What Steve Left in Their Hands

Nothing gets 12 boys leaning forward quite like a little fake blood and a patient named Craig who has apparently fallen off a cliff.

WEMA takes place at the Old Library, tucked into the woods far enough from the center of camp that the walk there becomes part of the lesson. By the time the boys arrive, the Dining Hall, Front Porch and Infirmary feel a long way off. It is easier to imagine what might happen if someone were hurt on a trail with no road, no street address and no ambulance waiting around the corner.

Sunny Durocher begins by handing each camper a small brown notebook. She tells the boys to write their names inside and fill the pages however they like. Some record steps and definitions. Others draw pictures, underline words or create reminders in language that makes sense to them. The notebooks belong to the boys, and the goal is to put the information somewhere they can find it again.

Then Sunny asks what WEMA stands for.

Wilderness Emergency Medical Aid.

“That’s us,” she tells them.

Shortly before camp began this summer, Steve Longenecker passed away.

Known by his initials, SFL, Steve had been part of Falling Creek since 1975. He helped bring rock climbing, mountain biking, falconry and Longenecker Lumps to camp. He taught boys about birds of prey, snakes and responsible care for the natural world, earning the affectionate title “Father Nature.” The Old Library eventually became the Esefel building, named for the phonetic pronunciation of his initials.

Campers from different generations may remember entirely different versions of Steve. Some knew the climbing pioneer who helped complete the first full ascent of Looking Glass Rock in 1966. Others gathered for his nature programs, learned how to handle an animal gently or cooked Lumps over a fire.

Steve, however, was clear about the work he most wanted remembered.

“WEMA was arguably the most important contribution I made to the camp,” he once said. “WEMA was my title, concept, the topic of two books, and what I’d like to be remembered for.”

His interest in wilderness medicine was personal. After an almost fatal rock-climbing fall, two former First Aid and CPR students helped save Steve’s life because they knew what to do.

At Falling Creek, he began teaching counselors how to respond to emergencies they might encounter around camp, including snakebites, broken bones, axe cuts and injured campers who needed to be transported. WEMA grew from those lessons because Steve wanted younger boys to learn skills that could be useful at camp and remain important after they returned home.

He also understood boys. There was fake blood, dramatic storytelling and even a watermelon used to demonstrate a skull injury. The information was serious, but the learning did not have to be dull.

WEMA began at Falling Creek in the late 1970s and continued for more than 30 years. As camp sessions, schedules and medical guidance changed, the program eventually faded from the calendar.

This summer, as Falling Creek mourned the man who created it, WEMA returned.

Worthy of Emulation

William “Wally” Wallace met Steve at Camp Mondamin in 1964, long before WEMA, Longenecker Lumps or the many traditions Steve eventually brought to Falling Creek. Their friendship lasted for the next six decades.

“There’s no one word that can describe SFL,” Wally said.

He remembers a young man with a deep respect for the natural world and a genuine commitment to caring for its animals and plants. Steve’s enthusiasm was not something he turned on when campers appeared. It was simply part of him.

“His passion was genuine,” Wally said. “There was not a dishonest emotion in him.”

One of Wally’s clearest memories has nothing to do with climbing, birds or wilderness medicine. A homesick boy at Mondamin had run away, and Steve figured out where he had gone. When he found the camper sitting alone, Steve did not begin with instructions or insist that the boy return immediately. He sat down nearby.

The boy did not want to talk, so Steve waited. Gradually, the two moved closer together and the conversation began.

“Steve was a good listener,” Wally said. “He would only talk when he had something good to say.”

Mondamin founder Frank “Chief” Bell believed counselors should be worthy of emulation. Boys were watching, and the people leading them had better be worth following.

For Wally, Steve met that standard.

“Steve’s goal was to make a positive difference in the life of others,” he said. “I have never lost sight of that.”

Sunny Picks Up the Baton

When Sunny began working through Steve’s original WEMA materials, she found a program with a strong purpose and plenty worth preserving. She also found medical information that needed updating and lessons that had to be rebuilt for today’s campers and schedule.

Sunny kept the heart of WEMA and made the program her own.

Each session is limited to 12 boys and stretches across two or three activity periods. That gives her time to introduce the ideas, demonstrate skills and then let the boys put what they have learned into practice.

First aid instruction is often aimed at older teenagers and adults, but Sunny believes younger boys are capable of recognizing an emergency, calling for help and beginning to care for someone while qualified assistance is on the way.

The campers are not being trained to replace doctors, nurses or paramedics. They are learning where they fit within a much longer chain of care.

“There might be nothing you can do,” Sunny tells them, “but you can care.”

When Help Is Far Away

Sunny begins by asking what makes a wilderness emergency different.

The boys quickly identify distance. In town, an ambulance might arrive within minutes. In the wilderness, rescuers first have to locate the patient, reach him and figure out how to get him out. Supplies may be limited. Rain, cold or heat can make an injury worse. There may not be an address to give the dispatcher.

As Teddy N. and Landon M., both from Charlotte, North Carolina, explained it, an ambulance might arrive in seven minutes in a city but take 50 minutes or longer in the wilderness.

Sunny asks the boys to imagine someone getting hurt near a Target. Then she moves the same injury onto a distant trail. What could happen during the extra time? What might become worse? What does the person already on the scene need to know?

