Why Camp

My little Summer Camp session here in Portland is inspired, in part, by my childhood camp experience. Yes, before I became a big city girl, I portaged a canoe or two. (This is why I'm so solid, Patrick Thompson.)

Every summer as a teenager (7th-12th grade, I think?) I went to this magical place called Camp Manito-wish in northern Wisconsin. Three weeks of canoeing, kayaking, swimming, sailing, horseback riding, nature walks, archery, riflery, crafting and singing around the campfire in the Northwoods. 

I knew it was a special place because my mother, who had also gone to camp as a child, said, "Wow, this is nice. Really Claire, not all camps are this nice."

We reluctantly turned in our candy bars and hair-dryers and hand-held devices (then Walkmen) at the registration desk. No television, no telephones, no clocks. You knew it was mealtime when you heard the bell toll at Nash Lodge. 

God, how I loved to hear that bell -- especially when we were stuck in the nature lodge with all that creepy taxidermy. (I preferred arts & crafts so I could weave my lanyard bracelets, thank you very much.)

All first-year campers were sent out on a 3-day canoe trip through the streams and lakes of the Manitowish Waters. We packed and carried everything we needed (tents, stoves, pots & pans, food, rain gear), and we paddled and portaged our own canoes. The camp sites we frequented were not the kind with RV hook-ups and toilets. In fact, I think somewhere I still have my copy of the highly acclaimed, bestselling book that should be owned by every adventure-seeker:

Life "on the trail" (as we intrepid sojourners called it), was not all sunsets and s'mores. Sometimes Mother Nature would be good to us, other times not so much. "Wet" and "heavy" are the first words that come to mind. Tears were shed and terse words exchanged. And remember, we were too young for booze, which is really such a vital component of most adult outdoor recreation if you think about it. It was always good to get back home.

As campers progressed through their years at Manito-wish, the trips became longer, more challenging and further afield. Five days, seven days, 14 days. Backpacking in the Porcupine Mountains, treks through Isle Royale National Park. The reward, of course, for longer journeys with more challenging terrain was sweeping views of Lake Superior. Oh, and maybe bragging rights when you returned to school in the fall. ("What did you do this summer?")

After my 14-day trip, I would have been happy to retire my camper card and call it a day. Even then, I aspired to be "cosmopolitan" and liked magazines and movies more than muddy, mosquito-y wilderness. But there was an expectation I would continue for at least one more year. I had now graduated from basic camp to the big-kids Outpost program, and the next rung on the ladder was "The Western."  

Here's the description, straight from their website:

"The Western is a demanding 24-day backpacking trip that takes place in either Montana's Beartooth Mountain Range or Wyoming's Wind River Range. Your group will hike both on and off the trail, above and below the treeline. Over snow-capped mountains, through grassy meadow, and navigate rugged boulder fields to reach high alpine lakes. Off-trail hiking will test your endurance, route finding skills, leadership skills, and determination."

I like how they use the word "demanding" right there in the first sentence. If I was their marketing person, I might choose "rewarding" or something a little less intimidating. But points for honesty, I guess. And expectation-setting...

So anyway, off I went to the Beartooth Mountains in Montana with my oldest friend and lifelong camp buddy, Courtney. I'm sure I acted cool, but I was scared out of my mind. I mean, 24 days without a toilet or shower? (Well, we had one pit stop in the middle.) Three whole weeks of dirty, damp clothes and dry, boring food? (Basically a lot of mac & cheese and Ry Krisps with PB&J.) 

Right, who wants ice-cold soda when you can drink lukewarm water with those gross Potable Aqua pellets? And who needs shampoo, or long-distance calls from your boyfriend, or sleeping in on Sunday mornings? 

Um, that would be ME. I do. A mattress is kinda nice, too.

Of course the scariest part was not the lack of creature comforts, but the "endurance" and "determination" stuff. The rugged boulder fields, the treacherous uphill climbs. Whatever my father says, I am not a natural-born athlete. I can hit a tennis ball okay, I enjoy a little skiing. But that's different than plodding up switchbacks with a 60-pound pack on your back.

Could I really do this? Did I WANT to really do this? 

