Chapter Three #2
Several players within earshot burst into laughter.
Ryan lowered the book he'd been reading from two rows ahead.
"You've reached that conclusion because...?"
"We haven't done anything painful yet."
"We've been on a bus for ninety minutes."
"Exactly."
Ryan smiled.
"Give him time."
Oscar leaned closer, lowering his voice theatrically.
"See? He knows."
The conversation evolved naturally toward previous retreats, with the veterans swapping stories that revealed nothing about what the rest of us could expect.
Ethan insisted the second-year players had once spent an entire afternoon crawling through waist-deep mud beneath a network of ropes.
Marcus dismissed the story as complete fiction, only for Ben to admit there had, in fact, been mud.
"It wasn't an obstacle course," Ben explained. "A storm washed out one of the hiking trails and Coach turned it into a lesson."
"What lesson?" I asked.
"Plans change," Ben grinned.
Oscar added, "We also learned mud gets into places it has absolutely no business being."
Laughter echoed through the bus.
"What you'll discover," Ryan added once the amusement subsided, "is that Coach doesn't create challenges to make us suffer. Every exercise has a reason behind it. Sometimes you don't understand it until months later."
I glanced toward the front where Coach sat talking with his assistants.
"So what's the real purpose of the retreat?"
Ryan didn't answer straight away.
Instead, he peered out the window for several moments before speaking.
"When you play hockey, it's easy to trust someone with the puck because that's what they've trained to do their entire lives.
Coach wants us to trust each other when hockey isn't involved.
He wants us to know who'll carry extra weight without complaining, who'll encourage the guy who's struggling instead of criticizing him and who'll put the team ahead of themselves when nobody's keeping score. "
Oscar grinned.
"And he enjoys watching us sweat."
Ryan laughed.
"That too."
The remainder of the journey disappeared beneath an endless stream of stories.
Some involved spectacular victories, others embarrassing defeats, but the memories everyone seemed to treasure most had nothing to do with championships.
They spoke about road trips delayed by snowstorms, teammates helping one another through family tragedies, late-night study sessions before exams and the annual Christmas visit to the children's hospital where the players spent an afternoon playing floor hockey with young patients.
Listening to them, I began to understand why Evergreen consistently attracted players from across the country despite larger programs offering greater exposure.
Coach wasn't only building successful hockey teams. He was building a culture people didn't want to leave.
Nearly two hours after departing campus, the bus turned onto a narrow road that climbed steadily into the mountains.
Conversation gradually faded as players shifted their attention elsewhere.
Dense forests closed around us, broken occasionally by glimpses of sparkling blue water far below or towering cliffs rising above the tree line.
The road twisted through the wilderness for another fifteen minutes before opening unexpectedly into a broad clearing overlooking a magnificent alpine lake.
The retreat center occupied the shoreline like it had grown naturally from the landscape.
A massive log lodge dominated the clearing, its soaring stone chimney and wide timber verandas facing the water, while several smaller cabins nestled amongst the pines beyond it.
Wooden docks extended into the lake where canoes rested upside down beside weathered racks, and a network of walking trails disappeared into the surrounding forest.
"It looks like a holiday resort," I murmured.
"It does," Luca agreed.
Ben chuckled. "It isn't."
The buses rolled to a stop outside the main lodge. The doors hissed open and we all climbed down, stretching stiff legs after the drive. A few players reached for the luggage bays before Coach Callahan's voice carried across the gravel.
"Leave your bags where they are. Over here."
Conversations died and the players gathered in a loose semicircle in front of him.
Coach checked us over, seemingly pleased that nobody had dawdled.
"Good. Your first lesson begins now."
His voice remained calm, yet every player focused intently upon him.
"During the time you're here, there are no seniors, no freshmen, no transfers, no scholarship players and no walk-ons. There is one team. If someone struggles, you help them. If someone succeeds, you celebrate with them. Nobody walks away because something becomes difficult."
He gestured toward the cabins.
"You'll be staying in groups of four. The assignments weren't made randomly. I expect you to learn something about the players sharing your cabin before we leave on Sunday. Not where they're from or what position they play. Learn what matters to them. Learn why they're here."
