I made my way silently in the pre-dawn dark, stepping out onto a dirt road that led to the waterfront. All was quiet as I headed down that road. Camp Hinds slept, except for ten boy scouts meeting together at the boat landing. The stars were fading as dawn light began coloring the sky and we partnered up, then selected our canoes and paddles. This summer day in late July would be a canoe trip up the Tenny River. We were senior scouts, chosen for our experience and the day was ours.
The Tenny River flows near the small town of Raymond, Maine, and is part of the Presumpscot River watershed flowing into Maine’s Casco Bay. The mile long stream joins Crescent Lake to Panther Pond with only one foot of elevation drop. We put in at the mouth of the Tenny on Panther Pond and turned our way up-stream as the sun began to rise at our backs. The game plan was simple; paddle up and into the lake, then an easy drift back down to the pond and camp.
The paddle up stream is easy but incessant. You must either paddle or hang onto something or the gentle flow will push you right back to where you just were. The sun’s early rays warmed the air just above the water surface and the stream began to smoke creating a mystical scene that made the effort worthwhile. Canoes disappeared and re-appeared in the “river smoke” while ducks and other wildlife stared in surprise as we emerged from the mists. No one spoke. We just silently paddled through these sacred mists of the past. This was why we were here. It spoke to our DNA, and we remembered.
The morning sun continued to rise and the “river smoke” evaporated leaving a warm clear day with a bright blue sky. Ahead appeared the opening out onto Crescent Lake. A breeze picked up giving the water some wave texture as we moved out onto the lake. Everyone was talking now, and we all converged around one canoe. It was the canoe containing a new and amazing device that ran on batteries, could listen to the world, and was only the size of a pack of cigarettes. It was another form of mysticism: New World mysticism. It was a transistor radio. Today was July 21, 1961—the day a second astronaut flew into space and back. Gus Grissom was being launched in Liberty Bell 7, and we were all listening, and we heard it all, and we were talking excitedly, as we paddled across a lake in the Maine woods.
We listened until the space flight was over, and then headed back into the Tenny River. The gentle current carried us downstream while we steered effortlessly. The sun was high, and the mists were gone—the day’s earlier magic with it. We were firmly back in the modern world. We reached the landing and camp in late morning around midday, greeted by all the happy noise that an active youth camp can generate. And we were just in time for another reality. Lunch.
That was my last summer at camp. In the fall, I started high school and moved on to more new worlds. But I still look back from time to time and remember, the sacred mists of the past are in my DNA.
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