Another Camp Sheppard?

It's been agony writing this essay. When Chuck Caley first sent out the call asking former staff members to contribute an essay to Max's book about Camp Sheppard, Chuck said Max hoped the book would contain the information necessary for someday creating Camp Sheppard again. And I have tried to write around what some might think is a horribly negative thought, but there it is in my mind: it's impossible to recreate Camp Sheppard.

Back in the halcyon days of Camp Sheppard, many fewer people set out to climb

Mount Rainier, and it almost seemed like it belonged to us. But it's a different world now--nitty gritty details such as--er, how can I put this delicately-- how one poops on Mount Rainier has entered the public discussions of the National Park Service, and if I recall correctly, the Park now requires all climbers to carry out their poop, at least on the most popular routes. (All of our climbing routes ended up using at least part of these popular ascents.) Imagine a climb in the week-long expeditionary Sheppard style during which the climbers must collect and carry their feces for a week. This task would pose problems of logistics, aesthetics, and sanitation, the details of which I will leave to the imagination of the reader. Also, our culture has evolved in such a way that people often express their displeasure with each other through litigation. Because of the inherently unpredictable and dangerous nature of mountain climbing, the Camp would probably have to retain a stable of lawyers to keep its head out of water.

But the biggest hurdle to recreating Camp Sheppard's High Adventure Program is finding the people who could do what Max and the other staff members could do-- and where are the blueprints for them? And how could others possibly duplicate the original program when so little boilerplate program occurred? A lot of what happened was decided on the spot because, of course, the weather was unpredictable, and each year the glaciers revealed new personality quirks. And the clients on a given climb might include, as one did, a Boy Scout troop from the flatlands of Indiana, a Vietnam War veteran from North Carolina, and a medical student from New York City. Okay, the meals were meticulously planned down to the last raisin and so too the equipment and the amount of fuel, but still, unpredictability would inevitably rear its head, as it did when the scout from Indiana unwittingly stepped on the plastic fuel bottle with his cramponed boot (we had to get by on much less fuel than planned), and the many times when the JanSport Mountain Domes with fiberglass poles shattered in high winds and turned into wildly flapping tarps, and when the stoves were uncooperative. And, of course, medical emergencies were not unheard of. (Some of these medical emergency stories are found in various chapters of this book.) Mountain travel is a journey into the unexpected and requires quick thinking, improvisation-- and so does directing a camp.

*****

Max came to the job of camp director with loads of experience mucking about in the woods and traveling on ice and snow, and he had the imagination to experiment with new trips and still, with all the experience he brought to the job, he was willing to work for not much pay in return. He spent his time off building trail to keep in shape and dreaming over maps-- in short, on things that one way or another improved the summer program. And he was good with people--he ioved the kids who worked for him, and he expected them to be tough and work hard. At the same time he tolerated-- enjoyed, in fact-- wide differences in personality. --

The cast of characters at Camp Sheppard included Emil, the camp cook, who tested the sharpness of his kitchen knives by using them to shave swatches of hair from his forearms, and Jim Maddisey, Conservation Camp program director, the only adult who chose to wear a complete Boy Scout uniform every day, including shorts and knee socks. And, of course, there was the camp staff, whose only collective nod to a uniform were their blue work shirts.

Andy Smith, a staff leader, provided the unforgettable motto, "Using a tarp is a compromise with the weather; using a tent is giving in." (I repeated this important information several years later to one of my co-workers on a Forest Service trail crew, which added fuel to their recently-conceived philosophy of Minimum Equipment Mountaineering (MEM). For some reason, MEM never managed to last more than several years nor convert more than a handful of people. Of course, those of us who participated endured some pretty uncomfortable camping trips.) I should mention that in seeming contradiction to his minimalist philosophy about shelter, Andy carried a heavy porcelain bowl as dinnerware and a thick, knee-length wool coat for bad weather. And it was Andy Smith who acquired a special permit from the National Park Service for a campfire and hot dog roast on the Winthrop Glacier, provided that Andy's group bring in the wood and carry out the ashes.

I have other memories, too-- on my first climb of Mount Rainier, Chuck Caley turned our party around at about 12,000 feet in the middle of Disappointment Cleaver because of uncertain weather. I was shocked (we were so close to the summit!) but I had to admit that it was a wise decision. And on Mount Shuksan, Dave Kruse, in a very sensible (and prescient) move, suggested to the kid from New Jersey that he put in a Saxon cross belay five seconds before I fell into a crevasse. The days the staffers spent on the mountain, on the trail, and back in the kitchen at camp were constituted of hundreds of small and large acts of wit and courage and kindness. And our mistakes, of course, which were the biggest teachers of all.

