Pine Island Camp is a boys camp located in Belgrade Lakes Maine. The camp is the second oldest operating camp in the United States established in 1902. I am third generation and my kids are fourth generation. Pretty remarkable. The camp is on a small island in which some one hundred people live every summer with no running water, no electricity (slight modification on this fact) for boys who come from across the entire globe, but primarily the Northeast. The camp offers a number of activities but is first-and-foremost a tripping camp sending hiking and canoeing trips out across Maine and New Hampshire.
This type of picture has been created every summer for many years. You will find me in the back row on the right. I wish I could of found a picture from one of my later years as I was still pretty dorky in 1982. What are you going to do? The first couple of years were a lot of fun, but I would start hitting my stride in the following years.
I noticed that the camp on their website indicates that it offers ‘summers that shape a lifetime’. I would completely agree with that, particularly for me. My six years at Pine Island Camp were the most formative experience of my youth. I look at three experiences that impacted me beyond my general upbringing; college, high school and Pine Island Camp. Each of these had an impact and all were pretty good, but Pine Island definitely pushed me the most. In 1983 I was merely a senior in high school and amongst other things, led seven boys on Senior Whites. This trip is the big hiking trip at the end of the year and is seven days in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. When I look back at that, I am not sure the person I am today would let my 1983 self lead this trip. Particularly if I apply the perspective of the kids that went with me and getting permission from their parents. They would take one look at me and probably reflexively respond with a resounding NO! And yet I did it amongst a number of other trips that year.
Monte Ball was the camp director for my six years. He is a remarkable man and my successes at Pine Island were to a large degree, the result of his confidence in me. Why he trusted me is not altogether clear, but clearly he did. I certainly did not appreciate or understand it at the time, but his impact on my experience is crystal clear to me now.
Monte is a unique character. He was a camper during a couple of years when my father was a camper in the 50’s. There was definitely some built-in history that was to my advantage. In 1981, Monte came to our house in West Hartford. I was fifteen at the time. After the visit, he said I could be a Counselor-In-Training (CIT). I believe this was largely the result of his relationship with my father and grandfather because I was at least one year, and really two years too young. When I got to camp, my age as compared to other CITs was somewhat glaring. Making things even worse, there were other campers the same age as I was; hard to remember but I think a couple were older than me. Somewhere in the middle of that summer, I got tagged with the name ‘Camper Doug’. That one stuck for a couple of years.
Monte Ball, Ken Howe and Tom Mcfee were the directors of the camp during the majority of my six years. They were a good team and everyone had a great deal of respect for them all.
Monte definitely pushed everyone to make the most out of their summers. Whether you were in camp or out on a trip, caring for these boys was a tremendous responsibility; even though at the time I am not sure I really realized the magnitude of it all. Monte was a force to be reckoned with and was really the heartbeat of the camp. There were legendary stories of things he did and I was a participant in a couple of them. I would attempt to convey them here, but I think that unless you went to PIC you really would not appreciate them. Thank you Monte Ball!
There were numerous memorable events and trips that made up my six years as a counselor at PIC. Most trips we went on were memorable for either good or bad things that occurred during the trip. The first trip I ever went on was called Big Flag which was both a hiking and canoeing trip on Flagstaff Lake and Mount Bigelow. Generally there were two groups that started on either end of the trip and we would switch in the middle going from canoeing to hiking or vice versa. We had started with canoeing. On the first day as we were just about to land at our first camping spot, a camper named Frank Petito took his fishing rod out to get a couple of casts in and managed to hook another camper, Chris Quinn right under his thumbnail. This turned into a huge issue. Chris would not let us get the hook out. The following day, some local drove down to our campsite to collect driftwood. We asked him to drive a counselor and Chris to the Emergency Room. This guy clearly did not want to do it and asked Chris if he could look at it before they left. Chris cautiously showed him his hand with the lure dangling from his thumb. The man had grabbed some pliers while no one was looking, grabbed Chris’ wrist and yanked out the hook. Chris screamed in pain and shortly after yelled thank you umpteen times through many tears.
The following year I had gone on Senior Whites as the assistant trip leader. I remember this was a really good trip, but the thing I remember the most is singing the song Hotel California by the Eagles with Chris Seymour over and over. I now shudder to think how many times we sang that song over a seven day period. With the exception of one other camper, David Farr who participated in singing on and off, all the other campers and our trip leader were annoyed beyond belief. I also went on a trip called the Saco River this year which is a bit of a lazy three day float down one of Maine’s most popular rivers, known mostly for tubing and drinking. There were a bunch of rope swings and this was a fun few days. The trip leader was a guy named Jack Barden who was a very easy going southerner. He and I slept in the same tent and he had this scar that ran nearly the entire length of his torso which was the result of open-heart surgery he had a few years earlier. I was just floored by the size of it and thought they most of had him opened up in the most significant way.
When you come down Pamola Peak, there is a giant rock that juts out and just begs for a picture.
The following year I went on the Mt. Katahdin trip. This would quickly become my favorite trip. There is a bunkhouse in amongst a number of lean-tos at the Chimney Pond campsite. This was located inside the ‘horseshoe’ like enclosure of the mountain. The views here are magnificent. PIC would get the bunkhouse every year for four nights and we would climb and descend the mountain three or four times during those days. After this first time up, I would angle to get this trip for the next three seasons. Mt. Katahdin was easily my favorite trip.
