It was supposed to be just another ordinary boarding summer job.

I needed a way to save money for the upcoming school year, so my geology professor offered

to put me in touch with a local caving group.

From June to August, the group hosted camps for children ages 12 to 14.

Over the course of each four days, three nights session, campers would hike along limestone

rivers, learn about underground ecology, receive guided tours, three different caves, and

even spend the night in one.

And along the way, of course, there would be treated to the usual cringy team building

activities, cold, bug-infested showers, and barely edible food familiar to summer camp

attendees everywhere.

My task on paper was a simple one.

I was to guide the campers through the caves in a group of about 20, keep an eye on them

while they stayed overnight, and we worked in pairs, which was one guide at the front

and another at the rear to make sure that no one got lost.

We carried helmets, three sources of light, walkie-talkies, first aid kits, and extra

rope.

Even though the caves that we worked with were well mapped and well trafficked, no one expected

anything to go wrong.

Almost no one.

Scout Master Dan, got his nickname from his khaki short shorts with too many pockets,

his knowledge of knots, and his obsession with being prepared.

And over 40 years as organizer Dan raffled, had never lost a camper, and as he was fond

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