One Unhappy Camper

By now, Class of 2013 FOP veterans, you will have dropped your 40-pound backpacks, washed off your tarps, and showered five days of encrusted dirt off of your weary, malnourished bodies. If you were like me, perhaps you also tried unsuccessfully to wash away the indelible emotional marks that FOP seared into your brain. Or perhaps you returned an enlightened soul and reveled in your newfound confidence, the mountain air still cycling in your lungs, desperate for the FOP leader application forms.

At the risk of voicing what I know to be the unpopular position, let me say once and for all: I hated FOP. Every grimy, sweaty, exhausting, hungry moment of it. Since I’ve never been known as a born athlete, people often find it hard to believe I was a FOPper, but I’ve hiked many times before, and love the great outdoors. What I soon discovered on FOP, however, was that my love of nature is predicated on the ability to shower after a long hike. Slowly watching my leg hair grow out over the course of five days is not my idea of a great time. Neither is using leaves for toilet paper, watching grime collect beneath my finger nails, or seeing how my stash of Neutrogena face wipes removed layers of dirt from every crevice of my face.

But the external dirt was only part of it, as our dining habits coated my insides in their own layer of grime. As a result of the “leave no trace” policy we had to eat every single thing that was cooked, all out of the same bowl. So if the macaroni and cheese was over-concentrated (mea culpa) and left a thick, artificially cheesy residue on the inside of our already oatmeal-coated plastic bowls, we had to live with it. Sure we could swish some ionized water around to clear the bowl, but then we would have to drink down the entire concoction of oatmeal, cheese, water, and a few errant twigs and clumps of dirt. God forbid we dump it on the ground, and a squirrel should stumble upon a non-native food. Our diet was incredibly limited, and vegetarians be warned—if you don’t eat pepperoni your only lunch will be gruyère cheese...for days...and days...and days. Of course, our specially prepared trail mix helped out in those in-between times, but by the second day, deprived of any fruit or veggies (and probably developing a mild case of scurvy), I would have bartered my first-born child for a piece of crystallized pineapple. When I returned to campus I had lost 5 pounds in as many days, and devoured citrus like a British sailor.

I know that the majority of FOP goers love their experience, and return to campus with a solid group of friends as well as memories that glow like a spider-filled twilight in the Catskills. For some, FOP is undoubtedly a cherished experience. The leaders are knowledgeable and friendly, and a spirit of openness and acceptance reigns (though with each saccharine bonding activity my morale chipped slowly away). The kids on my trip were nice, fun, and (unlike me) made the best of their experience. Nevertheless, I remain convinced that there are some people, like myself, who had an awful experience on FOP.

The thing is, I don’t blame the leaders, the kids, or even the experience itself. But I do blame whoever allows FOP, FUP, and FAP to send so many harassing and misleading pamphlets to the homes of all incoming freshman. On just one of these pamphlets—regular covered with quotes like “I never went on FOP, and it was the worst decision of my Harvard career” and “I made all my friends on FOP!”— I would have liked to have seen a testimony along the lines of “I spent my last week before school chilling with my parents and my dog, and couldn’t have been happier.” I wish students were given a more realistic idea of the number of people who actually go on Pre-O trips, along with a couple testimonials by people who didn’t have the best time. I felt unduly pressured to participate in a Pre-O program, and for me, it was the wrong choice. So to all you FOP survivors out there, who returned to campus feeling filthy, frustrated, and slightly traumatized, I have news for you: you’re not alone.