Next Board Meeting:  May 29th, 2002, 7:30p.m., Old Farm Inn, Carrolltown
Next Regular Meeting:  June 6, 2002, 7:30p.m., Penn Gables, Ebensburg

REMINDERS
     ***FUND RAISER TICKETS***
PLEASE RETURN BY MAY 13TH.  Thanks in advance for getting your tickets and money in!
Quarry releases and Liability releases need to be signed for 2002.  Please make the effort to get this paperwork completed.  Many thanks for your cooperation
DUES.  Club dues are due by July 5th each year.
Single, or first member $24
Second member $16
Third or fourth member $8
**We will continue to pro-rate dues for those members joining mid-year.
If dues are not paid by September 5th, you will be dropped from the mailing list.

Laurel Diver hats are available.  Those of you who ordered must pay $13.00 in order to have your hat made.  Contact Diane Turcovsky 814-695-6878.  Laurel Diver patches are available for $10.  See Nelda Donley, treasurer.

Welcome the Laurel Divers Steve Kocsis.  Steve certified with SSI in 1998 in Germany.

NEW BUSINESS:

Fundraiser tickets are due in by May 13th.  75% of the tickets have been turned in.  Please do your part to get your tickets in if you haven’t done so.

Nominations for new officers were taken.  Nominated for President was Brad McVicker.  Vice President:  Joe Gordon and Rick Paige and Pat Conley.  Treasurer:  Ron Peterson.  Secretary:  Julie Paige.  Anyone interested in an office for next year, please let any board member or officer know.  We will be voting for new officers at the June meeting.

Be a CHECK-OUT CHUM!  Open Water Certification Checkouts.  We need Laurel Divers to sign up to appear at checkouts to offer assistance, coffee, hot cocoa , swap stories, offer moral support to newbies and pass out membership applications.  Any food items that are purchased for this event will be reimbursed if receipts are presented.  Dates for checkouts are June 1 & 2, June 8 & 9, August 3 & 4, October 5 & 6.  Please call Brad McVicker if interested.  (814 255-1791)

UPCOMING EVENTS :
Spelunking at the Q*****.  Date to be announced.  Contact Joe Gordon  (814 749-9192 or JoeG123@yahoo.com) for details.

May 11 & 12, 2002, Moorhead City.  $80 per day for two-tank boat dives.
Contact Jim Smith (814 696-1938) or jcsdmd1@hotmail.com

May 18, 2002 - D & R Divers, Make a Wish Treasure Dive, Elk County State Park
Meeting at Ron Peterson’s (204 Plank Road, Ebensburg) at 6:30a.m., leaving at 7a.m.
Registration is 9a.m. – 11a.m.
Treasure Hunt starts at 12:00.  Registration fee $25.  Registration forms are available at DRDivers.com Contact Ron Peterson  (814 472-2144 day, 472-0774 evening)

May 21, 2002 Q***** Cleanup,  6p.m.   Rain date:  May 22, 2002, 6p.m. Bring lawn mowers, trimmers, rakes and shovels, etc.  Call Ron Peterson (814 472-2144 daytime, or  472-0774 evenings)

May 24, 2002, EOFND at the Q*****.  First EOFND of the year.  Start your weekend right – dive with friends at the q*****.  Check your calendar for other EOFND’s.

May 24, 25, 26, 2002, Cedar Point ad White Star Quarry, Ohio.  Leaving Friday, May 24, after work, visiting Cedar Point Saturday.  Diving at the White Star Quarry on Sunday - $6 for diving.  Camping $7 per night at the quarry.  Contact Donna Bender (814 472-9796)

May 25, 1p.m. - Memorial Day Dive.

May 31, 2002, Joe Gordon’s camp on the Ghost Town Trail  Bring bikes or walk. BYOB and snacks.  There will be a guided tour by Joe to Big Bear Cave.  (See the article by renowned ghostologist regarding Big Bear Cave at the end of the newsletter.)  Meeting at Joe’s at 6p.m. or meet at Penn Gables at 5:30p.m.  Directions:  Take RT 22 to RT 422 West to RT 271 South.  1/2 Mike make a right onto Red Mill Road.  Travel 2-1/2 miles.  Joe’s house in on the left, 1054 Red Mill Road.  Contact Joe Gordon  (814 749-9192 or JoeG123@yahoo.com) for details.

