6: Calamity at Camp Unahliya
When I was nine years old I went to sleepaway camp for the first time. I had gone to YMCA Wabansi day camp when I was younger, where you went home at the end of every day except for the last day of camp, when you could sleep over if you wanted to. That night was usually a bloodbath of sobbing and projectile urination inside a cabin of shame and regret; why would anyone want to spend the night away from home? But if you had any balls at all you'd pick yourself up, wash your sleeping bag thoroughly, and kick it up a notch the following summer at Camp Unahliya, where you spent the entire week away from home.
I always had a great time at camp and usually wound up befriending the counselors. I was really confident and loved making adults laugh, something I was getting better at every year. Really nine to ten years old was the coolest I ever was or will be because I was walking around listening to gangsta rap, decked out in Raiders gear, just fully talking the talk of someone cool and I'd barely left my bedroom in Green Bay. The adults got a huge kick out of my showmanship, musical knowledge, and general Tasmanian Devilishness and I had the adults wrapped around my finger.
As a child, Camp Unahliya seemed like a massive, almost endless expanse of trails, cabins, lakes, and random bullshit. Like wasp nests. There was a huge meeting hall and an even bigger dining hall, and when the entire camp was assembled it was dizzying. Every day there were countless activities to sign up for and random bullshit to mess with but, amazingly, you could also just fuck off and wander around the camp. For being so young we were given an absurd amount of freedom. Probably because there weren't any weapons or explosives on site.
We would have smaller group meetings, for activities and day trips. My ego was being pumped on a daily basis because the counselors would often give me the opportunity to speak to everyone, do a stupid little pep-talk with words like "slamming" and "radical" and just clown around. A girl showed interest in me for the first time. I was completely drunk with power.
That summer my counselor was Tim B. There were at least two Tims, probably more. He was a big sloppy brown bear of a young man, really kind and good with kids. He was always genuinely laughing at our antics, it was free entertainment for him to listen to our fart jokes and answer our inappropriate questions. He was also fairly lazy, so when it came time to sign up for activities and trips, he let us decide pretty much on our own. It was expectedly shambolic.
Wednesday afternoon, Tim came back from some meeting, probably getting high with the other counselors. He found the six of us, all 7-10 year old boys, slobbing around, reading Disney Adventures magazines, threatening to pull our pants down. He had an announcement: we needed to decide as a group where we would go for our overnight trip! There were all kinds of choices: campsites to canoe to, faraway cabins to hike to, even a few offsite natural sites you could take a van to. And finally, the lazy choice, the choice which Tim coaxed us to choose, the choice which would set in action a night of starlit horror none of us would ever forget: the backwoods.
The backwoods was the only overnight trip location that was actually on the campground proper. I'm guessing it was added as an option for disabled or infirm campers but was happily kept as option for hungover counselors and wussy kids. It was so close to the camp that you didn't even need to bring much for supplies, just a sleeping bag and some garbage to cook on the campfire. Thursday night, we gathered our belongings and set out on the comically short hike to the backwoods. I had my sleeping bag and pillow, my Walkman and my Cypress Hill tape, and a shoebox full of gutrot candy. The other five kids brought something similar.
Except Colton. He didn't have anything with him. He had been a wildcard since day one, threatening to go home, trying unsuccessfully to convince his parents to come get him, almost aggressively not showering or keeping his area clean. He was probably the oldest of our group around ten years old but he clearly had a screw loose. Rather, I should say in hindsight he had a screw loose and deserved some sort of sympathy. At the time we all thought he was a fucking knob.
I mention that he wasn't carrying anything because we had one of our longest conversations on the walk to the backwoods that night. He had a sort of topical Tourette's syndrome where he'd bark out a few loud comments on a topic before abandoning it. He seemed really used to expressing himself but not to other people. Living in Green Bay I'd met plenty of crazy kids, and while I wasn't usually friends with them, I felt like I understood the whole scene - and this was pre-Adderall.