Calling 911 is only the beginning. The dispatcher needs the patient’s age, condition and location. The caller may have to describe a trail, landmark, distance or set of coordinates and remain on the line long enough to guide help toward the right place.

“Somewhere in the woods” is not enough.

The boys practice describing the scene until “call for help” becomes a set of real actions instead of a vague idea. What happened? Is the patient conscious? Can he move? Is the area safe? How far are they from a road? What was the last landmark they passed?

Craig, Ted and Fred Need Help Again

Sunny does not leave the lessons on the board for long.

Some days, Craig, Ted and Fred, WEMA’s remarkably accident-prone practice patients, are placed along the trails. The boys have to find them, assess what happened, secure them to backboards and work together to carry them through the woods.

It does not take long for campers to discover that transporting a patient across roots and uneven ground is much harder than it looks. A backboard becomes heavy. Arms get tired. The patient still has to remain protected, and the Infirmary has not moved any closer.

Other scenarios include imaginary falls, snakebites, allergic reactions, choking incidents, head injuries or wounds that refuse to stop bleeding. The boys practice CPR, tourniquets, wound packing, splints and spinal protection. They also learn when someone should not be moved, even when every instinct says to pick him up and hurry.

Sunny keeps the session interactive, moving quickly between questions, demonstrations and practice. She also does not shy away from the blood and guts. The injuries can be gross, but that is part of what keeps 12 boys leaning over the table and volunteering to go next.

Thomas P. from Pinehurst, North Carolina, gave the approach an enthusiastic review. Before WEMA, he said his response to an injury might have begun and ended with a Band-Aid. Now he wants to be more useful.

“WEMA is really cool,” Thomas said. “Gross is fun to learn.”

The boys laugh, squirm and occasionally announce that something is disgusting. Then they lean closer so they can see exactly what Sunny is doing. The fun never replaces the seriousness of the lesson. It gives them a reason to remember it.

Now I Feel Like I Could Do Something

For Wyatt B. from Dallas, Texas, the reason for choosing WEMA was more personal. He has been hurt before and has watched family members get hurt. He wanted to know how to be useful when something went wrong.

Wyatt practiced CPR, checking for a pulse and responding to serious bleeding. He understood that helping might mean retrieving a tourniquet, bringing supplies or following the instructions of someone with more training. He also learned not to rush blindly into an emergency and risk making it worse.

“I would be a helper,” he said. “I’d try not to mess anything up.”

One session does not make a boy an expert, but it can help him understand that he has a role. He can stay calm, call for help, give clear information and begin the steps he has practiced.

“I don’t want to feel like I know nothing and not be helpful in an emergency,” Wyatt said. “Now I feel like I could do something.”

Written in a Camper’s Hand

The small notebooks offer their own record of what the boys now know.

One camper divided a page between “Wilderness” and “Emergency.” Under wilderness, he wrote that help is far away, supplies are limited, the elements matter and injuries can become worse when assistance is difficult to reach.

An emergency, he understood, was life-threatening, involved something serious like a broken bone and “needs help NOW.”

At the bottom of the page, he made another list: Be calm. Take action. Ask questions. Make sure it is safe. Get help.

Other pages included drawings, treatment sequences and notes about breathing, bleeding, arms and legs. The spelling was not perfect, and some diagrams might require an explanation from their artist. None of that made the notebooks less valuable. A boy had listened, sorted the information and recorded what he hoped to remember.

Steve created WEMA because he believed boys were capable of learning these things. Sunny brought it back because she believes the same.

The Baton Reaches Their Hands

Each boy who completes the session earns a WEMA sticker for his Waypoint map. Campers are happy to collect it, but the sticker represents more than attendance. It marks the day a boy chose to spend part of camp learning what he might do when another person needs help.

Sunny has already heard from boys who want to continue learning and eventually earn First Aid or CPR certification. Others may simply leave with a little more confidence and a few useful steps tucked into a brown notebook.

Steve’s influence is being carried in other ways, too. Ben Farmer continues making Longenecker Lumps with Main Camp boys, while Sunny has picked up the part of Steve’s legacy he most wanted remembered.

Sunny described the work as receiving a baton. The responsibility is not simply to hold it. It is to respect how it reached you, carry it well and leave something meaningful for whoever comes next.

“I am following Longenecker,” Sunny said, “and I hope to continue honoring him and what he started.”

In 2023, Steve described what it meant to see his influence moving through generations at camp.

“When I see one of my students showing their pupil something that came from me, I also see my legacy being passed along to the future,” he said. “They are paying it forward. It brings me both great joy and even tears.”

Steve did not live to see WEMA return to the Old Library this summer, but the scene he hoped for is unfolding there. Sunny is asking questions at the board. Teddy and Landon can explain why help takes longer in the wilderness. Thomas has decided gross things are fun to learn. Wyatt no longer believes he would have to stand helplessly if someone were hurt. Around them, boys are filling notebooks with drawings, instructions and words they hope they never need.

Wally said we are all standing on the shoulders of those who came before us.

This summer, 12 boys at a time are standing on Steve Longenecker’s shoulders, carrying forward what he placed in their hands.