GIGI

Summer came, and again I made my way to Eagle River and camp after picking up my certification as a National Trip Leader with the American Youth Hostels. Preparations for trips were in full swing - new bikes to assemble, old canvas tents to waterproof and patch, and paddles and canoes to check.

One of the first trips of the summer was a canoe trip with sixth grade girls. We put in on the Wisconsin River near camp, where the highway comes close to touching the banks of the river. We scrambled up and down the steep banks to load the canoes with the supplies and the campers ready for launching.

A rarity occurred. The girls had sufficient canoeing skills to arrive at Planting Road, our destination, earlier than expected. It was a beautiful sunny day, with a light cooling breeze.  I asked if they wanted to continue down the river to the Rainbow Flowage, figuring we’d find a good campsite along the way.  This group enthusiastically said they did!

Several hours of paddling carried us onto the Rainbow Flowage, a vast, open expanse of water that stretched like a silver mirror under the sun. Headwinds whipped up whitecaps that slapped against the canoes, and spray stung our faces with every stroke. The girls paddled steadily, but even their skill couldn’t fully counter the relentless push of wind and wave. What had begun as a near-perfect glide became a tiring struggle: shoulders burned, arms ached, and the rhythm of the river seemed to slow with each passing minute.

At last, we spotted a clearing along the upper reaches and pulled over. The site wasn’t one I’d used before, but it had road access and enough space to set up camp. We pitched tents, got a fire going, and settled in as the sun slipped down. I thought we’d found a great new spot—just a short walk to the trailhead in the morning to guide the truck that would return us to camp.

I walked down the road to figure out how to let our driver know where we were. I knew they’d be coming down Oxbow Road looking for us—but they didn’t know where to turn in.

I spotted Oxbow Road ahead, maybe a quarter mile from the camp site. Relief quickened my pace. But as I got closer, my stomach sank. What I hoped would be an easy access and pickup became a nightmare. A heavy locked chain stretched across the road, anchored into posts, and just before it yawned a deep pit—built to make sure no vehicle could ever reach our site. My nerves began to fray. How would we get the canoes, the gear, and the campers out of this blockaded spot?

Back at the camp site, I decided on the only solution I could come up with: start carrying. I hoisted a canoe onto my shoulder and began the long walk toward the roadhead. With five canoes to move, I knew it would take multiple trips, and the next morning would be swallowed up by hauling gear, so getting the canoes out of the way made sense. At least it was a plan—a way forward.

The gunnels of the canoe pressed down on me in that familiar way, every step a mix of balance and strain and knowing that each round trip would feel heavier and longer.  Then I felt tugging and pushing at my back.

“Who’s there?” I called.

“It’s me, Gigi!” came the reply. Gigi, is a petite eleven year old who throughout the trip kept a smile on her face as well as her cabin mates.  One of those unusual kids who meets the moment and enjoys the adventure and who makes all feel comfortable in her presence.  She darted into view, her grin nearly as wide as the canoe itself. “I’m here to help you, David Nature.”

With that, she pressed her small hands against the canoe, steadying it as I walked. Her laughter bubbled up in the dark, lighter than the load on my shoulders. In that moment, the weight of the canoe seemed lessened—not because the work had changed, but because it was shared.

By the time we reached the roadhead, I realized something I would carry long after the canoes were hauled and the campers safely home: leadership isn’t always about being the strongest or solving every obstacle. Sometimes it’s about making space for others to step in with their own courage and joy. Gigi reminded me of that truth. What could have been remembered as a grueling, exhausting mistake became instead a story of resilience, laughter, and an eleven-year-old who taught me what it means to truly help carry the load.

L'il Further - Canoeing on the Wisconsin River

 

Near the headwaters, the Wisconsin River is a few feet wide and meanders through forests and verdant rural terrain. The tannin stained waters are cool with ripples formed from the fallen trees and rocks which cover a storied past.

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.

Check out - Alex's Chair for further stories about Camp.

https://www.bklvr.com/2020/09/alexs-chair-legacy-of-camp-interlaken.html