In Ledyard's Wake

"Hey Harry, what's that?" "What?"

"Look down there. . . . Down-river."

Harry and Chip look out of the window of their plush First Bank of Hartford office. Down on the river — the Connecticut — are 35 young men and women in canoes, flat on their backs, eyes closed, baring various parts of their bodies to the midday sun.

Chip opens the window for a closer look, and slowly, as if from a great distance, strains of "Men of Dartmouth" reach his ears. Harry and Chip exchange glances. They grimace. They cannot comprehend this decadent behavior. They went to Yale.

Those of us down on the Connecticut were getting used to the spectacle we made, and we wouldn't have traded places with Harry and Chip for anything. We'd set from Hanover on the morning of May 9th, 35 graduating seniors in 70 mittens and 13 canoes, bound for 219 miles of river, six days of paddling, and (at last!) first degree burns. Destination: the sea.

Back in 1776, when John Ledyard hoiked out a canoe and set off from Hanover search of adventure and the meaning of life,he left enough folklore in his wake to inspire Dartmouth students to re-enact his exodus annually. Our motives, to be truthful, might not have been as noble; most of us had left scads of work undone in Hanover and were hoping for a week of relaxation before the final push towards commencement. We hoped to return with perfect tans, awesome shoulder muscles, and a large repertoire of bad jokes. We succeeded on all counts.

The weather ranged from malevolent to sublime, clearing up as the week progressed. Our accommodations were equally varied, ranging from lean-to's fashioned from tarps and canoes to the wrestling room of the Loomis-Chaffee School gym to the Northampton, Massachusetts, home of trip member Mario Cohn-Haft '83. But moods didn't range much; they stayed euphoric.

Our trippers included Dartmouth Aires and Dartmouth Glee-Clubbers, members of the venerable Dartmouth Ski Team (alpine and nordic, thank you), random photographers, bird experts, belly dancers (male), frustrated thesis writers (ever try to take notes on Pride and Prejudice in a war canoe?), and one unlucky oceanographer whose ambition of taking temperature readings as we paddled was thwarted by his thermometer's tendency to disintegrate upon making contact with the water. We were indeed a diverse group, and that was part of the fun.

A high point of the trip was our welcome by the Dartmouth Club of Southeastern Connecticut. Rounding a turn just before Essex, Conn., we were welcomed aboard a large motorboat by Dick and Bunny Brooks '41 and fed cheese, beers, and frankfurters. Finally we were escorted the last few miles to the fair Atlantic where we triumphantly paddled ashore at the beach home of Bill Webster '30. That night, our hosts for a gala Trip to the Sea finale were David and Barbara Schreiber '45, who presented our trip leaders with a painted paddle and kindly allowed 35 exhausted and sunburned canoeists to sleep on their living room rug. All of them helped make our excursion the memorable experience it was.

Back in Hanover, unfinished theses, unprepared exams, and the inevitable separations of commencement loomed, but for a week we successfully avoided all of these. The moment best expressing the trip might well have been our drift through Hartford, canoes rafted together, bodies sprawled in the sun, voices absently gracing the ears of no one in particular with a chorus of "Men of Dartmouth." Harry and Chip might not have understood the frivolity and tradition of our little party but then again they weren't invited.

"They've gone out from Leb and the Junction. . . . Safe at last in the wide, wide world.