June 8 – 15, 2002, Bonaire.  Airfare $694.50, dive package $691, 7 nights, 6 days of 1 tank boat diving, unlimited shore diving, and buffet breakfast.  Pricing is based on 4 people per two-bedroom cottageContact Ron Peterson if interested (814 472-2144) or Ron@TechniqueSystems.com

June 9, 2002, Dive In 1p.m. at the Q*****
The Dive-Ins are open to all newly certified divers and club members.
Come out and spend an enjoyable afternoon diving and making new friends.  Bring your buddy or dive with a group.  Do a tour of the q*****, feed the fish and bring a picnic lunch and some lawn chairs.
Need equipment?  Maurer Dive Shop has a special package - $25 for the day.  Contact Bob or Rose to reserve your gear and tanks now.  Don’t wait till the last minute!

June 15th, 2002, Open Water Certification classes.  Checkouts on August 3 and 4.  For more details, call Rose Maurer 814 344-6641

June 28, 29, 30, 2002, Moorhead City.  $225 for three days of two-tank boat diving.  Lodging approximately $25 per  night.  $100 deposit by February 1st.  to hold your spot.  Balance of $125 due by April 29th.  Questions, contact Jim Smith (814 696-1938) or jcsdmd1@hotmail.com

July 3rd – Bonaire.  Contact Rich Shea (814 948-7605)

July 5, 6 and 7, 2002 - Dutch Springs, PA  camping available Friday and Saturday.  Leaving Friday after work.  More details to follow.  Contact Brad McVicker (814 255-1791)

July 11, 2002, Regular Monthly Meeting, 7:30p.m., Penn Gables, Ebensburg.  July meeting moved to this date because of July 4th.

July 21, 2002, Laurel Diver’s Treasure Dive.  $15 registration.  You must pay your membership dues before you can register.

July 27, 2002,  Bainbridge.  Day trip to Bainbridge, PA

August 10, 2002, Open Water Certification Classes.  Checkouts on October 5 and 6.  For details, call Rose Maurer 814 344-6641

Aug. 16 – 19, 2002, 1000 Island Trip.  $65/day for three-tank diving.  Contact Brad McVicker (814 255-1791)

August 17, 2002, Willow Springs, PA  Day trip.

October 12, 1p.m., Dive In at the Q*****
The Dive-Ins are open to all newly certified divers and club members.
Come out and spend an enjoyable afternoon diving and making new friends.  Bring your buddy or dive with a group.  Do a tour of the q*****, feed the fish and bring a picnic lunch and some lawn chairs.
Need equipment?  Maurer Dive Shop has a special package - $25 for the day.  Contact Bob or Rose to reserve your gear and tanks now.  Don’t wait till the last minute!

November 9-16, 2002, Bonaire.  $691 for a cabin for 4, plus airfare $675.  Six days, seven nights, one tank boat dive per day and unlimited shore diving.  Includes buffet breakfast.  New and long-time divers come and join us for excellent diving for all levels.  $100 deposit required.  Contact  Maurer Dive Shop (814 344-6641) or Dee Montgomery (814 944-8521).

2003 – Nekton Pilot – still in the planning stages, but this is a trip to save for!  Contact Donna Bender with any questions (814-934-9438) or Donna@Bender.net

Lance Marks won the door prize, a trident light.
DayBook $145, was won by Lance Marks, who was not present at the last meeting, so Lucky Lance only wins half of the daybook.  Monies will carry over to next month.
Meeting was adjourned.

FOR SALE
Nikonos IV with 35mm and 80mm lenses.  SB101 flash, manuels and hard case $675.00   Contact Everett Newkirk 814 539-8946

Underwater Camera package:  Nikonos III 35mm lens, oceanic 2000 strobe, ikelite viewfinder, sekonic light meter, ikelite handle.  Jim Hostetler (814 472-5456)

