I have not always been the most serious writer. Nor am I now. There are brief windows where I write things that are not just pure fluff, with at best a nugget of substance buried in the middle, like a piece of broccoli stuck in the middle of a mound of cotton candy. This feature occurred in one of those brief non-fluff periods, and I'm a little proud of this one.
Summer at Camp
Everyone has a “camp story.” Here’s mine. We were finishing up
the week at Camp Phillips, the Boy Scout camp near Haugen, Wisconsin. I was
fourteen. It would be my last time
attending Camp Phillips, because the next summer I would start working at Arby’s
and discover girls (it was a big summer).
The group of friends I had attended camp with for several previous
summers wanted to pull some sort of prank, and one of the guys (I think it was
Dave Chatham) had a great idea. We would
deconstruct the footbridge leading out to Craft Island, the little hump of land
where all the scouts went to learn whittling and beadwork, which was separated
from shore by a dozen feet of swampy water.
We would then leave the pieces of the bridge on the island side, so
whoever came the next morning would have to wade the four-feet-deep span and
put the bridge back together. It was
probably the perfect prank. No one got
hurt, it was original, and, for whatever reason, making people become
unnecessarily wet is always absolutely hilarious.
We stayed up until all of the counselors had gone to sleep,
and then commenced with our mission.
Mike Corey was in the water, and he helped the rest of us pick up the
sections of wood footbridge and stack them nicely on the island. While we were hefting the surprisingly heavy
pieces, a storm was rolling in, with that amazing type of lighting that seems
to flash non-stop. I remember the
picture so well - four teenage guys, the teamwork, the mischief, with stars
overhead and lightning on the horizon backlighting the whole scene. I don’t think any of us were on hand the next
day to witness the reaction of the unfortunate craft-minded Boy Scout who
discovered our work, but we convinced ourselves that everyone heard about it
and got really worked up, and that our prank would resound through the annals
of Camp Phillips history for decades.
My story is hardly unique or special because summer camp is
where the greatest pranks took place, the most heart-wrenching relationships
began and ended, the most legendary injuries were suffered, and the most
pivotal friendships were founded or discarded.
There are a ton of different types of summer camps, ranging from the
hardcore outdoor weeks of Boy and Girl Scout camp to the dichotomous allure of
co-ed religious summer camp to the sweat and exhaustion of sleepover sports
camps. But whether campers stay in tents
or cabins or college dorm rooms, whether the days are filled with archery or
leatherworking or lay-up drills, whether the kids are primary-school first-year
campers or sullen hormonal teenagers or counselors returning from college, the
basic substance of summer camp is almost universal.
There is one camp, however, that seems to be more
universal for the Chippewa Valley than the aforementioned summer experiences. You can tell by taking a small sample of area
t-shirts. If you exclude Packers
apparel, the most popular T-shirt subject perhaps in all of western Wisconsin
is Camp Manitou. If you spend any
significant amount of time with a group of Chippewa Valley kids, you will
eventually hear talk of the “Mud Hike” and their hopes of getting on “kitchen
staff.” Those are only the surface
indicators of the prevalence of this camp.
Every summer, three times more high school and college students apply to
work at Camp Manitou than there are positions available. Campers come from across the country –
parents who spent their childhoods at Manitou send their kids to Manitou no
matter where they are currently living.
Over the camp’s eighty-three year existence, many tens of thousands of
current and former Chippewa Valley residents have built their “universal” camp
memories in the same place. Area kids
are divided between all of our school buildings, the places where they like to
hang out are constantly shifting, and there are too many parks, playgrounds,
and sport options to provide any cohesion among local youth. This leaves Camp Manitou as one of the few
common experiences shared by generations of Chippewa Valley kids.
