Seven of us trooped off the bus into the spectre grey of that January dusk. As we silently marched into the Outward Bound compound of A-frame bunkhouses, we must have looked like prisoners about to serve time. The Gulag Keremeous.
Inexplicably, nobody spoke. Then we were directed to our allotted bunkhouse, where we found two others who had arrived earlier from Toronto via Calgary and Penticton. This prompted introductions all around and the ice was broken.
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