I didn't mind trying to talk to the kid but was happy to peel off and meet up with the other four guys as we arrived at our destination. Just across the paved road that marked some edge of the camp was a small break in the trees and a very short footpath. That path led to a much bigger break in the trees as the forest opened up just a few feet from the road to reveal a large campfire area, an old tool barn, a really old mobile home, and a dessicated, deserted chicken coop. The minute we arrived the six of us exploded in seven directions and set about exploring/destroying as much as we could before Tim found the energy to get us under control.
As Tim got working on the fire, I explored the tool barn. It was untouched from the day it was in use, probably about 40 years earlier. There were piles of musty hay, old benches and chairs, and just an oddball collection of rusted and weathered tools. A full size grain scythe was hanging on the wall...I guess they thought too high for us to reach?
Needless to say I had the sucker down in a flash and was chasing my bunkmates around screaming "I AM DEATH!!!" Tim barked, "STOP IT!" without looking up from the fire. Choosing my battles, I tossed the scythe aside and launched myself into the old mobile home with a vicious karate kick to the front door. The rest of the boys poured into the tiny entryway and we rammed and smashed into each other, knocking over an end table and a small bookshelf. There were demonic screams of pain and bloodlust as we reveled in the pain. Tim's bulbous head burst through the doorway, "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!" We fell out of the door in an almost liquid state and continued our insane tromp around the grounds.
I wandered over to Tim just as he was dusting his hands for a job well done on the fire. The firesite itself was utterly massive and so was the base Tim had built. The flames jumped and reached in every direction and my face burned with curiosity as I got closer and closer. I heard another horrific crash followed by a scream from the tool barn and laughed maniacally. Tim was in his own world, muttering, moving piles of wood around. He looked up suddenly: he had forgotten the marshmallows. Flashlight in hand, he set off into the night. I looked at the fire, at the scythe resting menacingly in the grass, and laughed. I knew we had at least fifteen minutes until Tim returned.
In the flashing heat of the fire I raised the scythe over my head and let out a warcry. With my instrument of destruction waving madly I ran full force toward the chicken coop where the rest of the boys were messing around. Here again there was a stunning collection of random crap: ropes, wooden boards, aluminum siding, even a few old rugs rolled up and set aside. I screamed as I brought the scythe crashing into the side of the empty coop. The other kids laughed and squealed in delight and terror as I told them Tim was gone. In a flash we unrolled the rugs, tossed the aluminum siding in the shape of a crude house of cards, and hurt ourselves badly attempting to karate chop the wooden boards. The mess we made was unbelievable and so was the high.
In the middle of the madness, Colton became enraged with another camper, Will, for a perceived insult or injury. I mean, we were constantly insulting and injuring each other on purpose, so it is impossible to say what really set it off. Perhaps something in Colton's reptilian brain clicked on when he realized Tim was gone and this may be his only chance to morph into primal. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Colton trip Will and push him violently into the siding of the barn. Will fell and screamed in anger as I rushed to intervene...or at least get a better view. Another bunkmate, Sean, who was classmates with Will, pushed Colton from behind, comically driving Colton back into his friend Will, hurting him further.
The three of them were engaged in a dust cloud of wimpy and awkward fighting. I danced around the perimeter, occasionally throwing a piece of siding into the mix or hitting whoever was closeby with a rolled up carpet. Eventually Sean and Will got the better of Colton and had him pinned to the ground just a few feet from the ramp into the chicken hutch. I helpfully approached with a length of rope and suggested Colton be bound and locked in the chicken coop for his crimes. For whatever reason, this really set Colton off, and the fact that he didn't want us to do it made it seem like a great idea. Again, we were utterly drunk with power.
We frantically wrapped the rope around and over his feet, legs, and arms. He was screaming in anger but we made sure not to hurt him; we weren't monsters. Once he was properly "mummified" with the old rope, we literally rolled his writhing, wailing body up the ramp and into the chicken hutch. He fit rather perfectly in his twine-bound form, and we were quite satisfied with the way the hutch door clanked shut after we shoved his body inside. We tied an additional length of rope around the entrance to the coop itself, just in case he did escape from the hutch. It was all really well planned.
