Lake Cole in 1960

yakball during Family Camp

"Yakball" squad during Family Camp, in the late 1970s (probably 1977 or 1978). At far right is long-time friend and supporter of Frost Valley—and probably the longest-standing participant in Family Camp who continues to spend that week in the valley each year—Paul Schnauffer.

We invented Yakball, a cross between street hockey and water polo. We floated street hockey goals in rowboats at either end of the water "court." Players got in those little orange plastic kayaks ("playaks" was their official name). They could use their paddles or their hands to move the ball (a volleyball) forward toward the goal.

Yakball for a few years was an Olympic sport during session 2's Olympics, but then, during Family Camp, it got very intense—and quite a rivalry among families was formed. The staff got into it too.

Click on the image for a larger view.

when Lake Cole was brand new

The article here was published in a local New Jersey newspaper in 1959--probably the Westfield paper. It marks the completion of the construction of what we now call "Lake Cole" at Frost Valley. The article refers to it as "Wawayanda Lake." The camp had moved from New Jersey to Frost Valley the summer before. During that first summer, campers swam in a rectangular muddy pond built by Forstmann in the field across from the Castle, and also in Biscuit Creek Falls, Devil's Hole, and various swimming spots. At the time of this article - presumably late spring - what was a marshy field was bulldozed and fed by an inlet diverted from the Neversink River (near where the boathouse is now) and by a creek (which still has no name) coming across the Deus property across the bottom of what is now the hill leading up to cabins 31-35. Three Westfield boys posted for the newspaper's cameraman - allegedly the first people ever to go boating in our lake. Two of them became Frost Valley legends - Jim Ewen and John Ketcham.




Dave King remembers as follows: "As I remember it, the 'pool' across from the Castle was dug prior to opening Wawayanda in 1958. Thus, the VERY MUDDY pool. The pool was made in order to say that we had a "water program". Hal Russmeyer did as much as he could with it. The Board attempted to build a lake during 1959, but the builder was not able to stop the water from flowing out. The builder went bankrupt, and Harry Cole, the property manager, repaired the earthen dam and controlled the exit flow so that the lake levels could be stabilized. Thus, the lake was named for him. Also, 1959 was an arid summer. Biscuit Creek was about 2 feet wide and 4 inches deep. Somewhere, I have a picture of me standing on both sides of the lake (actually, it was more like a drainage ditch)."

Thanks to Ellen Rutan, who found the old article among the files of Liz Ewen, Jim's mom.

lake in early autumn

no more splinters

Yesterday, first full day of camp, waterfront period for all villages was taken up by what used to be called “dock tests,” then “swim tests,” now – more invitingly, especially given how cold the water is and thus uninviting to some – “swim checks.”

Ah but there’s something new at Lake Cole this summer other than the circumlocutious P.C. name for the job of sorting non-swimmers from swimmers. Yes, the docks are new – all new. The old old (old) ones were fixed into the lake – and, as I’ve written here before, created water-locked areas that filled with muck. The old ones, just now replaced, were floating docks, with wooden boardwalks. In recent years, despite good handling, these things started to warp a little and, worse, produced splinters.

Now we have docks of some kind of plastic. This reviewer, known for his fussiness about Old School matters, walked on this new-fangled material a few days ago in shoes and then barefooted, and while they are not nearly as real-feeling as wood, they are not bad to the touch, not bad for plastic. And they will last and last and last. And there’s a new configuration that allows for more activities and even a bit of lap-swimming for the good swimmers. Basketball court and volleyball courts, in the water. Yahoo!

While I’m talking waterfront, I have to report on one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard spoken at a VC program meeting. (These meetings have been happening weekly here since 1976 – geez, that’s 32 years – pretty much unchanged in format or duration. Earlier I have written about this brilliant programming system which truly decentralizes authority and responsibility for the activity schedules so that the village chiefs are really in charge of them. The downside is that a large long planning meeting must take place at the start of each week.) When it came time for the ’08 (and ’07) Waterfront Director, Brekke Holub, to make her announcements, she did her thing and readers of this blog can well imagine: (a) please be sure your campers wear bathing suits and bring towels, (b) please stay with your kids and counselors should be ready to swim themselves, (c) etc etc. With that, Brekke was done. But then, after a pause, another item occurred to her. “Well, there’s one more thing,” she tentatively began again, “and I don’t know if there’s any other way to put this. Well, boogers. I’ve been noticing campers with huge boogers dangling off their noses as they get out of the lake. Maybe they can be taught to check for this themselves. Or at least counselors should be on the look-out. I don’t really like myself to have to be the one to say to a camper, ‘Hey, kid, there’s a giant booger dangling from your lip.’” Silence, as the VCs, suddenly looking up from their half-done schedules, stare at her, wondering what practically could be done about this – this, just another of 999 things a VC has to think about, 750 of them rather absurdly. Then some and then all began to laugh, as did Brekke herself. Someone shouted out the suggestion that this “Booger Check” should formally become part of the already well-established and excellent “Buddy Check.” After all, safety and hygiene go hand in hand. There’s a reason under the sun for everything. Every last thing.

