"by Ryan Leavitt"
Freelance Reporter, U.K./Australia

“This is the ropes course,” chirped Monica brightly as she toured me around the forest wilderness I was to call home for the next ten days. “I’m sure you’ll want to be trying that out.”

Cynically, I flashed her a smile of thanks as a thought of “no chance in hell” whizzed through my head. Puffing and sweating while dangling on a wire thirty feet in the air is not my idea of fun. For I was now in ‘Camp’ Camp, the world’s only summer camp for gay men and lesbians.

Located in the heart of rural Maine, ‘Camp’ Camp has been going for about five years with a mission to help queers of all colours, shapes, and sizes recapture their youth in a rustic setting. A short hop from Portland, Maine brought me into this pine-scented paradise, yet all I could think upon arriving was how to make a quick getaway. 

Checking into my living accommodations, I found that I would be experiencing the pleasures of the “Harvey Milk” cabin during my stay. Focused around the campsites’ main green square, camp organizers had decided to rename each of the bunks after famous gay icons past and present. Sources told me that “Harvey Milk” was the loudest party dorm on site the previous year and that I was due to experience some wild times. Seeing as “RuPaul” was right next door, I wasn’t convinced. “We renamed the back quarter of the camp the trailer park," said Jodie, a 30-something lesbian from a nearby New England suburb. “I never really came back here much. It was a bit loud for me.” Now there’s a surprise.

Puffing surreptitiously on a cigarette, I quickly clocked the various groups arriving for their week of fun and frolicking. Camp veterans bound onsite hugging and kissing old friends, while new recruits to the ‘Camp’ Camp experience milled around in a wild-eyed panic. And in the middle of it all was camp guru Bill Cole, joyously soaking in the excitement.

My decision to experience ‘Camp’ Camp came following an invitation from Bill to check out the place. Intrigued by the notion of a week of gay and lesbian community, I signed up for a stint (albeit with apprehension).

An affable fellow, Bill begin ‘Camp’ Camp in response to a need he saw in the gay and lesbian community for a place where queers could exorcise demons from their past, revel in the joys of the present, and forge strong bonds that would help them in the future. While it all sounded a bit New Age for me, I was willing to give it a try. The first ‘Camp’ Camp half a decade ago was a small affair with just a few dozen taking part. Word of mouth quickly spread, however, and the latest batch of campers now stretched into the hundreds.

“Tuesday is the Square Dance,” beamed Val as she took me through the week’s events. “The callers are a local family of fiddlers. Sometimes they forget about the whole same-sex thing, but it tends to work out in the end. Bill’s really done a marvelous job building this place up. His vision has truly blossomed.”

“We’ll see about that,” I snorted.

Within a few short hours the bonding began at the cordoned-off Smokers’ Table. Dubbed the home of the “Black Lungs,” the select few nicotine addicts quickly broke the ice with discussions about how to make the table a little homier. The coffee-can filled with sand just wasn’t doing it, so a sun umbrella and some yellow caution tape were erected. After a few adjustments, the place took on a whole new appearance. The rural decay made me feel like I was right back in London.

Days at ‘Camp’ Camp always seemed to begin brightly whether the sun was out or not. The breakfast bell rang promptly at 8:00 following a morning swim in the lake. Singles and couples meandered their way to the table in time for the morning meeting, gently brushing the sleep from their eyes. Following breakfast, campers had the option of attending a class on anything from photography to jewelry making, challenging themselves with a struggle up the climbing wall or relaxing with a dip in the lake.

For me, it was the ropes course that taunted me. Every day I would look up at the wires dangling in the breeze and I would walk by pretending they didn’t exist. Besides who needs a danger when there’s a tea dance on the lawn or performances at the coffee house? I’m an artist not a daredevil, aren’t I?

Tensions were running high that morning at ‘Camp’ Camp as breakfast kitchen wench Tanya quickly ran to make her 17th vat of coffee for the morning. Run on a cooperative system, many of the employees at ‘Camp’ Camp were working their vacations off by helping teach classes, cleaning dishes, tidying the grounds, or driving the transport trucks. Tanya was just such a person and her academically inclined self was about to snap.

“If one more person asks me for decaf or complains about the lack of posts this morning, I’m going to throw something,” she scowled. Seeing as I was too busy ferrying out waffles from the kitchen to assist her in any way, I nodded my agreement and wiped the sweat from my brow.

Sharing a cigarette down at the Black Lung corner a few minutes later, we began trading racial slurs and homo taunts in order to try and remove a bit of the PC lustre that had begun to permeate the place.

“You is my favorite foreign fag,” she cackled as we tried to forget the previous hour of kitchen-based hell. “And you is one hell of a dee-licious dyke,” I replied to the laying down of her gauntlet.

Walking back to the showers together required another glance at the dreaded ropes course. Kristi, the bubbly dread-locked wonder who ran the thing gave me a knowing wink, taunting me to give the thing a whirl. “I chipped my nail on a pancake,” I laughed, knowing she’d never take ‘no’ for an answer.

While the campsite had been oozing a bit of New Age Zen-ness as of late, my usual cynical self was starting to grow accustomed to it. Rather than giving a snigger when noticing the failings of another (as many of us are programmed to do), my attitude was checked at the door and I began caring about others.

Smiling became a natural, daily occurrence. I stopped bristling when people asked me how I was doing or if I was having a nice day. It’s amazing how fast one can get used to courtesy and community!

Looking around at the motley bunch that I was hanging around with, I began to notice a trend. Actually, I began noticing a lack of a trend to be precise. No one I hung around with was in media, the age range spanned the decades from wee 21-year old Patrick to the wit and wisdom of black lesbian and mother Dee and everyone seemed genuinely content and happy with life… and if they weren’t, then people were supportive and understanding.

That night at the Talent Show, the entire camp came out to support the various brave performers who had spent the past week rehearsing their parts in the “show of shows.” Okay, so it wasn’t The Phantom of the Opera, but everyone’s heart was certainly in the right place. Segments ranged from a show-stopping spoof of I Love Lucy’s “Vitameatevegimin” routine to a flesh-teasing strip number from the Australian camp staffers whom everyone had been drooling over during the course of the past week.

Finally, the last day arrived and I knew that I had to give the ropes course a try if I was going to leave fulfilled. Kristi strapped me into my crotch-grabbing belay and hoisted me up into the spider’s web climbing structure that would lead me to my doom. Immediately, I keeled over. Not a good sign for the adventure ahead. Each new segment of the course was a personal achievement as I negotiated and weaved my way from one challenge to another. A brief moment crossing a log with no support proved to be a bit of a battle, but the cheers and encouragement of half the camp below kept me going and I conquered my fear.

I will never forget the moment I complete the course and sailed my way down on the zip line. It’s enough to make me want to go back next year just so I can do it again. ‘Camp’ Camp does have its fair share of problems it continues to deal with. Like all communities, there is a difference of opinion between the wants and needs of the young and the old. Drinking is only allowed at designated periods during the week, making a party-on binge-fest out of the question. As the organizers age, there is a sense that the camp is aging with them. Many I spoke to fear that a split between the partiers and the less boisterous types might be soon in coming.

But until that day comes, ‘Camp’ Camp is the perfect place for those who want to relive what a community is all about. And if you’re young, single, and cute… my bunk next year will be back in “Harvey Milk.” See you next year campers!

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