He reached into the folder tucked beneath his arm.
"When this retreat finishes, I don't want twenty-six hockey players returning to campus."
He paused just long enough for his words to sink in.
"I want one family."
One by one he began reading the cabin assignments.
When my name was called, I found myself paired with Ryan, Oscar, and Ben. Judging by Oscar's broad grin, he approved.
"Coach must like you."
"Why?" I asked.
"He put you with us," Oscar answered.
Ryan shook his head. "Don't oversell it, Oscar."
Ben smiled. "He's been doing that since freshman year."
Chuckling, I followed them toward the timber cabin nestled amongst the towering pines, wondering whether surviving five days with Oscar Niewald might prove as challenging and entertaining, as anything Coach Callahan had planned.
The inside of the cabin proved far more comfortable than I'd expected, although it was obvious comfort had never been the priority.
A large stone fireplace dominated the common room, its mantle crowded with framed photographs of past Evergreen teams during previous preseason retreats.
Teams dating back more than twenty years smiled proudly from those pictures, every photograph displaying the same mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.
Dusty hiking boots rested beside players with scraped knees, mud-streaked faces and arms slung over one another's shoulders.
They were less like championship hockey teams and more like groups of lifelong friends who had happened to spend a few unforgettable days together.
Ryan led us down the short hallway to the large bedroom we'd be sharing. Four single beds, each with a small bedside table had enough floor space between them to keep hockey bags from becoming an obstacle course.
"I've always taken this one," Oscar announced, dropping his duffel onto a bed nearest the window.
Ryan didn't even look up.
"You've said that every year."
"Because no one argues."
Ben set his bag on the bed opposite and began unpacking with familiar efficiency, folding shirts into the wardrobe instead of leaving them in his duffel.
"I'll take this one," I informed, choosing the remaining bed beside Ryan's.
Oscar looked around the room with obvious satisfaction.
"See? Everybody's happy."
Ryan zipped open his bag.
"Give it an hour."
A whistle shrilled outside and Ryan glanced at his watch.
"Right on schedule."
I had barely finished putting my toiletries on the shelf before Ryan reached for his water bottle.
"Coach doesn't waste time, does he?" I commented.
Ryan smiled. "Not on retreat."
Within minutes players had assembled outside the lodge wearing our green and white training gear.
The assistant coaches moved amongst the group checking water supplies while Coach Callahan stood beside a large topographical map mounted on an easel.
He waited until we were all gathered before speaking.
"I'm sure some of you expected to begin on the ice."
He grinned at the newcomers.
"You won't."
He tapped the map.
"The best hockey players I've coached weren't separated by talent. They were separated by resilience. Anybody can skate when they're fresh. Anybody can make good decisions when they're comfortable."
His finger traced a route disappearing into the mountains.
"I want to know who still makes good decisions when they're tired."
He folded the map closed.
"We're heading onto the trails."
A groan spread through several freshmen. Coach inclined his head.
"You're not racing against each other."
The statement caught our attention.
"You're working in groups."
"Each team receives a pack containing medical supplies, navigation equipment, food and water. Each pack weighs approximately sixty pounds," he instructed the assistant coaches.
Oscar raised an eyebrow.
"There it is."
Ryan elbowed him.
Coach sent a glare in their direction but continued as though nothing had happened.
"Nobody carries the pack for the entire hike. You'll decide amongst yourselves how often to change. If one member of your group struggles, the others adjust. If someone gets injured, your entire group still finishes together. There'll be no prizes for arriving first."
He paused briefly.
"There will, however, be consequences for arriving last."
That drew several uneasy smiles.
"I'll leave it to your imagination."
The groups had clearly been organized well in advance.
Ours consisted of Ryan, Oscar, Ben, Luca, Ethan, our alternate captain Marcus, and me, with Assistant Coach Viktor Sokolov following several paces behind.
The former Russian professional hockey goaltender rarely spoke, preferring to observe and jot notes onto the clipboard tucked beneath his arm.
When he finally broke the silence, his deep Russian accent carried authority, and every player listened.
The first mile felt deceptively easy.