WABANK AQUACULTURE
EMAIL:  ruelens <ruelens@wideworld.net>
Spring/summer hours for scuba diving will be, Saturday and Sunday open at 9:00am, Wednesday dusk/night dive open at 5:00pm All other diving must be scheduled 48 hours in advance. We will try to accommodate you, just give us a call (717-615-2898.) Rates are $12.50 per day for diving (unchanged from last year.) Wednesday evening is reduced admission of $8.00. A 2002 Season Pass is available for $100. Admission is payable by cash or check only.
Instructors are always free and Divemasters are free when working with a class.
DIRECTIONS:  The lake is located just a few miles from center city Lancaster PA. Follow route 222 south through Lancaster (this is also called Prince St.). Turn right on Hazel St. at the light (at Martin’s International Truck Garage.) Hazel St. becomes Wabank Ave. Cross Hershey Ave. (at the light) and follow Wabank Ave. one more mile. Wabank Aqua is on the left as the road bends around to the right and begins up a steep hill. Come in the gate in the chain link fence and drive around to the right to the lake.
Wabank Aquaculture
1746-1749 Wabank Road
Lancaster PA 17603
717-615-2898
 

LOCATION:  Ghost Town Trail. The cave in this story has been called Big Bear Cave for at least a hundred years and has been the home of many bears.  We are not disclosing the exact location of the cave because bears still inhabit it.  Those of you who want to explore it do so at your own risk.
MANIFESTATION:  Auditory only, never visual.  Ben’s cries have been likened to the screams of a torture victim or the shrieks of an animal trapped in a fire.
WARNING:  Do not feed, chase or harm any deer or other animals you may encounter on the trail.  It’s dangerous to them, and it certainly could be dangerous for you.
 Joe left the campsite around six o’clock.  His mission:  Get us pizza from Twin Rocks Pizza.  I had guaranteed the crew that it was the best-tasting pizza in the tri-state area, and they were looking forward to proving me right.  While we waited for Joe to arrive with our dinner, Red, who stopped by to visit, was teaching Chelley to build the ultimate campfire.  Tricia was gathering summer flowers which he pressed on her portable Press-a-Fleur gadget, and I was getting lessons from Madame Lorraine on how to develop my psychic ability.  What little I had.
 Around eight, Joe showed up with six large pizzas, two six packs of beer and a rather large, red-headed woman wearing cut-off jeans, work boots, and a gray T-shirt emblazoned with large red letters reading TRUCK-U.  I thought to myself that Joe had at last found the woman of his dreams, one I was sure his mother would love to call daughter-in-law.
 “Why so much pizza, Joe?” I asked, taking the boxes from his arms.   “S’good.”  Joe’s reasoning made sense to him, despite the fact that we now had seventy-two pieces of pizza and only seven people.
 I introduced myself to Joe’s newfound friend, a truck driver he’s said he met at the pizza shop.  “I’m JB,” she said, ruffling the hair on top of my head with her massive hand.  “I feel like I already know you,” she said, with a hearty laugh.  “Joe told me about your ghost busting adventures.  Did you two really get lost in the desert chasin’ a ghost?”
 I nodded.  “Lucky you didn’t die,” she said, ripping a beer from its plastic holder.  “Once I was drivin’ a rig through a snowstorm near Kalamath Falls, jackknifed and nearly frozen to death.  Mother Nature is cruel, y’know.  People who mess with that old lady find out that she can be one mean mother.”  J.B. laughed and slapped her thigh, impressed with her own witticism.
 “J.B. was telling me one whopper of a story while I was waiting for the pizza,” Joe said.  Lucky for us, she’s agreed to tell it to us.  But first, we’d better eat.
 Joe wasn’t joking.  It was a good thing we ate first and listened to J.B.’s tale later, because it wasn’t the prettiest story we’d even heard.  She did say that it was true, however, and I believed her.  The ghost involved is well documented.  The following is a sanitized version of what J.B. told us that night.
 Everyone in Twin Rocks and Vintondale agreed, Ben Ruskin was not the most likable of men.  A hermit by choice and probably by nature, Ben lived by himself in a cottage in the woods.  He grew his own vegetables and hunted wild game – both in and out of season.
 Hunting not only put food on the table, it also gave Ben the deep, satisfying pleasure of the kill.  Once he had shot a hummingbird, which disappeared in a puff of feathers.  Another time he shot a bobcat deep in the woods.  The thrill of the kill was sweetened by the fact that hunting such rare animals was strictly illegal.
