Time was of the essence yesterday morning. My alarm sounded at 4:30am and resisting my urge to hit snooze, I rolled out of bed. After splashing the sleep from my eyes with some cold water, I walked out of the Little House and climbed into the empty trip van, canoe trailer attached, staged in my driveway, turned the keys and headed North. I had a 9:00am meeting scheduled in Grand Portage, Minnesota, and I couldn’t be late.
I was scheduled to meet eight adventurers, six ninth-grade campers and two trip staff, exiting the wilderness after a 21-day expedition called Long Trip. That’s right…21 days! Their journey, the capstone of their careers as Camp Nebagamon campers, began on French Lake, perched on the northern border of Ontario’s Quetico Provincial Park. For three weeks they traveled south, paddling and portaging through sweeping lakes and pristine wetlands. Along the way they encountered sunrises and sunsets, weathered wind and storms and soaked up the sun. They caught over 40 fish and filleted seven of them to enjoy as a group. They cooked their meals on camp stoves and hung a food-filled pack in a tree every evening to keep their sustenance from critters. They traversed around waterfalls and swam in crystal clear lakes. The trip wasn’t without its challenges. They faced a couple storms early on, and towards the end of the trip one of their thwarts (the cross bar on a canoe) snapped off, rendering it un-portageable. For days following the break they carried it awkwardly and uncomfortably between lakes until we were able to re-outfit them with a new boat.
On day 14 the group paddled across the border into the United States and met our quartermaster, Jon, on the massive Saganaga Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area for their only food resupply of the trip. Departing Saganaga they paddled along the United States-Canadian border for a week on some of the most beautiful lakes in the Boundary Waters. On Friday the group portaged onto their last body of water, the Pigeon River, a major drainage from the Boundary Waters into Lake Superior. The eight of them paddled the Pigeon River, until they reached their final campsite at Fort Charlotte, the Northern terminus of the Grand Portage.
The Grand Portage is an eight and a half mile trail and national monument. It stretches from the Pigeon River to Lake Superior and has been used for thousands of years by indigenous people and then by fur traders as a route to connect Lake Superior to the interior of the continent while avoiding impassable sections of the Pigeon. For our Long Trippers the trail represented their final crucible. Our campers would end their trip by carrying their canoes and gear overland to Lake Superior.
After a quick stop for coffee and a few hours of cruising along Lake Superior’s North Shore, I parked at the Grand Portage Ranger Station and walked a trail down to the shores of the lake to meet the Long Trippers. No more than five minutes later I saw the familiar glimmer of one of our metal Alumacraft canoes come around a corner. The first camper lifted the bow of his canoe just high enough above his eyes to see the welcoming lake and let out a celebratory howl. The whole group followed behind him shouting in joy… no, not joy that the camp director had decided to come pick them up, but that they had taken on something big, or I guess, long, and had done it! They stomped right past me, some with tears of accomplishment clinging to their eyes, and walked directly into the largest lake in the world, a moment that they’d dreamed of every day for the past three weeks… a moment that they’ll keep dreaming of for the rest of their lives. The portagers flipped their boats into Superior’s chilly water and embraced each other… they did it…together.
In 21 days the eight of them had grown close. They took on challenges together and viewed them as opportunities to grow. And grow they did. As a group they became a well oiled machine while learning to support one another. By all accounts they had the time of their lives floating through paradise. I asked them if it felt like three weeks had passed, they told me no, it had flown by.
We loaded up the van and began the drive back. As I navigated the roads and negotiated the van’s pungent aroma (there are definitely no showers up in Quetico and the Boundary Waters), two other Nebamon trip groups who had just completed their 14 day Big Trips were picked up near Ely, Minnesota. Those Big Trippers had spent two weeks exploring Quetico Provincial Park. Like the Long Trippers, they’d grown close as groups, formed lasting memories, overcome challenges and lived their dreams.
All three trips met at a state park near Nebagamon for a barbeque lunch before heading back to Camp. The campers were so excited to reunite with their friends, their brothers, from the other trips, and were just as excited for the tradition that would await them upon their return to Camp… the run into the lake.
As Louis described in an update earlier this summer, when our ninth-grade Big Trips return to Camp each summer our whole community gathers at the waterfront to greet them. All of the vans drive in to camp together honking their horns and blasting music until they come to a halt at the waterfront. Then, the doors fly open and the ninth graders and their trip staff spring into Lake Nebagamon. Yesterday’s iteration of that tradition was as dramatic and powerful as it always is. In front of a cheering crowd the campers booked it from the trip vans and plunged into the lake.
Time does strange things at Camp. (How is it possible that only one full day remains of the summer?!?!) Some camp family members report that while the days at Camp feel long, the weeks fly by. That’s how I feel too. One minute you’re getting off the bus, a full summer ahead of you, the next day it’s over with days in between so filled to the brim with activity it feels like a week compressed into 24 hours. At the end of the summer people say they feel that they’ve been here both for ages and no time at all. You push off on French Lake and suddenly three weeks packed with high adventure flash before your eyes as you find yourself flipping your canoe into Lake Superior. This schema applies on a broader scale as well. One minute you’re paddling across Lake Nebagamon for your very first Swamper Overnighter, the next you’re running into that very lake after your Quetico Big or Long Trip with the best summers of your life sandwiched between the bookends. As I’m sure our ninth graders experienced yesterday, this can have the eerie effect of making you feel like your childhood at Nebagamon has flashed before your eyes.
But that’s not really it. Camp is not life’s fast forward button. I think that our Nebaga-time warp phenomenon is the result of a potent combination of immersion and presence. Like our Long Trippers experienced in the wilderness, every day at camp is packed with fun, and friends; with challenges faced and and challenges overcome; with goals set and goals achieved. Far from the distraction of screens, all that matters is the place we’re in and the people we’re with. We live with one another and for one another. When the summer ceases its gleaming, we emerge from a month or two of immersion in the present to the extent that we’ve lost track of the time.
Moments like that lake run-in when the big trips return, however, draw our attention to time’s passage. As much as it was inspiring to watch the ninth graders sprint into the lake in celebration yesterday, I also watched the reactions of some of our younger campers. Many seemed to be in awe of these older kids, trying to grasp what they’d done. Some eighth graders wore a more pensive look. They saw these ninth graders complete one of their last major experiences as campers and recognized that they were next. As they considered those implications the bell rang for fourth period and the campers bustled off to their next project. Time was of the essence. They had important business to attend to–capitalizing on the remaining hours of the world’s greatest sleepover: summer camp. They’d have time to worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.
All is well in the Northwoods.