Starting as a 12-year-old girl, living only 10 minutes from Camp Mohawk, (the opposite side of Mohawk Ski Area where I skied every day whenever possible), I loved my summers at Camp Mohawk — the rhythm of the day from flag-raising, to the dining hall, to tasks like cleaning tables, to the programs and opportunities to learn so many skills (archery, canoeing, swimming, wood crafts, whatever one wanted!), and the day ending at the campfire singing and story-telling. Just after lunch and a visit to the Lighthouse (mandatory emptying of tanks), we enjoyed the 1-1/2 hour of quiet time when one could sleep, read, write or daydream, but NOT A WORD SPOKEN — truly a quiet time for campers and especially counselors! No motormouth in others’ ears! This has profited me in my own home when raising and homeschooling six children and keeping everyone’s sanity, and even onward as my so-far 23 home-schooled grandchildren likewise benefit from Camp Mohawk’s disciplined day’s rhythm! So many sweet smells and bouquets of memories, even though details begin to fade after more than 60 years; but, the aroma, and rhythm remain!
Then, I fell in love with the Wilderness Tripping Program that Eric Bailey and Don Pratt led. All year long, I would earn as much money as I could so I could return for more and even longer trips. By the age of 15, I was on trips all summer and honored to be asked to share trip-leading responsibilities as a CIT and thankfully learned the skills at that level being asked of me.
These trips were backpack-hiking for two weeks on the Appalachian Trail in Vermont, New Hampshire, or Maine, or Mount Katahdin in Maine; or month-long canoeing and exploring many, many white-water rivers in New England, Maine and finally settling on the wildernesses of Quebec! Eric and Don were ceaseless explorers and true trip guides! The Laurentian Mountains, the Chigoubiche, Chochocouane and Mégiscane Rivers, it was as if Eric and Don delighted as much in listening to the kids try to pronounce those names as they delighted in their explorations. Our trips were so far from civilization that we were dropped off by freight trains, where chipmunks, squirrels and moose swim and the blackfly bites!
One amazing summer was when I was 19, the Park Superintendent of Mount Katahdin Baxter State Park ruled that there had to be one adult to accompany every five campers in order to visit the park! Very few camps had that age-staffing ratio, including Mohawk and Hi-Rock. So, everyone over 18 (including me that summer) was required by both High Rock and Mohawk Camps to be on EVERY trip to Baxter/Mt Katahdin, regardless of whether it was a boy or girl trip! What a fascinating summer! I got to know Mt Katahdin like the back of my hand and the Park Rangers, Bernie and Irene Gardiner, became life-long friends. But the most interesting was supervising so many kids, 12-16 years old, male and female, at that pivotally important stage of development! Fascinatingly different and so very wise of TQ Moore, Eric and Don to always keep the girls and boys (at such different stages of coordination, maturity, interests) separated on different trips! No co-ed and I totally became an ardent advocate that summer!
Another really momentous trip for very different reasons — a month-long white water canoe trip with 21 days of rain! We were to paddle the Mégiscane River, leaving Senneterre, Quebec by freight train — only the train dropped us off at the wrong place! What an exciting way to start a month-long trip, in who-knows-where in the wilderness! No drones, no cell phones or other ways to communicate and find it out. Like the explorers of old, Eric, Don and we counselors settled the campers by the train tracks and then explored the area to figure out how far off course we really were and where on the 1930 topographical maps we might possibly be. Within a couple of days with constant rain, Eric and I became sick with deep colds. As a Norwegian Viking descendant and avid reader of the Greek mythologies and lore, I was sure the best way to shake this increasing cough-cold was to be a “Spartan,” toughen up and keep on keeping on! Eric and Don were wiser, calling a two-day pause at an abandoned Ranger Station on the Lake at the head of the Mégiscane River. The campers served us soup and get us well before tackling the rapids in the rain! I often remember the wisdom and flexibility in the pre-made plans to handle such unusual circumstances in paddling days as well as meal planning!
Despite being dropped off at the wrong place and the 21-days of rain and cold, the sickness and the amazing challenges to scout and read Class 2-3 rapids in the rain, all but one girl of that trip returned for more adventures! The wilderness in all of its beauty and harshness forges wonderful lasting friendships. Lizza Goldman was a close helper on that trip and even today is a heart and soul sister! Also, for me, witnessing the faithfulness and integrity of Don and Pat Pratt’s marriage as they tripped and tented together on these wild and wooly explorations with twelve or more 12-16 year-old girls was inspiring. (Pat, now a widow, lives near family in Maine at 95+ years of age!)
To me, seeing God’s creation in such closeness and variety (every pine tree along the rivers is unique!) was so amazing. And to have white-throated sparrows visit to sing/converse only feet away when sitting quietly on a log overlooking the river. Wow!
I also still have a treasured antler rack that I sawed off the dead maggot-riddled carcass of a moose on the edge of one river. My poor bow-girl was in the worst range of smell while I fastened the rack to the stern behind me. We were emphatically commanded to beach our canoe a hundred yards down-wind! After months of bleaching in the pool and sun, I still have that rack in my entry bay window reminding me of the wilderness adventures!
My only regret is that I was not a born-again believer and acknowledger of Christ Jesus at that time to have better comforted, counseled, and encouraged some of the campers in their struggles. But the Lord makes no mistakes and I grew so much through those years and I hope all of those campers on those trips did as well !
On one trip (possibly our last on the Allagash River in northern Maine), we were pressed as to where to camp for the night. We took the 30-person canvas tent and pitched it atop a huge boulder on the side of the river among the wild bushes and brambles lining the river. It had looked possible by day; by morning we realized the physics of the top surface of the boulder – it had just ever so slight a slope! Hence, by morning, all campers therein were on top of each other along one wall of the tent!
We were issued half a pup tent each to “make it go” with another camper, as we creatively did by finding two trees with roots cradled just right to cuddle to keep dry and insect-free. We travelled on 13-hour trips in an old Army canvas covered truck, with all gear, supplies, campers and counselors on benches at the back of the truck. Within two hours, however, you could not see any humans! All had wormed their way in among the gear to find soft cocoon-caves as refuge from the dust eddying into the back of the truck! Years later, trips on the blue rehabbed school bus were much more spacious and cleanly comfortable; however, possibly not as memorable?
May the Lord continue to bless Camps Mohawk and Hi-Rock with such training and formational adventures for campers for years and years to come! Thank you.
[Editors’ note: Lulli didn’t provide exact dates for her recollections, but these stories span from the late 1960s to early 1970s. Home base for the Wilderness treks moved from Camp Mohawk to Camp Hi-Rock in 1972.]
Thank you to Lulli for her contribution to this edition of The Ivy Twines. If you’d like to be a guest contributor on a future edition, please reach out to Cathy Horne at cahor23@gmail.com.
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