 Ben loved any challenging prey but deer were his favorite.  Their big eyes made excellent targets, and so did their long thin legs.  The best sport was to shoot a deer one leg at a time until the animal collapsed in agony in a pool of blood.  The he’d finish it off with a shot between the hind legs.  They never died right away, and it was interesting to watch how they squirmed and twisted about in the final throes of death.  Fawns, with even thinner legs, provided the best sport of all.  The only trouble was, two or three shots usually obliterated them.
 On his rare excursions into town, Ben avoided conversation with anyone, speaking as few works as possible to get his needs across to the local grocer or hardware store owner.  Those two used to say that they got the distinct impression that, if given half a chance, Ben would happily take just as many potshots at people as he did at animals.
 For instance, they’d say, there was that thing with the dog, and then they’d tell about the time Ben went to Vintondale one hot summer day.  He had come upon a Springer Spaniel puppy lying on the porch of a house near the town.  The pretty little dog was partially obscured by a rocking chair and presented such an engaging target that Ben took aim at its fluffy head.  Just then a tall, muscular man had come out of the house, shouting curses at him.  Ben aimed his rifle at the man’s chest, then lowered his weapon and began to talk away, “I was just fooling around,” he mumbled.
 The puppy’s owner contact the police, but the officer who showed up laughed the moment Ben’s name was mentioned.  “Keep your dog inside when you’re not around,” he told the tall man.
 “But…well, the way he looked at me, you’d have thought I was depriving him of his last meal,” the man insisted.  “I thought for sure he was going to shoot me.”
 Nothing came of the incident, and of course, no one could prove that Ben actually did ever shoot anyone.  Now and then people would get lost in his neck of the woods, but they almost always showed up again, hungry and cold, but alive.  There were those occasional hunters who mysteriously disappeared, like Paul J. Henley and Kip Bower.  Police believe they probably had a heart attack or stroke, fell dead in the woods and were eaten by wild animals.  No remains were ever discovered.  For a while it was whispered around town that Ben shot those two old men for nothing more than the sport of killing someone.  Eventually the rumors faded, though, and, since the two hunters were not from the area, the townsfolk soon forgot about them.  In Ben’s defense, it must be said that people can be cruel, especially to those who are different from the rest.  And there’s no denying that Ben Ruskin was not your mainstream sort of fellah or the most popular guy in town.
 Ben often complained that he was the victim of hard luck, which made him irritable.  One day he had a streak of particularly hard luck that left him feeling particularly irritable.  His social security check did not show up and he needed the cash to repair the leak in the roof of his cabin before the next storm rolled in.  Unfortunately, an enormous black thundercloud was already rolling toward his place, and quickly too.  Ben could smell the rain in the air.  So doing what he always did to relieve tension, Ben grabbed his rifle and headed to the woods to shoot something.  As usual, he really did not care what it was, as long as it could suffer and bleed.
 Ben hadn’t walked two miles along a narrow game path when he came upon every hunter’s dream:  five deer resting in a soft bed of pine needles under a grove of tall hemlocks.  Easy targets, he thought to himself, and he wondered how many deer he could take down before they scattered into the woods.  He took aim at a white-speckled fawn lying contentedly beside its mother.  The way Ben figured it, if he got a few yards closer to the pair he could get both deer with one bullet.  Now that was a challenge he couldn’t resist.  If he lay on the ground, he could shoot the fawn through the liver at just the right angle so that the bullet would enter the belly of the doe.  The bullet might not kill the mother outright but it would sure tear up her innards good.  She’d probably limp off into the woods and die eventually; her trail of blood would be easy to follow.
 As Ben crept closer to make the kill, he became aware of an odd noise that sounded like a coal-powered locomotive releasing steam.  The hair rose on the back of his neck and a sick feeling gripped his stomach.  Suddenly something rammed him from behind and knocked him to the ground with such force that he had to struggle to breath.  When he was finally able to look over his shoulder, he wished he hadn’t.  A monstrous buck with twenty points loomed over him, snorting and pawing the ground like a bull raging at a matador.  The buck was bigger than any deer Ben had ever seen before, and though he was terrified he was also indignant.  How dare this dumb animal spoil his shot!
