Heah we ah in Suthuhn Califohnya

There's no way I'm going to do the past week justice in this post, mostly because I'm a lazy SOB and I'm tired to boot.
But life with Silver Four has been eventful. We are now on location in Julian, California, about 1.3 hours outside of San Diego. From Sacramento, we drove a glorious (make sure you pick up the sarcasm there) 12 hours to our home for the next three weeks: Camp Cedar Glen. The camp is at 3500 feet up in a mountainish area, nestled into the slope in the watershed of tow neighboring peeks. I have no idea of the specific names, but one of the mountains nearby is named Vulcan, which I thought was cool enough.
I don't think I have ever been this uncomfortable as a result of physical labor in my life. Our primary job here is trail maintenance. There are around five miles of trails winding around the camp, which isn't that much, but from the state of things, it's likely that the last time these trails were worked on was in 2006 when the last AmeriCorps team was here. They are essentially game trails that people occasionally walk/crawl under fallen brush on. But I gotta say, I love the work. Most of it, at least. Swamping is a joy. With my teammate running the chainsaw, I dog along behind with the gas and oil cans, and throw everything he cuts down off the trail. Essentially, we are trailblazing. But, unfortunately, we are trailblazing through oceans of poison oak (literally), and I am itchy in various unspeakable places.
The number of game trails intersecting the real trail calls for truly hunter/tracker-worthy observation skills, and I get to plow off up the trails in search of any sign of grading or artificial berms. But on top of the views, the solitude (being wayfarahead of the hand crew, which is laboring along behind us to dig up and level out the trail), and the adventure, I get to wrestle with trees all day. What could be more fun than coming across a downed tree and just being able to move it off the trail with brute strength? I'm usually not one for huge testosterone surges, but leveraging 30', 200+lb trees down a mountainside blasts my muscles. Primal yells of victory, etcetera.
Really. It's freekin awesome.
If I can find time on this busy saturday to do it, I'm trying to call up the various skydiving establishments within 3 hours of Sacramento, to find myself something to do over spring break. My hope is to blow all of my AmeriCorps cash getting myself certified for walk-in skydiving. It's upwards of 1k dinero, but there is SO MUCH I could do with a certification. After paying fof/completing training, I can dive at 12000' for $50 a pop, or $25 if I get my own gear. And if I jump enough, I can get an instructors license, and if that doesn't scream summer job like the fourth of july, I don't know what life is meant for.
Seriously, just imagine what a summer spent as a diving instructor/helper would be like: strapping screaming thrillseekers to your chest and jumping out of planes. Or just jumping out of planes with groups. AND GETTING PAID TO DO IT.
I have to go hop around in excitement for a while, more next time.