Late spring, 1973, I was dropped off at a canoe landing, so I could become familiar with a canoe route that I would soon lead campers on overnight canoe trips. How unexpected the flashback to the eight year old me – when I cried at Camp Sidney Cohen because I didn’t get a canoe certificate at the final banquet awards night. Matt, the waterfront director, gave me the certificate later that night. It didn’t occur to me to wonder whether it was out of pity rather than merit.
While we put in at that landing often, the most memorable aspects were the one lane bridge which thumped and rattled whenever a car crossed and the ancient weather battered Coke machine that must have been placed there by an enterprising neighboring homeowner. The quickly flowing water and the brush-lined banks were typical of the headwaters of the river. The strength of the current was perhaps most vivid when the brush would bend upstream while the current rippled down.
The river current was strong enough to push the canoes downstream without much encouragement or effort. While the physical challenge of the paddle was not significant, the need to cooperate and work together was profound. Canoe trips are a shared experience that brings the opportunity to work together. I always had a camper in the bow of my canoe. Perhaps the non-swimmer in the bunk, or a camper who was a little more homesick than the others, or uncertain about which end of the paddle goes in the water. Regardless of the reason they were there, we were a team.
The narrow banks were close enough that even a beginner in the stern could keep the canoe going downstream by ricocheting from bank to bank. A bit like a carnival bumper car ride. Eventually most campers showed some rudimentary ruddering skills and sometimes even a classic J-stroke was executed.
I always liked to paddle in the back of the procession of the 6 camper and counselor filled canoes. Unlike the mother goose who led her goslings, I preferred coming to a problem rather than hoping the gang behind me would somehow be able to follow along and keep up. I spent a fair amount of time in the water dislodging hung up canoes. Campers seemed to have a knack for finding trees that had fallen in the water, or rocks that were usually slightly submerged, and landing on sandbars that were slightly below the surface.
Campers’ tolerance for the paddling and the overall adventure quickly wears thin. I’m hungry, tired, or bored were the mantras. As time flowed, the most frequent question became “how much further?” Of all the potential answers, my go to response was “It’s a little further.” While satisfying to me, campers would want to dig deeper and ask “What’s a little further?.”
Gradually the river widened - small streams and creeks quietly filled the river beds which expanded and even provided some options to go right or left around the occasional island or large boulder. Sometimes there was even enough of a beach to pull over and take a collective rest and enjoy the sandwiches and bug juice the camp kitchen had sent along for lunch.
After resuming the paddle again, it was inevitable, the questions came fast and furious, the chant of the day “How much further.”
A little further.
Paddling this route we would ultimately stop at a long used campsite. Our “little further” after lunch was probably a pokey two hour paddle.
Here we are - we’ve arrived at “River Road.” It was really the end of a long country logging road that abruptly ended at the river bank with a circular turn-around at a tall oak tree. The camp site was above a sandy embankment with a small adjacent landing area. A well worn trail slightly from the landing led to the top where we set up camp. The embankment was created by the meandering stream hitting the bank for generations, gradually wearing and cutting it away, and over time resulting in a steep slope. Downstream from the River Road campsite was “Winter Haven” , a developed camping site at the confluence of a creek,that led to Camp Ramah, and the Wisconsin River. This followed by another site similar to River Road, but on the opposite bank known as Stella D’oro. Camp legend holds that campers got so sick of having the Bronx based kosher cookies that they would bury them there on trips, and so named the site as a memorial.
The bank at River Road was a steep sandy bank with the roots of trees exposed at the top - a great place for jumping and rolling into the river.
Unloading the canoes, filled with campers counselors, tents, food, and sleeping bags was remarkably easier than it sounded. Something about being away from the known comforts of a somewhat rustic camp setting helped create a cooperative attitude among all. Camp being set up led to free swim washing away the day's toil, and gearing up for an open fire cooked meal.
Camp time, which generally means not using daylight savings time, meant that darkness came to camp earlier than the long summer days everyone else seemed to relish. The warmth of the fire, the smell of the burning pine, coupled with the evening stars,and being enveloped by a twilight sunset, helped create a time of closeness and peacefulness that is familiar on a trip, but so very rare in day to day experiences.
Dinner cleanup was along the shore of the river with the sand serving as a giant Brillo pad that made the pots pans, utensils and aluminum dinnerware sort of shine. Stories, songs and memorializing the day's events were featured at night - with a speciality of using popular songs of the day and wording them to feature the experiences of the day. They were usually performed at flag raising on the following day.
Here comes the sun
Said David Nature
Here comes the sun
It’s alright, it’s alright
We’ll stay here tonight . . .
During the years I spent as the trip leader (tripper) I estimate that I spent about 100 nights away from camp - in so many ways a camp outside of another camp. A unique experience and place that came to embody some of the essence of what the camp sought to provide. In both places campers experienced independence and responsibility. Personal success was interwoven with the group. Everyone is a star takes on a nuanced meaning when seeing the evening sky light up with galaxies and countless possibilities for that star.
Early on in leading the trips I came upon the solution to the perseverative question of “How Much Further.” I cut out a piece of construction paper into an uneven edged shaped figure and attached a cotton ball with a dab of glue - resulting in the discovery of “What’s a little Further.”
I made sure that each camper who went on a trip received the “Little Further” as part of the session’s ending award ceremony.