* * * * *

It is worth mentioning that Max was innovative enough to hire females for Sheppard staff, and that Kristi, Theresa, and I -- the first three women/girls (what were we?) -- got to participate in most camp activities, including climbs and Conservation Merit Badge Camp. Because Camp Sheppard's High Adventure Program offered a relatively affordable trip up and down Mt. Rainier, all kinds of people, women included, were signing up for climbs. Max reasoned that staff should include females too, and the first females hired got to participate in most camp activities, including climbs. At first, however, the Fifty Mile hikes (the last sacred realm of maleness, according to the Boy Scouts of America, Seattle Council) were not open to us, and instead we were assigned, week-long turns at Shriner Peak Lookout, providing a sometimes-needed radio relay between the Sheppard groups on the mountain and the camp itself and peering through the rain and fog to observe and report forest fires to the National Park Service. Often a Sheppard staffer helped the person assigned lookout duty carry her weekly provisions (books, fresh food) up the trail to the lookout. On one of these occasions, Kristi Schoening helped me carry in my stuff and after miles of downpour, we reached the lookout tower, took off our soaking clothes, and hung them, dripping, around the inside of the lookout. To warm up, we wrapped ourselves in wool blankets and that was how the Park Service volunteer police offficer whose name I cannot remember found us when he arrived soon after. It turned out that underwear and army blankets were not included in the National Park Service list of offficial uniform options, and the police offcer reported us to higher authorities (Max).

* * * * *

Eventually, we girls were allowed to go on the fifty mile hikes, first as assistants, and then as leaders. In the general mindset of the Camp Sheppard staff, the climbs were the coolest possible work assignment, while the hikes were somewhat less cool, and Conservation Camp abysmally uncool. But because we had been denied the hikes, I was particularly excited to finally go when the time came, and later on, even more excited to be leading one. The first hike I led was a fifty miler through the Greenwater Lakes area, beginning at Corral Pass and ending back at camp. The trouble began when Max, Dan Sanders (the other staff leader), and I opened the back of the truck at Corral Pass and out tumbled eight blue-faced Boy Scouts and their scoutmasters. They were suffering, it turned out, from carbon monoxide poisoning, which would be cause, one would think, for canceling the trip. But Max, rising to the occasion, helped drive theboys who were the worst off into Enumclaw to be checked out at the hospital; the rest of us set up camp at Corral Pass in a driving rain to wait for the eventual return, we hoped, of those who went to Enumclaw. To this scene add the improbable appearance of my high school drama teacher, who turned out to be camping with his family at Corral Pass in the campsite across from ours. I'm sure he could see the boys repeatedly upchucking as the rain came down, and he must have wondered about our condition for the fifty mile hike I told him we were about to go on.

In the end, everyone came back from Enumclaw, and we went on the hike. It rained relentlessly for six days, and at night I dreamed I was drowning in my sleeping bag. The trip was saved a second time because Dan Sanders chopped enormous piles of firewood each evening, which we used to build campfires, offering some kind of primal cheer. The boys inhaled the pure outdoor air and purged their systems of carbon monoxide, and everybody felt better, as predicted by the doctors at the hospital in Enumclaw.

* * * * *

As I have said, the least cool activity was Conservation Camp, least cool because all we did was walk around learning and teaching the names of plants to young kids and, building trails and bridges. Least cool most of all because we were not on the mountain or doing a fifty mile hike. Interestingly enough I went on to work for the Forest Service on a trail crew and found that all those things having to do with trails such as grade and slope and aspect and drainage and aesthetics of location were-- surprise-- fascinating. And later on, I ended up marrying a ecologist whose job involves-- this is simplifying things somewhat-- walking around in the field learning and teaching about the plants and animals there. (My husband assures me I am simplifying things more than just a little.)

Each of the staff has stories tucked away, impossible to forget, impossible to completely remember. I'll bet each one of us would say that we were affected by our experiences at Camp Sheppard and by knowing Max and each other. I can say that 1, a mildly nerdy high school graduate who had studied classical music, acquired a lifelong taste for Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd at Sheppard. And I acquired a collection of sensations stored away that I only occasionally remember, such as how it was after a climb, sitting in the back of Max's truck as it descended into the green vegetation, the water droplets billowing in clouds behind, and the hum of snow tires on the pavement as the truck carried us back to camp.

Okay, so maybe it's worth trying to set up a Camp Sheppard program again, despite the modern-day hang-ups of poop and lawsuits. Maybe a new Camp Sheppard High Adventure program could be put in place, in some ways just the same and at the same time completely different. Find someone like Max who is experienced, charismatic, hard working, and smart. Use whatever formula or divination it was that Max used to hire staff. Creatively work with new Mount Rainier poop scoop laws, anticipate and mitigate legal difficulties. Maybe it could be done, after all.