No, not really. If given a choice, I would have happily traded places with friends on their more relaxing summer vacations. Like fishing and barbequing at a cabin in the woods somewhere. That seemed plenty nature-y enough.

But I did it. And I survived. And no, there was no "aha" moment on a mountain top that changed my life. No major epiphany in a thunderstorm that revealed some special purpose or gift I could offer the world. I mean, I was still a kid, I wasn't looking for some big revelation or transformation. I was just trying to get to the end of the trail so I could have a hot shower and a warm meal already. Or at least to the next plateau so I could catch my breath and take in the view.

Yeah, that's me, 5th from left. After this shot, we broke into "The Hills Are Alive..."

The "aha" moment would actually come later -- at a Camp Manito-wish information session in my hometown. The Director came to pitch and recruit, and alumni and their parents shared stories with prospective campers. I remember my mother standing up at one point to offer her testimonial, and -- very uncharacteristic of her -- she cried. She said that camp had given her children more confidence than anything else they had ever done.

Mind you, we were highly programmed kids -- music lessons, art and dance classes, theater, sports, the works. But I had never seen her gush quite like this to my violin or tennis instructors.

So I was surprised by her emotion, and like a true teen, embarrassed. (Mom! Come on, sit down.) But of course she was absolutely right. All these years later, I can still say that completing The Western was one of my proudest moments. And I'm sure the experience gave me more confidence to do other things later, like go faraway to college, or find a place to live on my own in a new city. After you've pitched your own tent in the rain, you know you can figure it out.

Lord knows, I didn't get any "Best Backpacker" awards -- in fact, I was a real wuss on those rugged boulder fields. And I wasn't all misty-eyed when it was over -- I ran to the shower and devoured my dinner with more gratitude for modern civilization than ever before.

Other Manito-wishers, including my sister, would go on to tackle even longer, more challenging expeditions than this. Like true mountain climbing and repelling, not just backpacking. Many would become camp counselors and trip leaders (which just sounds super hellish to me, herding all those kids --"Stop whining and keep paddling or we'll never get there!"). I have a ton of respect for those people -- also folks, like my father, who have trekked the Himalayas and still want to go further and higher. Or members of the military, who train and serve under much more extreme conditions than I could ever imagine. All I can say is wow, just wow. After having a taste, I'm not sure I could stomach a whole meal.

And I'm okay with that. I mean, would I be a better human if I pushed myself to do something like The Western again? Absolutely. Will I? Probably not. But I'm glad I did once upon a time. And if I ever have children, I will want them to have the same experience. Even if they grow up in a city. Especially if they grow up in a city. To unplug, to be in a new environment, to stretch different muscles, and to even be a wee bit uncomfortable for a little while is HUGE.

It's not just kids who need this. We adults need Summer Camp, too. And I don't mean vacation (which is really a more accurate word for my cushy PDX retreat here). Vacation is for relaxing; camp is for stretching. I realize lots of folks make time for this in their lives -- yoga retreats, eco-adventure travel, etc. But expensive enrichment experiences are out of reach for too many of us. Sure, I would love to travel more, but often it is a luxury I can't afford. There are always more pressing responsibilities and commitments. Life gets in the way of, well, living sometimes.

So I'm challenging myself to create my own annual Summer Camp experience wherever and however I can. Summer Camp doesn't have to be a place (though the empty house of a family member is certainly a great deal). It can be a state of mind -- just a period of time to disconnect all those wires and tap into my inner camper for a little while. Try new things, make mistakes, try again or try something different. A time not to be idle, but active in new ways -- physically is good, mentally even better. (Spiritually is a whole other blog.)

Do I sound like Oprah? Yeah, that means I should shut up now and just go practice what I preach. But first, huge thanks to Mom & Dad for sending me to Manito-wish. (Oh, and Mom, any chance those tears were actually memories of the peace & quiet you enjoyed while we were away for three whole weeks at a time? Yeah, I can see why you loved camp, too.) Also, thanks to my sister for having me here -- and for all the fun photographs around your house to spark memories of ye olden days in Boulder Junction, WI and Red Lodge, Montana.

Okay, back to camp...