On a trip called Mt. Abrams, I may have had my best moment as a trip leader. This hike was a three day trip for the smaller kids. I remember taking this one out a couple of times. You would hike up to this old abandon cabin in a little clearing. There was definitely a scary component to this location. I remember kids swearing that a man and his do came in one night while were all sleeping. On year as we were coming back down on the last day to be picked up, there was a commotion in the back of our line. I stopped and went back to see what was happening and one boy named Dickie Dilworth had fallen backward while crossing a stream. He was screaming in pain. I pulled him up and it was clear his arm had broken. He apparently put his arm behind him to break the fall, and snap. I jumped into action, straightened it, got an ace bandage and wrapped it up. I then took four sticks, evenly spaced them around his arm and then duct-taped the crap out of his arm. We got back to camp some hours later. I think Dickie and the camp nurse went straight into Waterville and the emergency room. I recall being told my ‘field dressing’ was quite good and that his arm would have been really screwed up otherwise. Dickie had some noteworthiness in that he was the grandson of the two time Mayor of Philadelphia.
We took a detour to go as far up the Horse Races as we could. We spent a little more than a day doing this and it was a lot of fun.
Among many memorable trips, Senior Canoe I had taken I believe in 1986 was a standout. We were headed north to an area of Maine just west of Mt. Katahdin. This was a good group of kids and my brother and a good friend, Will Clyde were my assistant trip leaders. Who you are with definitely can make a trip good or bad. This was definitely good. We put in on the West Branch Penobscot River just below Seboomook Lake. We spent about two days going down the river until it dumps into Chesuncook. This stretch was a lot of fun and pretty easy with good flow of the river with intermittent rapids. We had some time so we went to a place called the Horse Races near Black Pond. This was very shallow but a lot of fun. We practiced poling which I think is a lost art in canoeing. We returned to Chesuncook and happened to have the wind at our back for much of the next couple of days. We found a rock outcrop which allowed for a fun jump. One night we found an abandoned cabin which was pretty cool and provided a good option. We spend out days lashing our canoes together in two teams sailing and racing down Chesuncook. We had great weather the whole time. You can bring a lot of good food on canoe trips. This was a good one.
This was a good crew. I can’t name everyone but I remember (back row) Dan Hollnagel, my brother Ben, Will Clyde, Darby?, ? Brewer, and in front, John Fitchorn, Jonathan Edwards and Marty and Charlie Hale.
One of the most important aspects of Pine Island is an event that takes place at the end of the camp season called the War Games. This has been something the camp has done for nearly it’s entire 100+ year history. The camp is divided int two army’s, Blues verse the Grays. This of course is to be a recreation of this Civil War. And in the ’80s, that history was played up quite a bit. There was always a strong contingent of campers and staff from the south, many from Greenville, South Carolina where Monte ran a private school called Christ Church. This elevated the North verse South energy of this event. Today, I believe this is not quite the focus it once was in our more politically correct world. Where the camp theme is generally unity, this is a brief moment in the summer where things are divided in two, and quite literally a Civil War. The game is primarily strategy with a fair amount of physical exertion, but no contact. The whole thing is a big deal. My grandfather had been a victorious Gray General in the ’40s or ’50s. Despite living all my life in the Northeast, I was in the Gray Army. If any of your family has been in an army previously, you are in the same army. New kids get divvied up to hopefully have a balanced number of soldiers. In 1984 and 1985 I was the Gray General. This is generally reserved for senior staff and it was my turn. The Blue General my year was Ned Bishop. he was a bit older than I was and had won the previous year. I had known the winter before that I was likely to be General the following year and spent the majority of that time planning. I was a little obsessed with winning and had developed a unique plan that I thought would be quite effective. Long-story-short, I beat Ned which was a bit of an upset. The following year, the Blue General was Whit Fisher who was one of my best friends. He was a good deal smarter than I was and my new plan had been seen and experienced the previous year. I was nervous about being able to repeat. I also created this arbitrary desire for the Farquhar Family to be undefeated as Gray Army Generals. I was able to win my second year as well. I take some pride in these victories. My brother became General a few years later and he won as well. We are 4-0. I had hoped one of my sons would become a counselor and maybe general as well. Maybe extend that perfect record. No such luck and the prospects are fading quickly.
Maybe some of the best times I had at PIC were not even during the camp season. Often you could come early and stay late for work crews. There was a never-ending list of maintenance and rehabilitation that needed to occur on the island. We would generally work all day and then go out and have fun! Some of the more memorable times occurred after camp. They generally involved alcohol and youthful exuberance out and about Maine! Dinners at the Last Unicorn, trips to the Skowhegan Fair, crazy trips back to the island at late hours on the Rockwell. Those days I remember with great fondness.
Maybe the most important aspect of this experience was the lifetime friends that I made. I can think of about twenty people that if I called them to get together, they would go out of their way to make happen. And when we met, it would instantly be like old times, despite the thirty-plus years that have transpired. There was something about the summer days spent together and the experiences we all went through that creates a life-long bond. I suspect most people have some similar experience from their youth that creates a bond and some wistful recollection of youth, but I like to think that summers at Pine Island Camp were particularly special. And during the past thirty years, I have seen many of PIC’ers on-and-off. Akka Lakka!
This was a gathering of alumni in Fall of 2014 to do some upkeep on The Thomas Schultz Memorial Kopa Kababa. Tom was a fellow camper and counselor who died in the PanAm 103 bombing and many of his friends rebuilt a bunkhouse in his name.