THE SEARCH FOR A CAMPSITE chapter 101

Christian Service Brigade had an end of year camping tradition that the guys all anticipated. I wasn’t quite as excited, but as the new leader I was expected to go and expected to lead. There were actually two trips. The first came around the first week of May when the leaders, sergeant and corporals (squad leaders) went ahead to find a suitable campsite. The group was not looking for a rental place, just a clearing near water with enough space for tents and the entire crew. Some brush clearing work was to be expected.

Fortunately Russ, the former leader, came back to lead the two trips. I had begged for his assistance. I had no idea what would happen or what might be my responsibility. Art and a couple of other adults made the trip as well. I was glad for the crew. My camping experience was limited to three camping trips as a tag-a-long and all but one of those were at rental campsites. It seems that the other one was along a rippling little stream in Nebraska with a few friends and a couple of tents. It might even have been some back yard. The thought of pretending to be a pioneer was somewhat daunting. I was clearly a city boy and proud of it
I have been looking through maps trying to determine exactly where we had been. The search has produced nothing. All I know is that it was way up in northern Saskatchewan after the paved road had ended. Near the end of the road was a hunting outpost. It was a rugged somewhat rundown woodsy little stopping point for hunters going much further north. It was literally the last inhabited place on that road — an end of the world sort of feel many miles into the beginning of the tree line.

a similar gas station.

These cabins had a better roof and slept
12 or 14, Think of old teen camp cabins.

The end of the world place was a collection of several wooden structures the color of dirt. They appeared in reasonable repair, but would never be featured in Beautiful Houses. There was a gas pump with a shop providing hunting and fishing supplies, a couple of tables and a food service counter. The proprietor was a petite five-foot tall mountain gal. She looked out of place except for her clothes. She was a country gal for sure. Dirty jeans, dusty logging boots with heavy wool socks pulled over the top boot lips, a Pendleton wool shirt with frayed cuffs and a hole in the elbow and an army green hunting vest pulled over that. She appeared to have the wrong body for that get up, but when she talked, she could have been a tough single pioneer lady heading west in her covered wagon ready to build her own place in the wild west. She could definitely handle herself. I don’t know her name, but some of us called her Bertha. In all the years of heading north, I never met anther person there. Don’t know if she was alone or just alone when we arrived.

Not Bertha, but the right attitude.

For my American friends, Saskatchewan is prairie country – flat land as far as the eye can see broken only by the occasional tree and a few bumps that pass for hills. There are trees located along rivers and streams, but the forest is still further to the north. You can clearly see the tree line on Google maps. Why anyone ever settled in Regina has always been a mystery to me — there’s no water. It’s piped in from Diefenbaker Lake nearly 100 miles northwest. Saskatoon, on the other hand, is located on the South Saskatchewan River and had a lot of trees at waters edge, a much more sensible city location.

The campout was in the tree line and northeast of Saskatoon. It was a several hour ride before we got to the starting point of the campout search — Bertha’s outpost. There were several wooden bunkhouses with old metal-framed bunk beds and a stove. These were a last sleep on a mattress kind of place before being exposed to the elements day and night. We spent our first night in her one star not AAA approved accommodation with interior walls of unstained 2x4’s and slat siding with only a few cracks to view the outside. The restrooms were down the path and to the back. If you wanted to wash up there was a water pump near her place of business. I expected it to be frozen, but it wasn’t. However, the water was like ice. A splash on the face was the best I cold stand.

Saturday morning the campsite search began. The whole crew would come back on Victoria Day weekend to celebrate the end to the Christian Service Brigade season until next fall. To me, it was still winter as we searched for the perfect place. I somehow doubted the thaw would arrive in the next three weeks. I braced myself for a cold campout.

Everyone piled into the back of a pickup for our search down barely traveled trails. It was clear these men had been here before and were happy to be on this grand adventure. I was beginning to enjoy it as well. I was with experienced guys and while the trails might have been new, the area was familiar. Besides, Bertha gave great suggestions. It was going to be fun.