Arnav extends his hand, hoping to shake hands with his competitors and new troop mates.

But a returning hand never comes from the three boys. They stand there in silence simply staring at him.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bobby replies. “You got lucky. You may have won this little game, but we weren’t even trying. So don’t ever think that we are equal in this troop. We run this place and you report to us.”

Arnav is stunned at this rejection.

“It’s just a fun race,” he thinks to himself. “I’ll see you at the next meeting,” he finally replies. “Hopefully your mother will have the rank clarification figured out,” He turns and walks back to his team.

As he walks away, he hears them laugh: “Don’t count on it,” Kyle sneers.

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How will Arnav and his crew move forward? Will Kyle and the Red Devils look for revenge? The next post launches next Thursday


You’re Reading: The Road to the Eagle Hunt: Origin Stories from The Great American Eagle Hunt. Arnav didn’t know it yet, but the team he was looking for was already being built.

While he was finding his footing in Seattle, other kids across the country were going through their own defining moments. Each of them would eventually find their way to the same troop, the same challenge, and the same impossible mission.

This is a five-part origin story series. Each installment stands alone, but together they tell you everything you need to know about the young man part of The Great American Eagle Hunt, before the adventure even begins.

More origin stories are here. Over the coming weeks and months, meet the other young men whose paths are about to collide, each one carrying a story that shaped who they became when it mattered most.
The Great American Eagle Hunt, the novel these characters call home, is available soon.

If this story moved you, share it with someone who may enjoy it. Forward this post. Send the link. Tag a Scout, a parent, a teacher, or anyone who still believes the right story finds you at the right time.— Joe Paul, Author