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•! THE CAMP LOG
1936 Published by THE STUDENTS OF THE NEW YORK STATE COLLEGE OF FORESTRY SUMMER CAMP 1936 . "LITTLE MAN" To Warren Guinup, friend, advisor and leader of Summer Campers for the past nine years, we respectfully dedicate the 1936 Camp Log. C. C. DELAVAN HE development of Summer Camp under the direction of Professor C. C. Delavan stands as a lasting tribute to his unceasing efforts and devotion to his work. From a small woods camp, he has developed a permanent camp, well balanced with work, recreation and fellowship, and adequately equipped for the comfortable care of over one hundred men. The new mess hall is an example of Director Delavan's untiring efforts to make Barber's Point not a work camp but a place where a student will be able to learn, in addition to factual knowledge, to live and work with other men. The efforts of the students who have attended camp in the past have not been in vain. Artistic cabins, efficient classroom and administration buildings, and modem facilities of comfort and sanitation all bespeak the many hours of labor that have been expended in making Barber's Point a better and more cheerful place for the classes to come. To Professor Delavan must go our praise for the efficient management and administration which has made all this possible. Worry, untiring effort, and . ceaseless toil, things which we cannot perceive, all went into the magnificent structure which has been erected on the shore of Sucker Brook Flow. All this with but one thought in mind, one guiding principle—to make Summer Camp a better place for future generations of Foresters. THE CAMP LOG STAFF Editor-in-Chief JAMES L. WENBAN Managing Editor WALTER A. RICHARDSON Business Manager * WILLIAM H. SEITZ, JR. . lt Associate Editors CHARLES E. WILLIAMS GEORGE K. GREMINGER CONRAD E. HERMSTED Photography Editors WILLIAM C. MacADAM JOHN STUDENY Humor Editor Art Editor EARL L. STONE ROBERT B. WILLIAMS Ass't Business Manager Sports Editor JACOB S. ULMER ' ‘ EARL KENDALL Junior Representative GEORGE W. SWENSON TABLE OF CONTENTS Classes Orientation...... 13 Dendrology ...... 15 Foresters _ Ecology...... 19 Silviculture...... 21 Surveying...... 23 Mensuration...... 27 Newcomb Night Life...... •...... 29 Industrialists Silviculture...... 37 Utilization...... 39 The Paper and Pulp Trip...... 41 Mensuration...... 42 Surveying...... 43 Humor and Reflections The First Job...... „.46 Looking Back...... 47 Confessions of an Instructor...... 49 The Demon Forester...... 50 The Kitchen Kabinet...... i...... 51 Among Those Present...... 55 In Memoriam...... 58 The Flesh Pots...... 59 The Law of the Lake...... 61 The Big Parade...... 62 Summer Camp— 1976...... 63 Sports The Regatta and Field Meet...... 67 The Second Field Meet...... 69 Baseball...... 70 Second Game...... 70 Third Game...... 71 Our Advertisers SUMMER CAMP GROUP OF ‘36 1st Row, left to right: R. Gould, C. Williams, L. Russell, P. Schaffrath, E. Anuswith, A. Buhl, F. Cook, J. Gossner, Professor Delavan, F. Fowler, R. Foulds, G. Bowen, F. Coveil, W. Richardson. 2nd Row: J. Wenban, H. Phinney, N. Tripp, W. MacAdam, H. Reed, E. Cullinan, W. Sexton, G. Fox, A. Kratina, I. Woodruff, C. Dengrove, W. Seitz, C. Hermstead, I. Studeny. 3rd Row: J. Kilgore, Bruno, Evo, W. Lambert, J. Egan, Dick Witchely, Si Lawson, Paul Criss, "Herb” Phelps, Rodney, R. Cron, L. Gysel, Prof. Farrissee, R. Pitman, A. Miller. 4th Row: W. Kennedy, J. Keetch, H. Madison, G. Renner, E. Kendall, A. Klayman, R. Ryan, M. Schmid, E. Boyle, R. Mullens, W. Piasecki, S. Grober, N. Croom, G. Greminger, W. Frank, B. Bigelow, D. Howlett, J. Hyde, 1. Feldman, G. Lake, J. Rouse. 5th Row: S. McCain, P. Bogdanoff, K. Wooden, W. Ryan, F. Carello, A. Duke, G. Swenson, R. Loweth, F. Capello, W. Lloyd, J. Martin, S. Coutant, C. Speers, P. Randall, R. Williams, J. Smith, A. Rudolph, L. Robinette, J. Ulmer, D. Scott, Warren Guinup. 6th Row: L. Espenas, J. Dodd, M. Hirsch, C. Keller, G. Holrock, F. Hughes, C. DiCarlo, R. Kohl, E. Stone, L. Whitney, B. Pearson, E. Fiske, R. Kelly, G. Nelson, C. Stanley, A. Connell. Top: C. Rapp. F o re w o rd
OR two years we looked forward to the ten weeks that we would spend at the New York F State College of Forestry Summer Camp on the shores of Cranberry Lake. Some of us looked for ward with dread, some with joy, but the majority of us with anxious anticipation. Now that the Camp is over we can look ahead to other objectives with the knowledge that our lives and background have been greatly enriched by the summer spent on Barber's Point. The lasting memories of those ten weeks—the new friendships made and the old ones strengthened—the gain in knowledge of our profes sion—can never be taken from us. This, the Camp Log of 1936, represents an effort on our part to present to each of you the highlights of that glorious summer. Our sincere wish is that it may serve not only as an introduction to camp life for some and recall colorful and pleasing memo ries for others, but also as a future reminder of the ten weeks of fellowship and work for those who experienced the Summer Camp of '36. THE EDITOR
CAMP LOG
SCENERY
Page 12 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
