When I got there about 11:00 a.m., the office was locked up tight. I left my truck parked by the locked gate and walked into the campground. After about two hours, I had all my notes down and just needed to go prepare my maps for the Scouts. I was stumping back up to the office when a guy rolled up on a gator. He asked me if I was the driver of the green pickup parked down by the office. I said that was me. He told me that the lady who owns the place was trying to locate me.
She assumed that someone had parked his truck and just walked in to fish in the lakes without paying. She was p-o'd. I explained to her my purpose in being there in my most pleasant and inoffensive voice. She was still grumpy. I should have told her I was on the property, she said. Everything was locked up tight with no one in sight when I arrived, I replied. Then I should have called. (I didn't realize her number was listed on one of the signs on the door.)
Between the owner and her assistant, I learned that several of the controls I had chosen would not be acceptable. They wanted the Scouts to use some large areas away from the campsites. I had seen one of them; I said, you're going to mow this, right? I was told the owner already had mowed it; well, she'd mowed a trail all around it. In other words, the big, open area I think we'd been counting on for program is going to be head-high weeds next weekend. I was shown a map on which 150 acres of clearing was available to us. I walked over there. Same head-high weeds, with trails mowed around and through it.
Anyway, I took a few more bearings and paced off a few more distances. I've brought all my notes home and will try to construct acceptable orienteering courses out of what I've got. But next weekend may not be a bed of begonias. Maybe the camporee committee has a clearer understanding of what we're going to get than I do, and has prepared for it. But maybe not.
Such predicaments. I must forge ahead.