 On the other hand, he thought, this might be his lucky day.  The buck’s rack would look great on the wall above his fireplace.
 “You stupid critter!  I’ll blow your legs off,” he shouted, groping for his gun but finding nothing.  When he looked around, he saw that his high-powered rifle with its high-powered telescopic sight had landed in some heavy underbrush.  Only the very tip of the steel-blue barrel was noticeable.
 The buck seemed to notice this too.  Instead of running off, he let out a deep bellow, which was answered by its herd.  From the shadows of the hemlocks, deer after deer glided into the clearing.  There were too many for Ben to count.  An icy ripple of fear passed slowly over his body as the deer trotted forward, surrounding the petrified man.  Even he could make out the burning sparks of hatred smoldering in the large brown eyes.
 Without warning, the immense buck reared up and lurched at Ben, angling his massive rack of antlers at Ben’s belly.  Scared out of his trance, Ben rolled to one side, sprang to his feet and began to run blindly into the shadows of the forest.  To hell with the gun! he thought.
 The herd followed closely behind him, the thunder of their hoof beats mingling with the thunder that began to shake the heavens.  A cold rain began to fall, and Ben began to shiver.  They’re forcing me toward Big Bear Cave, he thought.  But that was a good thing.  He fondled his razor-sharp gutting knife, safe in the scabbard hung on his belt.  Even if those crazy deer tried to enter the narrow mouth of the cave, he could slit their throats one by one as soon as their heads appeared.  Ben scrambled up the slight grade, squeezed into the cave’s opening and hid in the safety of the darkness.  He knew the cave had a reputation as a bear den, but he wasn’t afraid.  He had never seen a bear in the cave, and if there was one, why, he would cut its throat too.
 “Damn dumb bear!” Ben screamed at the top of his lungs.  “Think you can best a real man, do ya?  I’ll cut each and every one of you into chunks for venison stew.  This isn’t over yet.”
 And Ben was right.  It wasn’t over.  The deer simply stood outside the cave staring at him.  They looked like they were watching a TV show, Ben thought, puzzled but relieved that the deer were too afraid to even try attacking him.
 A sound rose from the back of the cave.  Ben froze.  Had he imagined the sound?  He was frightened, cold, and out of breath.  Maybe he was hearing things.  There was another sigh, then a snuffing sound, then a muffled whine.  Ben turned and squinted into the darkness.  He removed his knife from its scabbard and held it down at his side, pointing towards the shadows.  This was his cave now.
 Ben heard the sound of slow, shuffling steps.  Two bright eyes shown through the darkness.  A long snout and finally a head emerged – the shaggy black head of a gigantic bear.  Its angry roar echoed throughout the cave.
 The hunter knew he had a choice to make, and whatever option he chose meant certain death, not for the animals, but for him.  He could choose to be ripped apart by a grumpy bear – nothing personal – or stamped and prodded to pieces by a horde of avenging deer.
 Ben thought he had a way out.  Whipping his knife up against his throat, he prepared to slash it open.  But out of the darkness flew a huge paw.  Sharp claws raked his hand, tearing fingers from the knuckles.  The knife fell to the ground with a puny clank.
 Ben drew back in pain and fear.  Now he had no choice but to go with the bear.  It was a quicker death that the one the deer had planned for him, although a painful death is probably never quick enough.  Imagine having your belly ripped open by long, sharp fangs and your intestines sucked out of you like limp spaghetti.  Then imagine being conscious enough to witness the whole thing and feel every moment of a pain so excruciating and relentless that you wish you could wrench your head off.  You just might come close to imagining the pain that Ben felt during his last hours of life.
 Although Ben’s ghost has never been seen on the trail, his cries of agony often reverberate through the valley, sending a chill through those who walk the trail – both the living and the dead.  Animals, however, seem totally deaf to his screams.
 Sadly enough for Joe, J.B. drove away in her truck later that evening.  She was bound for the central warehouse of Tomater Plan-It, Inc. – the condiment manufacturer that “puts the slop back in sloppy joes” – with a shipment of Insta-Cheez Bloc.
MADAME LORRAINE’S COMMENT:  There is nothing that can be done to help Ben move on before the universe itself decides it is time to release him.  Sometimes we create our own purgatory where we must burn off our sins.  Some of us may wish to thank our lucky stars that deer are unable to load guns and point them at us.