Camp, My Happy Place

Essay by Ian Smith

The stranger in this photo is me.

In this photo, the trials and tribulations of school are far from my mind. My future remained joyously undecided. How could those thoughts well up at camp, my happy place?

This trip was no ordinary whitewater kayak adventure. It was my first time on an actual river, the French broad section 9 or FB9. All that went through my helmet-clad noggin was the van ride to the river. I would think about the trail mix given to us so we did not pester the counselors. Any extras swiftly eaten by the adults or, if we were lucky, trivia to decide the fate of the final Scooby snack. Questions such as how far away we are from the river would be greeted with a sarcastic “about seven,” regardless of the distance. DJ NoRequest would play music without any suggestions. It was pure fun without boundaries.

The only other emotion on the river was fear. Not from the roar of the churning water like a massive beast or fallen trees that create strainers that catch your boat as a spider would catch a fly in its web. No, the fear came from within. Every time at the entrance to a rapid, my heart rate quickened, and a twinge of excitement ran from the bottoms of my feet to the top of my head.

Fear and excitement rose in me before the van ride to the river. The emotions showed themselves on my face in the picture, evident in the semi-smile and the focused look in my eyes.

Going to the river today is not unlike my trips then, but time and experience have put many things into focus while leaving others to blur like a pair of faulty glasses. The days of carefree river running are now long gone.

Since that picturesque day, I have grown a foot or so, my teeth straightened, and my face slimmed by the passage of time. The loaned white helmet and red PFD are retired in favor of my own set that isn’t filled with other’s trash from snacks, only my own wrappers. Gone are the small things that used to annoy me on the van. Now contain naps and annotated summer reading; with that, thoughts of school and college are unavoidable. Extra snacks don’t hold the same value, and trivia is unnecessary as we share snacks. DJ No Request has departed, Leaving room for song suggestions. Questions now yield answers not related to 7. In hindsight, these rituals made this time so memorable.

Even the fear takes a different light. The adrenaline wave that washed over me reduced to just a twinge. Familiarity and confidence dull the sharp thrill.

I miss that time when everything was new and scary. Every slight improvement and obstacle overcome was a milestone, and with so many firsts, it felt like the sky was the limit. The limit came sooner than I would have liked. I’ve done all the rivers camp offers, and now firsts are nearly impossible. Even the counselors who used to be so much older than me then are separated by a handful of years.

However, this year will be different. I am no longer a camper; I am a CIT. No longer will it be about exploring my passion but instead igniting the love of kayaking for others like counselors gave me. My only hope for the future is that a kayaker finds an old picture of themselves from camp with a white helmet and red PFD. When they think of what ignited their passion, I want my name to be memorable for the songs I denied and the snacks given with the correct trivia answer.