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Northumberland Forest - Ganaraska Conservation Authority
A couple of kilometers on Hwy 45, out of Baltimore, the second and third growth forest of Ganaraska flash by monotonously- row after row after row of trees. Until there is a sudden break in the tree line and a large driveway appears, with a sign- "Ganaraska Scout Camp". For an instant in the car you might catch a glimpse of an immense and well-preserved open area of small rolling hills, with a few buildings decorating the landscape, and a giant tower in the distance.
The Scout Camp is actually a small, renovated ski-resort, in which the chalet and the bunk house were kept. A flag pole sits in the centre of the main field, with a campfire pit about thirty feet behind it. There's also a dining shelter off to the far side.
The geography of this place is more or less etched in my memory (with some distortions, of course) as a place I have been to many, many times. My father was a Scout leader with Quinte region, along with several other individuals who had a passion for making scouting the best it could be.
Unlike some other scout camps, this one was incredibly useful for winter camping. For the Beavers and Cubs, the small hills provided great sledding opportunities, and the well-worn trails of Ganaraska forest were good even in winter for the Scouts and Ventures to hike through, and in a few small sites, camp in.
The steepest of these hills, the one with the tower on it, was blocked off. Ever since I can remember, we would eye the scraggly wooden fence at the bottom, contemplating how we could climb over it with relative ease. From there our eyes would trace the eroded groove up its centre, littered with broken branches and harsh stones, to the abandoned tower at the top. This hill was a lot less than a 45 degree angle, and very, very scary.
When co-ed scouting was finally started in our area, my father and any other leaders who had daughters immediately rejoiced. Because of this, I attended Scouts with two other girls I had grown up with in the scouting community who had leaders for parents- Debbie and Lindsay.
Debbie's father ended up being the main leader and the hiking professional for our camps (my father has always had bad knees and would often stay behind at the chalet to do other things).
One memorable year, for an indoor winter camp (meaning we stayed in the chalet- all other activities were outside) we went on the longest hike we had ever taken. Debbie and Lindsay and I were nearing the end of our scouting experience, and would shortly be coming up for our Chief Scout Award.
We wound up and up and up the highest trails. Huffing and puffing, but keeping up a steady flow of conversation. The boys chattered behind us as we laughed and giggled, dragging our sleds (Debbie's father had insisted we bring them) behind us. When we finally reached the top, we had a breathtaking view of the whole county. Every peak and valley laid out before us, it was a moment of pure poetry. We made our way back from slightly the other side, ending up on the hill with the tower.
It was less impressive looking close-up; the bottom of it being a tangle of old metal and things that had been ripped out. There were great cement slabs that remained, warmed by the sun. We all lay down on them and looked up- up through the trees, in a different direction this time. Baking in our winter parkas, and speaking softly about philosophy we wouldn't fully understand until we were older.
As we finally rose and turned to leave, Scouter Dave finally told us what he meant to do. He pointed to the snowy trail we had come from- worn by our own feet. It wound down into the forest.
"Wanna sled?"
I think Debbie and Lindsay, who were on one sled, dived into the snowdrifts at least five times. Those who were able to negotiate the turns remarked that it was like bobsledding through the forest. Me, I only crashed once, but I cannot begin to describe the exhilaration of the winter wind whipping past my face and the delighted laughter of my comrades further down the trail.
This story is probably a conflated version of more than one event that happened to the three of us- or perhaps it is on the nose. I would need collaboration for that.
In any case, Debbie and I have never had much common in personality, but have many wonderful memories on which to feed. This memory is one of our favourites, perhaps because of its simplicity and complexity at the same time.
In the year of 2000, Lindsay was diagnosed with bone cancer and had to have her leg amputated. She had, in fact, been beating the odds associated with her disease, but unfortunately a blood clot formed by the operation went to her heart, and we never had the chance to find out.
There is no telling what sort of events will affect us for the rest of our lives, or what memories we'll recall from the other side of those events, like the reflection in the water of a river.
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