Story by Keegan Clements-Housser
Photos by Abby Sun

This year’s Egil Skallagrimsson Memorial Tournament, a full-fledged, detailed recreation of a medieval tournament, is a wet one.
The event, run by the medieval re-enactment group known as the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA), has certainly seen more hostile weather in the past. The weather during the annual event, which marked its thirty-seventh year in Creswell, Oregon, this May, has simple probability on its side. Nevertheless, as a blanket of rain dampens all sound and ever-growing mud pits consume earthen walkways, it’s still clear that this is unusually damp, even for this event.
The leather-working and metal smithy tents both put up an extra layer of fabric. The baronial tent, thrones nestled safely near the back away from the rain, finds extra rain shelters added to the audience area in an attempt to make the upcoming formal court a less soggy affair.
All of the tents, banners, and other accoutrements of a medieval tourney—which, historically, was often used as an opportunity to set up an impromptu trade meet as well, which the SCA does not skimp on here—have extra layers and precautions put into place to prevent any undue inconvenience by the rain, with varying degrees of success.
Even the tournament ring itself, where knights dressed in a full assortment of armor and wielding wooden practice swords take to the field to win honor and glory before the Baron and Baroness, becomes somewhat akin to a mud wrestling pit in places.
Not that it slows down the participants in the slightest. As it rains, it turns the medieval-period garments of anyone brave enough to venture forth through the mud pits masquerading as paths from a wide range of festive colors to a more uniform dark brown. The event goes on unabated.
Considering the namesake of the tourney, perhaps this attitude is less than surprising.
“Egil Skallagrimsson is an actual figure from history,” explains Ruth Langstraat, the deputy president or Deputy Seneschal of the local SCA branch, from the relative dryness of a brightly colored field tent. “He was a legendary skald—both a fighter and a bard.”
“He was very, very famous for his bardic skills,” confirms Patricia Casey, this year’s event coordinator, or Autocrat, from her spot next to Langstraat, “but he also killed his first person when he was six.”
Considering the climate and traditionally fierce nature of medieval Scandinavia, this is perhaps less than surprising. The man in question did have quite the fearsome reputation, becoming known as one of tenth century Iceland’s greatest anti-heroes. Indeed, the hardiness exhibited by the event goers seems to do his memory honor.
Knights in metal armor still face off against each other with wooden weapons, jokingly commenting that all they have to do to win is to let the other one fall into the mud first. A fully period-accurate medieval field tent houses a crafting class, its attendees huddled against the cold, but otherwise fully engaged in learning how to braid hair, both male and female, in a medieval fashion.
Even the brightly colored, tights-clad event heralds—the medieval equivalent of a P.A. system—don’t pause in their duties of crying out the news of the realm and summoning people to the tent of the presiding nobility.
The eventgoers aren’t without help in their quest to resist the rain, however. Not too far from the tent where the baron and baroness—people with every-day lives away from the rain and the mud of Egil’s, but with noble blood in their veins here, as decided by the decidedly modern tradition of being appointed by an elected SCA official—watch the tourney in question, there stands another field tent.
This tent, however, is unique from the others; emblazoned on the front, next to the door flap, is an emblem depicting a giant gold key. Named, fittingly, the Gold Key, the tent has been around with the specific purpose of getting dry, clean garb to people who need it since the event started almost four decades ago. Racks of dry clothes of the medieval variety wait within, available to rent for the duration for the event for a dollar.
“We have a whole bunch of things made for us, donated, left over from previous events, and so on,” says Amy Carpenter, a friendly-looking older woman with a kind smile, as she uses a broom handle to push pooling water off the roof of the tent.
It also serves the purpose of helping new visitors observe the mandatory dress code. Nothing more modern than the mid-seventeenth century is allowed although this rule isn’t necessarily strictly enforced, according to Carpenter.
“Nobody’s going to be telling that two-year-old out there that they can’t wear those rubber rain boots,” says Carpenter. “But technically we’re all supposed to, [and] we do try to help.”
The SCA event does get new people aplenty, too—even in weather like this.
Outside of the official events, groups of event-goers from afar hoping to make a weekend out of the tournament camp near the event grounds. They often bring family and friends with them to these camp-outs, too. Many of these people aren’t even members of the SCA, but they are also welcome to participate in the re-enactment.
One such visitor is Michael Welsch, who decided to come see what his son was interested in, and found that there was plenty for him as well.
“I was really impressed with the tents and some of the vendors,” he explains from under a more modern camp tent. “I’ve always been interested in medieval history, too.”
“He was even looking up Agencourt history so he could base his [SCA] persona on it,” adds his wife, Christine, with a smile.
When asked whether or not they’d be back next year, they were confident that they would be.
“Well, yes—this was a lot of fun,” says Welsch, accidentally stepping in a mud patch as he answers. “Though less rain might be nice.”
 

Gallery • 2 Photos

Abby Sun

Luke Lang Straat, one of autocrats, and Ruth Lang Sraat, the Bardic coordinator, dedicate to the 37th AEgil Skallagrisson Memorial Tournament event.