I'm not proud to say we left him there at least until Tim got back, and probably a little longer - and I recall it took him a LONG time to get back. Most likely there never were any marshmallows and he simply got ripped and fell asleep. When he finally did discover Colton, he wasn't happy. Tim was actually mad at US for properly restraining him! I asked him, "Should we have just let him run wild? I mean, there has to be rules out here." Once again Tim's laziness benefitted me because he quickly lost interest. We bought Colton off with Laffy Taffy and Warheads. He was bright red with rage, covered in dirt, with rope fragments hanging from his hair. The very image of a successful sleepaway camper. I think I even convinced him it was all a joke. And wasn't it quite funny after all, Colton?
I went back to Unahliya the following year but it wasn't as much fun. The camp felt smaller, less dangerous. Kids were more into movies and music and less into farting and looking for junk in the woods. I still had a great time, and my parents got the character building they wanted for me, but it wasn't the same. There was something about that first summer, being nine years old and almost feral. Set loose in a world without boundaries or consequences, there was a feeling of pure freedom that set the mind ablaze. If you could handle being away from home for the night.
As a child, Camp Unahliya seemed like a massive, almost endless expanse of trails, cabins, lakes, and random bullshit. Like wasp nests. There was a huge meeting hall and an even bigger dining hall, and when the entire camp was assembled it was dizzying. Every day there were countless activities to sign up for and random bullshit to mess with but, amazingly, you could also just fuck off and wander around the camp. For being so young we were given an absurd amount of freedom. Probably because there weren't any weapons or explosives on site.
We would have smaller group meetings, for activities and day trips. My ego was being pumped on a daily basis because the counselors would often give me the opportunity to speak to everyone, do a stupid little pep-talk with words like "slamming" and "radical" and just clown around. A girl showed interest in me for the first time. I was completely drunk with power.
I actually walked around calling it "New Jack Camp" because I was so cool.
Wednesday afternoon, Tim came back from some meeting, probably getting high with the other counselors. He found the six of us, all 7-10 year old boys, slobbing around, reading Disney Adventures magazines, threatening to pull our pants down. He had an announcement: we needed to decide as a group where we would go for our overnight trip! There were all kinds of choices: campsites to canoe to, faraway cabins to hike to, even a few offsite natural sites you could take a van to. And finally, the lazy choice, the choice which Tim coaxed us to choose, the choice which would set in action a night of starlit horror none of us would ever forget: the backwoods.
The Polar Bear Club - jump in the freezing cold water every morning at 7AM. I still have the club patch!
The backwoods was the only overnight trip location that was actually on the campground proper. I'm guessing it was added as an option for disabled or infirm campers but was happily kept as option for hungover counselors and wussy kids. It was so close to the camp that you didn't even need to bring much for supplies, just a sleeping bag and some garbage to cook on the campfire. Thursday night, we gathered our belongings and set out on the comically short hike to the backwoods. I had my sleeping bag and pillow, my Walkman and my Cypress Hill tape, and a shoebox full of gutrot candy. The other five kids brought something similar.
Cypress Hill - Black Sunday, my favorite album that summer
Except Colton. He didn't have anything with him. He had been a wildcard since day one, threatening to go home, trying unsuccessfully to convince his parents to come get him, almost aggressively not showering or keeping his area clean. He was probably the oldest of our group around ten years old but he clearly had a screw loose. Rather, I should say in hindsight he had a screw loose and deserved some sort of sympathy. At the time we all thought he was a fucking knob.
I mention that he wasn't carrying anything because we had one of our longest conversations on the walk to the backwoods that night. He had a sort of topical Tourette's syndrome where he'd bark out a few loud comments on a topic before abandoning it. He seemed really used to expressing himself but not to other people. Living in Green Bay I'd met plenty of crazy kids, and while I wasn't usually friends with them, I felt like I understood the whole scene - and this was pre-Adderall.
I didn't mind trying to talk to the kid but was happy to peel off and meet up with the other four guys as we arrived at our destination. Just across the paved road that marked some edge of the camp was a small break in the trees and a very short footpath. That path led to a much bigger break in the trees as the forest opened up just a few feet from the road to reveal a large campfire area, an old tool barn, a really old mobile home, and a dessicated, deserted chicken coop. The minute we arrived the six of us exploded in seven directions and set about exploring/destroying as much as we could before Tim found the energy to get us under control.
