Someone asked me “What is the secret to a great camp?” and after a few minutes thought, I gave him a one-word answer: Trails. Trails are what makes the camp. When you’re new, your first summer at any camp, you learn the main trails; from your cabin to the lodge; from the lodge to the playing field; from any spot on the camp property to the nearest washroom, and so on. It takes one day, and for the rest of your time that year, you are content to know the trails that everyone else knows. You are there to do what everyone else is doing, so you don’t need more than that.
But then it happens. You find a trail that isn’t on the list. A trail that takes you somewhere you haven’t been before, or gets you somewhere faster than the main trail does. Suddenly, you are an insider. You have the esoteric knowledge. You become a Gnostic. (it’s not the same as agnostic - it’s better.) You can get there quicker and have time for some mischief. You can turn up somewhere totally unexpected. You can end up spending the night frozen stiff with 13 fellow campers on the side of a nearby mountain. (more on that later).
Now, when you come back next year, you have an edge. You know a secret. And you start to collect more of them. You trade information, learn new trails, until you can disappear without a trace and reappear at will, driving your counsellor crazy. You discover the places that those trails used to lead to. Like latrine pits. Or abandoned tent trailer units. Or decaying ropes courses that no one else knows about. Even an empty clearing is a tremendous discovery if it belongs only to you. And the more trails you know, the more mobile, and more powerful you become.
Now you can venture out at night, and when I come hunting you on the main trails, you can disappear into the woods, with your arms outstretched at your sides so you don’t veer off the trail, and I will never catch you. Well, so you think. I will catch you, because I’ve been here for 20 years, and I know the branches on the trees on the trail you just went down. But you will go up in my estimation, because you used a trail that many didn’t know existed. You’ve been promoted. You will be watched more closely, but with respect.
So, what trail do you remember most? What trail saved your life at camp, or almost lost it for you? What trail is so vivid in your mind that you can still walk it?
Is it the Trail of Silence, going from the basketball court to the chapel (it still exists, about fifteen feet of it, if you know where to look on the side of Sylvan Place just off Landsend Road), or the trail from Frontier Village to the boys’ cabins (very tricky to follow at night) ? Or was it the trail leading past the canoe racks at CLEC, which would take you around the perimeter of the camp all the way up to the kitchen without being seen from the playing field? Send me an email and tell me about your special trail, and tell me what memories it holds for you.
My favorite trail of all time was the Midnight Hike trail at Landsend Road. Starting at the lodge (don’t say Cowabunga - it brings water balloons from the sky), we would walk down past the washroom block and veer right into the trees just before reaching the slight hill that led to the three boys’ cabins. From that point on, there was no sight of camp buildings until we reached the upper field. Nothing but trees, a small wooden bridge which counsellors liked to hide under at Halloween camp, and branches reaching out over the path to grab unwary campers. I loved it because it held the greatest mystery of all. How the heck could 13 campers and two counsellors separate themselves out of the middle of a midnight hike group (with everyone holding hands as if they were a kindergarten field trip) and end up miles away on Horth Hill? It was the Bermuda Triangle story of Sylvan Acres.
I’m guessing that this Midnight hike group accidentally broke into three sections (label them A B and C in your mind). Part A didn’t get lost. They arrived safe at the lodge in time for hot chocolate, firmly grasping part C as if nothing was wrong. However, Part B was no longer in the middle. Theoretically, they peeled off during the time that the chain was broken, and Part C lost sight of them, eventually catching up to the end of Part A. Apparently, the people on each end of Part B weren’t very special to the folks they were holding hands with, because they weren’t missed when Parts A and C joined up. Insult to injury, I guess.
Anyway, the Three Hour Tourers in Part B were found THE NEXT DAY, cold and prepared to eat their counsellor instead of the snacks they had in their pockets ( all good campers have snacks in their pockets), on Horth Hill, several kilometre of heavy bush trekking away from the camp. Now, names are not important. I was at Sylvan for 26 years and I never got any, so don’t ask me who they were. However, if you were on that fateful hike, I would love to hear about it. I never did figure out how you got there.
So. What’s your trail? Email me at normosblog@gmail.com and let me know. I would love to hear your stories.
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