Amid Global Uncertainty, Camp Remains Critical
By Hugh Haller
Six months ago, during the first few days of March, I was in San Francisco visiting longtime camp friends Jack and Susy Wadsworth. The coronavirus was just beginning to receive national attention, but the hysteria had already hit the West Coast.
Local pharmacies had run out of hand sanitizer; masks were beginning to pop up everywhere. The Grand Princess cruise ship, carrying more than 20 infected crew members and passengers, was docked at the Port of Oakland.
Preps watch a pillow fight at Kooch-i-ching. (Kate Downey)
Walking back from dinner with the Wadsworths, Jack remarked: “I have witnessed multiple downturns in my financial career, and I can recall each and every one of them in precise detail. What is coming, I fear, is not a financial crisis at all, but a health crisis—and that worries me the most.”
On the red-eye back to Cincinnati a few days later, a flight attendant stationed near me was coughing incessantly. Needless to say, I was on edge. The next morning, I attended a public meeting for which more than 100 individuals were gathered. Social distancing was not yet “a thing,” but I remember thinking to myself: Why are we all here in such close quarters?
Within weeks, every aspect of our lives had changed. This new normal evolved into a way of life, one that we are still adjusting to today. Without question, Jack’s words had been prescient.
Of course, much has changed since those early days in March. The coronavirus continues to spread across the country, with no real end in sight. The Black Lives Matter movement has unleashed a debate about racial inequality and produced protests the likes of which this country hasn’t experienced since the Vietnam War.
As a child of the ‘60s, I remember that time vividly. What I recall most was the passion and energy that took our country by storm. Conversations around the dinner table were animated and filled with disagreements. Racial and political unrest dominated the nightly news (on all three channels). It felt like the country was tearing itself apart.
To say that I was lucky—or “privileged”—during this monumental time is an understatement, but not for reasons that are obvious. For nearly 20 years, the one constant in my life was camp, starting with the Wasaka Boys Club when I was all of 6 and ending with my last year on staff in 1982 at the age of 24.
Ogichi campers shoot a set of rapids on the Pigeon River. (Alice Petty)
Camp was everything for me: the mystical leadership of John Holden, being introduced to the wonders of the wilderness, absorbing the spiritual nature of our Native American program, and forging friendships that have endured to this day. No matter how much uncertainty there was in the “real world,” camp offered all the comforts of a thick Hudson Bay blanket. Deer Island was the one place where I could get away from it all and just be me.
I will never forget the summer of 1974. As a first-year Senior, we were returning from a triumphant trip down the Seal River. BJ was on bus duty and informed us, as we boarded the “Green Monster,” that President Nixon had just resigned. We were off exploring the wilderness, full of innocence and youthful naiveté, and America was experiencing its version of the fall of Rome. Where else but on a three-week canoe trip to the edge of the Arctic could young men of 16 escape such history-altering news?
In the best of ways, camp keeps everything grounded. The Foundation’s mission speaks for itself: “to develop young men and women, in body and spirit, through wilderness experiences that celebrate a love of the outdoors.” To say it even more succinctly, we run wilderness camps, pure and simple. We let kids be kids without the distractions, pressures and stresses that society imposes.
And that is why it was such a difficult decision to cancel camp this summer. It was, without a doubt, the correct decision. The potential liability was immeasurable. The reputational risk was incalculable.
But the negative impact on 500 kids around the country cannot be denied. For many of our campers, it was a lost summer—one they will never get back. This is why the future of Kooch-i-ching and Ogichi is so important, and why our two camps must continue to provide wilderness experiences for young men and women of all ages and backgrounds.
Kooch-i-ching campers dry their clothes over a fire in Colorado’s Rawah Wilderness. (Ethan Kiernan)
If there is a bright spot in this lost summer, it is the knowledge that our board, leadership team and summer staff are more committed than ever to making Kooch-i-ching and Ogichi the best wilderness camps in America.
Our board, along with many of our endowment owners, recognized the incredible gift of time we received this summer and agreed to support our seasonal staff during this period with a significant financial commitment. Our staff, in turn, worked tirelessly—turning over every rock, kicking every tire, and examining all that we do in an effort to improve our program. There is no question that this output of energy and knowledge will benefit campers for generations to come.
Today, the world is experiencing a sea change. America is wrestling with a polarized society that needs to evolve and become more equitable. These issues require healthy debate, strong leadership, compassionate voices, and a willingness to listen.
In many ways, camp mirrors society. We uphold a set of core principles—the Law of the Woods—that put a premium on character, compassion, leadership and grit.
Yet in the end, camp is thankfully just camp. It is a place where kids can have tons of fun, discover themselves without judgment, and seek the joy of being alive. We must never lose sight of these simple gifts, and all that goes into making them possible.
This article was originally published in the 2019 Annual Report.