by Amy Mack
Since 1996, Amy and Andy Mack have lived right next door to camp, just steps from the flashing yellow light, the main entrance, and the Paul Bunyan statue. Both have worked at Camp Nebagamon—Andy as the longest-serving head caretaker (since 1993) and Amy in the art shop (1993-97) and as a trip driver (2015-19)—while living in Lake Nebagamon. It offers a unique perspective. So THE KEYLOG asked Amy if she would muse about something that is usually far from most of our thoughts during a Nebagamon summer—namely, what it’s like during the winter…
In the heat of July, I think about how wonderful January feels: calm and quiet. Of course, after I consider the cold of the winter, I remember to be present, to soak in the visitors, the laughter, Sundays in camp. I enjoy seeing the campers, always a bit taller and so happy to be back. I look forward to meeting those new to the staff. And I witness the teary goodbyes in August.
During those summer months, curious people occasionally ask about winter at camp:
“Don’t you get lonely?”
“Isn’t it cold and dark?”
“How deep does the snow get?”
The answers are: yes, yes, and it varies. The solitude was a draw when we considered coming to camp for a year-round job. The cool gray of the clouds when snow is coming is an experience made better by sharing the subtle beauty with people you love. Winter is both joyous and melancholy. The surprise of stumbling upon an otter belly-sliding across the ice can make a whole weekend feel magical, and a walk in a blizzard can bring on a feeling of isolation that isn’t all bad. The key is connection. The people make the place, and in the winter we connect on a smaller scale.
Although our small family (including our twins) has shared this amazing place as a group of four, visitors come to town rather often—for events like Fisharama (a 60-year-old ice-fishing extravaganza on the lake in January) and the American Birkebiener (the largest cross-country ski race in North America, which starts in Hayward every February). And there are those who come by camp itself—simply on a day trip to see the Rec Hall in the snow.
One of my favorite winter activities at camp is sledding down the terraces behind the Swamper-Logger Push Shack. Daisy and Leo were three years old when we decided they were old enough to try it out. We made a nice path down the hill with a ten-foot toboggan, and then we moved on to the shorter and faster five-foot toboggan. An experienced tobogganer knows that the front seat is not the place to be if you don’t enjoy a snowy facial.
If you ask Andy, Daisy, or Leo, they may have a different favorite winter activity. I am certain that the list would include: snowshoeing absolutely everywhere in camp, bringing in the new year on the lake, bundling for a walk in a blizzard, learning to ice skate on the lake, making the first tracks on the Upper Diamond after a big snow, playing Frisbee on the ice, game nights, and cutting our Christmas tree in the Brule River State Forest.
A constant of winter is the snow. Most of our time is spent either playing in it or removing it from our cars, sidewalks, and roads. As I write this, it is only mid-November, but before I could leave for work this morning, I shoveled my way into the garage in the dark. And when I got home, I did it all over again. It is cold and dark and snowy, but I love it. You may be surprised to know that after the first big snow, and the plows that follow, our streets will stay white until March. More surprising might be the road that some enthusiastic ice fisherman will inevitably plow across the lake. Cars, trucks, and even school buses have ventured out onto our lake in pursuit of pulling chilly fish through a hole in the ice. Still, despite spending the past 25 winters in (and on) Lake Nebagamon, I am nervous each year when I step onto the ice for the first time.
Winter in Lake Nebagamon has shaped my family. Much like summers at Camp Nebagamon for so many in the camp family, the winters have helped us to form memories and create traditions. On a Sunday night during the summer, I join the camp family in singing “Thanks for the Pines.” I am truly thankful – and the winter snow is not far from my mind.