How my enthusiastic idea nearly led to a massive forest fire

In retrospect, it was a terrible idea.

In retrospect, another adult should have seen the problem coming.

In retrospect, I was 19, so I wouldn't have listened to them.

I was nearly responsible for starting a fire that could have burned thousands of acres of Northern California forest. Thousands of acres! And it would have been hard to mount a defense for my negligence: My only legal defense would have been enthusiasm.

I was 19, but my lack of judgment could create chaos. Not a terribly lofty position, but one where they turned me loose.

I was the activities director at a church summer camp – responsible for planning all activities, games and entertainment for a full week for about 100 junior high and high school students deep in the woods, where they stayed eight-to-a-cabin in rustic lean-tos.

I'd been a camper there – it was where I'd become a Christian a few years earlier – and was a camp counselor the year before. This time, I was "promoted" to activities director, mostly because of my enthusiasm and energy. Mrs. Brad – my girlfriend at that time, so not yet Mrs. Brad – was a counselor.

It was a fun job if you like running around and having a bullhorn (I liked both). It was 16 hours a day of mustering enthusiasm, organizing camp games (dodgeball, water balloon volleyball, tug-of-war, kickball) and being the emcee for the evening entertainment.

The week went pretty well (except when Mrs. Brad got irritated when I decided to be the "chair umpire" for volleyball and stacked several milk crates on top of each other to put me about 10 feet in the air, showing off).

Until the "Camp Olympics."

I was a sports fan. I'd participated in Camp Olympics as a camper and counselor. I wanted this event to be a memorable spectacle for the kids. I wanted it to be like the real Olympics.

What kicks off the real Olympics? The Olympic torch, of course. People carry the torch for miles and miles and miles, ultimately lighting a cauldron at the site of the real Olympics.

We could do that! (You're an adult. You recognize this is a bad idea)

I enlisted one of the kids – a high school cross-country runner – as the "torch bearer." He'd run into camp with the torch while I was explaining the games to the rest of the campers. (You're an adult. You see the problem.)

A torch? Simple: We'd find a stick, soak some old rags in gasoline, wrap them around the stick and light them. It would be a perfect torch! He could run through the dried forest with it. (You're an adult. Where were you when I was 19 and proposing this idea?)

The inevitable happened. As the kid ran, pieces of burning cloth fell into the bushes, starting small brush fires. Then more. He didn't know he was igniting a series of fires, so he kept running.

Fortunately, several of my friends – working as dishwashers/security guards/lifeguards/gofers – saw what was happening. They raced to fill buckets with water (we didn't have much. There was just a tower with several hundred gallons of water), then ran to douse the flames. They used blankets to snuff other flames. Brushfires kept starting.

I saw what was happening and did what came naturally: I panicked and prayed for intervention.

Somehow, the fire was put out. (I attribute it to divine intervention. And fast-thinking friends.)

The Olympics went on. Kids sprinted across rocky fields holding eggs on spoons, raced piggy-back into the swimming hole, downed gross food and played ping-pong and disc golf. One team, presumably, won.

At the end of the day, the only people who realized how close I came to starting a huge fire in the Northern California forests were my dishwasher friends, me and a few adults (who should have warned me).

The lesson? Enthusiasm is great, but it needs wisdom. Also, never underestimate the power of divine intervention.

And your friends.

Also, a 10-foot-high milk crate tower is awesome.

Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@outlook.com.