Spruce Pond Conservation Camp – The Old Guy Still Remembers

PHOTO: One of Bob H. Smith’s memories of conservation camp was that one afternoon or evening was reserved for learning how to shoot a bow and arrow..

by Robert Hanaford Smith, Sr.
Weirs Times Contributing Writer

I had my initiation into a summer camp experience by attending 4-H Camp as a child and went to Conservation Camp as a more matured camper as a teenager. It wasn’t that I was a city dweller who had to learn what it was like in the country by attending camp. I was a rural inhabitant who lived on a R.F.D. mail route and had farm chores to do, and seasonal outdoor and indoor duties associated with being a country boy. I listened to the spring peepers (frogs) when it was the season for them, listened to the Whip-poor-will on hot summer evenings after the peepers had weeks previously given up their peeping, and chased fireflies (lightning bugs) after dark on those summer days. But it was also logical for one who had dreams of one day becoming a Fish and Game Officer, or Conservation Officer as they are sometimes called, to attend conservation camp.

Conservation Camp was held at Spruce Pond in Bear Brook State Park in Allenstown, New Hampshire, not far from the 4-H Camp’s location, and was apparently usually used as a Girl Scout camp. The camp was run by The Society for the Protection of New Hampshire’s Forests, although forest conservation was just one of the items that the camp emphasized as areas of conservation training. The camp grounds were similar to that at Bear Hill Pond Camp, with lots of trees, especially the pines, and similar rustic cabins to sleep in. As at Bear Hill the gathering place buildings were between the boys and girls cabins, but, as one might expect, there was more boy and girl interaction with an older group of kids.
I don’t recall a lot about the classes, but I do remember that they were divided into four categories with the emphasis on conserving each of the four. Camp benefits included a t-shirt with the initials SWAF spelled out on the front.

It just occurred to me that if someone beginning a new summer children’s camp were looking for a name then Camp Benefit might be a good one to consider. I see Camp Firewood signs (camp fire wood) all over the place, so that name probably should be disregarded. SWAF represented the first letters of the words soil, water, animal life, and forests, the things we were encouraged that week to be advocates for conserving. I wore my SWAF t-shirt with pride, always hoping that people would ask me what SWAF meant.
I’m not sure if my week at Conservation Camp resulted in any improvement in doing my part to conserve or if I’ve passed on much of what I learned (don’t ask me now what that was) to others, but I’ve felt it was a profitable experience. I guess I did learn that what I had called “dirt” up to that point in my life was really “soil”, that pond water contains a lot of little creatures that somehow contribute to the ecosystem, that there are a number of “signs” in the forest to tell you what animals have been there, and that you don’t have to cut a tree down to find out how old it is because you can drill into it and remove a core by which you can count the rings and determine the tree’s age. I had great interest in keeping the soil from eroding, the water safe and clean, the animals from becoming extinct, and the forests green, but I also saw all of those goods as being created by God Who gave mankind the position of being the caretaker of them.
Not everything we did at Conservation Camp was based on the SWAF letters. One afternoon or evening was reserved for learning how to shoot a bow and arrow. With dozens (I don’t remember how many) campers to teach, the opportunities for individuals to actually shoot the arrows was extremely limited. The incentive was there, however, when one of the instructors shot an arrow high into the air and far into the woods in the direction of some of the cabins, my concern was that one of the campers might still be out there somewhere where the arrow landed.
Boy/girl friendships seemed to be more prevalent than in the camp of younger boys and girls. One day after the evening meal the weather was humid and a thunderstorm seemed to be on its way as the sky darkened. Probably as an alternative to what had been scheduled the campers were divided into small groups in the dining hall and given some topic to discuss. As I remember it, our small group talked about other things other than the assigned topic. There was a pretty but talkative girl in our group who was lamenting the fact that she didn’t have her flashlight with her and might have to walk back to her cabin in the dark. I had also left my flashlight in the cabin, but, being a chivalrous young man, I told her she could borrow my flashlight. Of course, that meant I would have to go to my cabin and retrieve it, which I did. That thunderstorm, however, did not intend to wait for my return. Though I hurried like Flash Gordon, by the time I had run to the cabin, which seemed like a long walk (run), the sky was flashing with bolts of lightning and the rain started pouring upon me.
I returned to the dining hall in the midst of that storm wondering if a bolt would strike one of the tall pine trees that lined the path. The fury of the storm was marked by the cracks of lightning and loud and long rumbles of thunder. The girl thanked me for the use of my flashlight, but I think she had already found a flashlight to use. Whatever the case, my most memorable experience at Spruce Pond Camp was probably quickly erased from the memories of others involved, and I came to consider my “chivalrous” act more like a “foolish” one. The pretty girl didn’t seem as attractive to me anymore and I was just happy to have escaped with my life.
I was told to look out for rattlesnakes as they were known to inhabit the area the camp was in, and I half hoped I would see one (from a distance), but I didn’t. I have wondered why children’s camps were built in the one location of the State that contained rattlesnakes. One of the counselors, a college student, slept in our cabin, and he told some bedtime stories I hadn’t heard before, or since, and which I never repeated.
Children attending summer camp always appreciate receiving a letter from home, even if they are only “away” for a week, and my Mother was good in seeing that I wasn’t missed at mail time. I think I was faithful in sending at least one letter home.
I will close this week’s article by passing on a news item in the June 16, 1950 edition of The Laconia Evening Citizen concerning the mail. Assistant Postmaster Francis Riel of the Laconia Post Office announced that the new mail delivery schedule of one delivery a day would go into effect on June 17, 1950. Some wouldn’t receive their mail until the afternoon. Those in the business district of Laconia would, however, continue to receive two deliveries a day. Regular carriers wouldn’t lose their jobs, but substitutes might.