What haven’t we thought about? (That is why, in all seriousness*, I keep thinking that there cannot be a better intro administrative experience for a young talented smart person that being a VC for a summer.)

* I cannot believe I’ve created an unironic take-away from the Booger Check idea, but a few minutes after having typed it, I stand by it. If you think I’m sane, then you really understand or at least remember the value of what we’re doing.

cold mid-September morning

This past Saturday morning, 6:45 am. I could barely hold the camera still, it was so surprisingly cold. Twenty minutes later, at the dining hall, I went to the weather station and saw that by then it had risen to 43 degrees. I suspect it had dipped into the 30s. Mid-September? Yikes.

It warmed into the upper 50s, and felt like 60 in the sun, on Sunday.

Notwithstanding the cold - or perhaps because of it - Lake Cole was just beautiful at sunrise. Of course the sun is rising behind me as I face west at the boathouse side of the lake. You could see the mist move upward and westward.

As I walked into breakfast I saw two summer '07 VCs - the mighty & supertalented Jay, VC of Mac Boys, and Adele, VC of Lakota. They were bundled and looked ready for the autumn to come in earnest, hardly seeming the T-shirted and be-shorted running-like-crazy leaders from the summer. They were headed out for a day off, having worked all week with several school groups visiting for Environmental Education programs.

November moonrise

Full moon over Lake Cole, as seen from the end of the lake looking eastward back to camp (photo by Phyllis Kaskel, taken November 2006).

building Lake Cole

Lake Cole is a man-made lake, as almost everyone knows or recalls. Wawayanda's first summer at Frost Valley--1958--was a lakeless summer. Harry Cole led the team that created our current stream-fed 23-acre lake between the summers of '58 and '59. This photo was taken in '59 or '60. The dock and swimming area you're seeing here is situated on the eastern edge of the lake, near the boathouse--not along the northern edge which is where the swimming area is today. (In this picture the boathouse would be off to the left at about 10 o'clock.) In the background you can see the grassless, treeless rim of the newly dug area. Later pine trees were planted all along the southern edge of the lake between the high rim holding the water in and the road. These trees are now tall and full. The blonde counselor on the diving board here is one of a number of staff who came from Towson State College--brought to Wawayanda, I believe, by Digger Shortt and/or other Baltimore-area folks. I can remember, as a camper, that my camp director (Dave King) and program director (Dick "Yo-Yo" Sommers) were both Baltimoreans. It's even the case that at dinner Baltimore Orioles scores were announced (they were of course a great team in the mid-60s*). Even later, in the early 70s, prominent staff members like Barry Dunkin came out of Towson State. By now the Towson connection has long faded, but my memories of the odd-seeming Marylandcentricity of Wawayanda in those days hasn't. (Someday, in another entry, I'll say something about another eccentric geographic pipeline: the Mississippi connection.)

* I suppose there would have been protests about this had the Yankees or Mets been any good then. The Yanks had just gone bad, starting in'65, and the Mets of course were perennial 10th-place finishers in the National League. My dad, Sam, mailed me short short notes when I was at camp--always enclosed with a Newark Evening News clipping about the Mets game the previous day and the National League standings. I'm not sure why I enjoyed this. My team typically lost 90 to 100 games and typically sent no one to the all-star game. But I can remember as one of the great pleasures of being at camp, this: rest hour, a cool breeze blowing through my own little crank-up window in my cabin, my green navy wool blanket (always tucked neatly into my bunk), resting my head on my pillow and gleaming white pillow case (I changed the case at least 3 times during each 2-week session), and the day's mail just brought in by my junior counselor, and I always started with the letter and news of the Mets from my dad. His letters read like this:

Dear Al, nothing much going on here. I don't see any of the neighborhood kids. You are lucky to be at camp. It's hot here. Must be cool there at night. The Mets lost again. What else is new? Ron Hunt was hit by a pitch twice. Love, dad.