As Tim got working on the fire, I explored the tool barn. It was untouched from the day it was in use, probably about 40 years earlier. There were piles of musty hay, old benches and chairs, and just an oddball collection of rusted and weathered tools. A full size grain scythe was hanging on the wall...I guess they thought too high for us to reach?
Needless to say I had the sucker down in a flash and was chasing my bunkmates around screaming "I AM DEATH!!!" Tim barked, "STOP IT!" without looking up from the fire. Choosing my battles, I tossed the scythe aside and launched myself into the old mobile home with a vicious karate kick to the front door. The rest of the boys poured into the tiny entryway and we rammed and smashed into each other, knocking over an end table and a small bookshelf. There were demonic screams of pain and bloodlust as we reveled in the pain. Tim's bulbous head burst through the doorway, "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!" We fell out of the door in an almost liquid state and continued our insane tromp around the grounds.
I wandered over to Tim just as he was dusting his hands for a job well done on the fire. The firesite itself was utterly massive and so was the base Tim had built. The flames jumped and reached in every direction and my face burned with curiosity as I got closer and closer. I heard another horrific crash followed by a scream from the tool barn and laughed maniacally. Tim was in his own world, muttering, moving piles of wood around. He looked up suddenly: he had forgotten the marshmallows. Flashlight in hand, he set off into the night. I looked at the fire, at the scythe resting menacingly in the grass, and laughed. I knew we had at least fifteen minutes until Tim returned.
In the flashing heat of the fire I raised the scythe over my head and let out a warcry. With my instrument of destruction waving madly I ran full force toward the chicken coop where the rest of the boys were messing around. Here again there was a stunning collection of random crap: ropes, wooden boards, aluminum siding, even a few old rugs rolled up and set aside. I screamed as I brought the scythe crashing into the side of the empty coop. The other kids laughed and squealed in delight and terror as I told them Tim was gone. In a flash we unrolled the rugs, tossed the aluminum siding in the shape of a crude house of cards, and hurt ourselves badly attempting to karate chop the wooden boards. The mess we made was unbelievable and so was the high.
In the middle of the madness, Colton became enraged with another camper, Will, for a perceived insult or injury. I mean, we were constantly insulting and injuring each other on purpose, so it is impossible to say what really set it off. Perhaps something in Colton's reptilian brain clicked on when he realized Tim was gone and this may be his only chance to morph into primal. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Colton trip Will and push him violently into the siding of the barn. Will fell and screamed in anger as I rushed to intervene...or at least get a better view. Another bunkmate, Sean, who was classmates with Will, pushed Colton from behind, comically driving Colton back into his friend Will, hurting him further.
The three of them were engaged in a dust cloud of wimpy and awkward fighting. I danced around the perimeter, occasionally throwing a piece of siding into the mix or hitting whoever was closeby with a rolled up carpet. Eventually Sean and Will got the better of Colton and had him pinned to the ground just a few feet from the ramp into the chicken hutch. I helpfully approached with a length of rope and suggested Colton be bound and locked in the chicken coop for his crimes. For whatever reason, this really set Colton off, and the fact that he didn't want us to do it made it seem like a great idea. Again, we were utterly drunk with power.
We frantically wrapped the rope around and over his feet, legs, and arms. He was screaming in anger but we made sure not to hurt him; we weren't monsters. Once he was properly "mummified" with the old rope, we literally rolled his writhing, wailing body up the ramp and into the chicken hutch. He fit rather perfectly in his twine-bound form, and we were quite satisfied with the way the hutch door clanked shut after we shoved his body inside. We tied an additional length of rope around the entrance to the coop itself, just in case he did escape from the hutch. It was all really well planned.
I went back to Unahliya the following year but it wasn't as much fun. The camp felt smaller, less dangerous. Kids were more into movies and music and less into farting and looking for junk in the woods. I still had a great time, and my parents got the character building they wanted for me, but it wasn't the same. There was something about that first summer, being nine years old and almost feral. Set loose in a world without boundaries or consequences, there was a feeling of pure freedom that set the mind ablaze. If you could handle being away from home for the night.
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