If you are one of Camp Manitou’s alumni, hopefully this
article will be an update on how the ol’ place is doing, and an opportunity to
have one of those fuzzy moments where you remember your own camp
experiences. For the rest of us, this
should shed some light on what everyone else is talking about. I visited Camp Manitou for an afternoon in
early July, which was nowhere near long enough for me to feel I now had a
“Manitou experience” to share with the throngs of Manitou faithful. It was sufficient, though, to fill me in on
what everyone else is talking about. I
even put on a little bug spray while I was there to mimic a real camping
experience. But first we have to start
with the basics.
Camp Manitou is located just past New Auburn, Wisconsin,
about 45 minutes from Eau Claire. You
may remember New Auburn as the subject of Mike Perry’s book, Population 485,
although, according to the city limits sign, the population is no longer 485,
which may cause a little dissonance.
Camp Manitou looks like what you would expect any northern Wisconsin
camp to look like. There is a giant
field surrounded by cabins and trees.
There are also larger lodges for the requisite dining hall, camp store,
and camp stage. Behind all of the
structures is a beautiful Wisconsin lake (Long Lake, in this case). There are canoes leaning against each other
by the water, towels and abandoned sweat shirts hanging on wood fences and
handrails throughout the camp, and of course, lots of kids all going in
different directions and talking excitedly.
Matt, the photographer, and I chose the lodge with the auditorium to
enter and announce our arrival. We did
not find anyone in the building, but we did find an array of taxidermied
animals. How can this place be so
magical and so outstanding among summer camps, I thought, if it is basically
just another summer camp?
After a few minutes we were led to the camp store and
Manitou’s Camp Administrator, Carol Fahrenkrog, a woman who has a remarkable
amount of energy for someone who spends every minute of her summer with a
rotating stock of 150 ten-year olds. She
took us on a tour of camp, and continued filling us in on the specifics of
Manitou. Camp Manitou is part of the Eau
Claire YMCA, and while YMCA membership is not necessary for you or your child
to attend Manitou, it will earn you a small discount on camp tuition. The camp operates eight sessions a year. Six of the weeks are reserved for up to 160
eight-to-twelve year old kids per week, and the remaining two sessions are Teen
Weeks for up to 190 thirteen-to-fifteen year olds. In addition to the regular sessions, Manitou
also offers adventure trips for the older kids, including a Flambeau canoe
trip, and Isle Royale backpacking trip, and an Apostle Island kayaking trip, as
well as some on site sailing and water-skiing camps. The camp is also available for private events
– Kurt Lothe, the Camp Director, lives at Manitou year round and facilitates
school groups, church groups, business retreats, and weddings during the fall
and spring.
Although the camp’s layout may not separate it from the pack
of other summer camps, its history certainly does. The camp was started in 1923, and it was
originally for boys only. Carol told us
that the morning of our visit, she had breakfast with Owen Ayres, a camper from
the 30’s who has since donated to the camp and remains, seventy-some years
later, a big camp supporter. “He came
into the cabin he built,” said Carol, “and said, ‘You need new bunks.’ So, we got all new bunks in that cabin.” In fact, each of the cabins bears the last
name of a camp supporter, names like Wahl and Ayres, which are also quite
prevalent in the cities of Eau Claire and Chippewa Falls. This kind of continued support has produced
some really impressive facilities at Manitou, including a brand new health
lodge currently under construction.
While the camp looks pretty standard on the surface, campers will never
face the dreaded bug-bites on the rear from hurried outhouse visits. The boys and girls sides of the camp each
have bathrooms with that super-fancy running water, and the cabins are miles
ahead of the screened-in shacks that were the ritzy cabins of my camp
experience.
