Triumph at Camp
As tradition entails, Huawni campers and counselors alike sprinted, snuck, and meandered, one-by-one, with increasing surprise and stealth, into enemy territory Monday night. It was, of course, Capture the Flag, pitting against one another the newfound teams entitled “The Pigeons” and “The Team That Will Win” (which, ironically, didn’t quite live up to its name). The game marked, as it always does, the beginning of a session, providing a glimpse of what is to come in the impending days. Competition. Sunsets. Sweat. Ridiculous dance moves. Counselors donning outlandish costumes.
It’s no coincidence that Capture the Flag uses such a strong word in its name. It’s not Grab the Flag, or Reach the Flag, or Return the Flag. But Capture. There’s something particularly triumphant and intense about the word capture, which in turn becomes representative of the triumph we hope campers find in themselves in their time at camp.
I spent this morning at the Critter Pond, playing host at the top of the Trolley Tower to Sweet Gum Suite, Willow Glen, and several other cabins. To those of you unfamiliar with the Trolley Tower, it’s about a thirty-foot structure with a zip line down over the critter pond, and yes, it definitely can make your stomach stoop a little lower when you peek over the Tower’s ledge.
At least in those cabins present, there were quite a few camp veterans, whose visit to the Trolley Tower today was certainly not their first. It’s common for some nerves to kick in for the first-timers, and often takes several minutes for campers to muster up the courage to take that step off the ledge, zip line in hand. But it’s also common for those same veterans, those repeat campers, to experience yet again the slight tremble of fear at the tower’s peak. One of the girls yesterday morning, just after telling me it was her third year of trolley-ing, looked petrified with surprise when she returned to the familiar platform.
One of the reasons camp has these thrills is for the very reason that poses a challenge to the camper as she climbs up the tower’s steep steps: it’s scary. Stepping off from thirty feet in the air, grasping tightly to the triangular handle above, is in all senses of the phrase, a leap of faith. It’s the camper getting the opportunity to say I can do this. And one of the joys of working the Trolley Tower is to watch eyes faltering in uncertainty suddenly gleam with confidence and precede feet that are moments later flying through the air. Another joy, an even greater one, is the beaming smile of accomplishment of a camper from the water a hundred feet down the zip line that sends waves of encouragement throughout the pond.
But what we hope is there is the continued reminder, each and every year, that they stared fear in the eye, and, sometimes to their surprise, they themselves had conquered it.
I suspect that the surprise the camper felt this morning had to do not only with the recognizable look of I-didn’t-remember-it-being-this-high, but also a surprise with the camper herself. It wasn’t just that the platform was much higher than remembered, but that she had conquered it before. Her own strength had left her perplexed.
Stories like this aren’t rare. The first time on the critter, or the ropes course, or the slide is often monumental, followed by a crowd of erupting cheers from onlookers. But the significance doesn’t stop there, because the second and third and tenth time the camper returns to the activity it reminds her ability to triumph. In a literal sense, camp isn’t there for the camper year-round. But what we hope is there is the continued reminder, each and every year, that they stared fear in the eye, and, sometimes to their surprise, they themselves had conquered it. And can do it yet again.
-Matt Gilham, counselor in Berry Patch West
