(Originally posted to social media on May 22, 2022)
When I first started working at Camp Powhatan back in the late 60s I was still very young. In 1968 I would not turn 16 until November of that year. I did not own a car so on weekends I would stay behind in Camp and I would explore the 16,000 acre reservation. I was not upset about being alone because it was my favorite part of the summer. So from about 11:00 on Saturday morning until about noon on Sunday I had the camp to myself. Leon made sure I had access to some supplies in the kitchen. I also caught a lot of trout in those days and I could whip up a small fire and cook those fish on a basket of green branches and there is nothing better. I could take out a canoe and just drift catching the big rainbows that were stocked in the lake. There were Coke machines at the Trading Post so I was in high cotton.
There were no cell phones in those days and nobody to worry about me so I was free to simply pick a direction and go. There were not a lot of formal trail systems like there are today but there were myriad logging paths that covered the camp. Those paths often terminated at a giant slab pile that held Rattlesnakes galore. Bears were uncommon on the camp in those days and even deer were seldom seen. Most of the time I would grab a small backpack with a few basic supplies. I would grab a lightweight fishing rod and make my way up the main creek. There were a dozen small streams that fed into that wonderful body of water but I knew that about two miles up there were big native brook trout hanging out. Those fish are some of the most beautiful creatures on the planet and they fight like little tigers on light line.
My goal in those days was to hook them cleanly and to put them carefully back where they started. Every once in a while you would catch one over a foot but most of them were about 10 inches long.
If I encountered a Timber Rattler I might catch him just to check him out but most of the time I would just walk carefully around them. Sometimes where there is one there will be others. In those days there were vast stands of old hemlocks that grew up and down that drainage. Most of them are now long gone killed off by beetles. But the shade and shelter that they provided were amazing. And there is something about the smell of a hemlock grove that is unforgettable, walking almost silently on generations of needles and tiny cones. There were certain animals like redsquirrels that thrived in those stands, I can’t imagine where they have gone.
The creek was like a living thing as it cascaded down the sometimes steep terrain. Long deep pools offered a place to swim but the water was like ice. There were redbellied Dace all over in the pools and if you stayed very still they would come up and nibble on your exposed skin. I don’t know if the Staff today still wanders the camp the way I did. They are probably anxious to get to the big city to see the sights and to eat food that did not taste like camp. I had to make do with a couple of 16 inch rainbow trout that tasted like a small slice of heaven. Most of what I now know about the natural world I learned in those solitary walks in a special place that I will never forget.
(Copyright by John Hankins; all rights reserved. Published here by permission of the author.)
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