Regardless of how nice the cabins are or how much land the
camp sits on (Manitou has 120 acres), what makes or breaks a camp is how the
days are filled. The activities have to
be fun and independent enough to keep the kids’ interest, but must also provide
some sort of value to appease the parents and their checkbooks. Manitou is fundamentally an outdoor camp, and
everyday the kids have time to learn about orienteering, canoeing, fishing,
sailing, arts and crafts, and all the other camp classics. Once morning is over, though, the focus
shifts away from all that boring learning to what the kids really want and what
they are getting less and less of back home – running around and yelling and
swimming and playing giant, camp-wide games, like Capture the Flag and Battle
Ball. They even still play pranks. One of the cabins we visited had all of its
bunks stacked under the deck outside, and full cups of water stacked everywhere
inside. Carol also told us about a prank
that made our bridge deconstruction prank look far less creative. One summer, a group of kids set up the salad
bar cart in the field and put all of the taxidermied animals holding trays in
“line” behind it. Every evening offers a
different program, from campfires to skit night to an all-camp dance. When we stopped at one of the cabins, the
group of boys and their counselor gave a reprise performance of their skit,
complete with group choreography and a kid popping out of a Rubbermaid
tub. I was struck by their
performance. These ten to twelve year
old kids, whose parents probably face epic battles in trying to get them to
clean their rooms and go to bed, were not only willing but excited to dance for
a complete stranger.
Of all the games, programs, and activities, though, two
endeavors share the spotlight as the most popular and talked about activities
among current and former campers. The
first is the Blob. The Blob is a giant,
inflated sack that sits off the right side of the swimming area. One kid jumps on and crawls to the far
end. A second kid climbs the little
tower, jumps on the near end, and sends the first kid rocketing up and into the
lake. While the Blob is fun, the other
activity is legendary. This activity
comes close to defining the whole Manitou experience. This activity is the Mud Hike.
Due to a little unique geography, Camp Manitou is home to a
very noteworthy trail. It’s covered in
water, about chest-high on the kids. At
the beginning of the trail, the water is coffee-colored, but still qualifies as
water. As the trail progresses, the
water slowly fades into pure, nasty, stinky mud. By the end of the trail, the kids have to
drag themselves on their stomachs, completely covered in brown goo. Despite the best persuasive efforts of
numerous campers and counselors, I did not participate in the mud hike. I was wearing my nice shorts. And, okay, I’m a big chicken. But I did watch the antics with a little bit
of envy. Some of the older kids do flips
off the edge, sending mud splattering everywhere, and one girl did a headstand,
burying her head in the mud up to her shoulders. Those that attempt to stand up in the few
feet of mud become hopelessly stuck, and many lose their shoes trying to
escape. At the end of the trail, there
is a giant pile of shoes, representing years, maybe decades’ worth of footwear
that were abandoned in the trail. If a
better symbol for summer camp exists, I cannot imagine what it would be. As children’s lives become increasingly
structured, the culmination of their week of vacation is spending an afternoon
playing in the mud.
In Camp Manitou’s lodge, the walls are covered with large
wood plaques that contain the names of award winning campers from every summer
of the camp’s existence. Before we left
for the mud hike, I had a few free minutes, and with nothing better to do, I
started reading the names. After
skimming through a few of the more recent plaques, I was amused by finding the
names of people I knew. I found quite a
few of my own students, as well as the sports stars and student council
presidents of the area high schools.
Then, going back a few more years, I discovered my own classmates and
friends’ siblings, then coworkers and area artists and musicians, then some of
my own teachers when I was in school, then friends’ parents and big names of
local business. That is what separates
Manitou. This is where our entire
community went to have fun.
While camp attendance is strong as ever, Carol explained
that it is increasingly facing some tough competition. “Parents these days have a really hard time
choosing between sports camps and us. If
you are going to spend a couple hundred dollars, are you going to send your kid
to soccer or basketball camp that will improve their skills for nine months or
a fun camp.” If it were left up to the
kids, though, I suspect Manitou will have no problems. Of all the summer camps, Manitou has the most
mud. As I watched the campers on the mud
hike, their teamwork in pulling each other out of the mud, their mischief in
ruining their nice t-shirts and getting as dirty as they ever will, with the
whole scene lit by the shining afternoon sun, I realized that I was seeing the
picture that they would remember.
And all I want in return