ORIENTATION // /—s RIENTATION? Huh, a snap course." "What f ] a cinch, nothing but a stroll through the woods." V y "What a pipe." These were the exclamations that issued from the mouths of the Babes in the Woods (Summer Campers) when the Orientation trip was announced. But little did we know the snares and pitfalls that beset our path on the way to the elusive Cat Mountain. As we started out, lunches tucked inside shirts or neatly tied in red ban danas and draped from behind, compass needles floated and pencils scraped as the exact routes that were to be followed were marked out on the maps. "See that esker? All you have to do is find that and there you are." "Be sure to notice through what different kinds of timber and over what kinds of country you pass. Remember, you're supposed to see things on this trip." Really, those were our instructor's very words. ■ • The first group, led by that old time guide, Smith, started out in such a hurry that the fellows dipped dust in their hind pockets going around the curves in Chair Rock Trail. But as the sun grew hotter and the flies grew - thicker, the pace grew slower. Suddenly it stopped altogether. As out of place as a firecracker in a morgue, was the next inquiry that Smith injected into that peaceful group. "Where are we?" he calmly asked. "Why we're in the woods," replied some merry wag. Maps were hastily dragged from pockets and compasses hurriedly unslung from around necks in an attempt to locate our position. "All you have to do is follow the telephone line," were the encouraging words of Smith. "Yeah, but dammit, how do we find it?" we asked. No answer. The spirits of some of the fellows rose as they climbed trees in searching for the elusive Cat, but they soon dropped when they came down again. "Oh, if I were only in Brooklyn," sobbed Little Davie. Some cussed, others swore. Rouse started to eat his lunch and Renner lay down and went to sleep. Then began the search for the telephone line and the girls' camp on Cow- hom Pond. With the accompaniment of droning deer flies and with the squishing of bog water in our shoes we searched and searched for the trail. Time marches on. Two-thirty in the afternoon—Eureka, the trail, but no girls' camp. Tramp, tramp, tramp the boys marched through the wood and along the trail. Now and then we passed a few of the fellows (from the other group) going back to camp. As each fellow passed, he was asked the inevitable question by each man, "How far is it to Cat Mountain?" Came the same reply from the men, "Oh, about four miles." It seemed that the farther we walked towards the mountain the further we had yet to go. Everything went O.K. until someone heard a voice way out yonder yelling, "Where's Dick Gould?" We never did find out who that was. lust when everyone was about to drop we reached Glasby pond. A re freshing swim "a la nude" and we were ready for the climb. It was worth
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Pago 13 CAMP LOG
it; the day was exceptionally clear. Far in the distance to the East could be seen Marcy, Whiteface, and most of the higher Adirondack peaks. Spread out before us to the North, like a large ink-blot, was Cranberry Lake. Then a swift descent, and the trail to Dead Creek Flow. We regret that we forgot to count the number of fellows who took the wrong trail and were half way to Wanakena before they discovered their mistake and returned to the boat. Upon our arrival at the Flow we found Cook, Coutant, and Gossner peace fully snoring away. They had taken the trail towards High Falls and when they finally got back to the mountain it was too late to hike to camp, so they waited for the boat. (That is their story.) The trip on the boat back to camp seemed like Paradise; to actually go along without any effort on our part seemed almost incredible. However, we soon got used to it, and arrived in camp in time to help keep the food from going to waste. That night, a tired crew of freshly oriented Foresters sleepily tucked them selves in bed, to sleep and dream of better days, when the deer flies are no more and when the eskers have been esculatored.
CAMPE
Page 14 COLLEGE of FORESTRY DENDROLOGY
"\ I EADS UP, woody plants, here we cornel" A 1— 1 machine-gun-fire roll call by Dr. W. M. (Witch- I I hobble Mangier) Harlow and we were off. Off in a smoking cloud of B.O. and H.F.* to carry on the ideals of the Wood Technology Department; to whit, "Quantity, not Quality" and "Individual Instruction" (never more than 100 students per instructor). The flying feet of ouj, instructors ate up the miles, and our magazines (smuggled in from the village as an excuse for "paddling down for a soda") became sodden with the weight of such ponderous plants as "Nemopanthus mucuptoknees," "Aspidium poodypoodyensis" and "Polysticum acrosthis- physog." After an afternoon of wandering haphazardly on and off compass lines, in search of "Hex bulstatiscus," we returned to camp in time for after noon tea, served with long-handled shovels to the K.P.'s by Dariguzzle and Bitchley. That evening the polishers made a show of absorbing scientific names while the doggers made off on mysterious canoe trips in an attempt to forget them, invariably returning at unethical hours of the night with much muffled paddling and furious gum chewing. Dendro began the next morning with a memorable boat and barge ride to Dead Creek Flow. At Lost Pond we splashed merrily about in the odoriferous sphagnum beds observing the characteristics of everything from "Andromeda glugoswilla" to dragon flies and stink bugs. The new science of Dentomology was founded here, its password being "Don't let your right hand (flaunting a sprig of Gaylussacia) know what your left hand (grasping a squirming stink bug) is doingl" Insect bottles began their deadly work and many a bug bit the cyanide before Lost Pond was left behind and the subjects of woody plants and beer regained supremacy in the bug-befogged brains of the Harlow-men. On the return trip to camp a belligerent barge rocking contest was held. Both sides fought furiously and threatened to score many times, but the final tally read 0-0 by decision of Referee Delavan, who generously donated a surprise prize to both sides for their super-sportsmanship in not tipping the barge over completely. The ref was all sweated up from calling close deci sions and took a refreshing bath before appearing from under the dock to give his verdict] After a glance at the bulletin board that evening the prize was found to be one week s uninterrupted visit to some ritzy resort nearby, known as Barber's Point. "Triple shucks!" was Keetch’s only comment when he found himself one of the lucky awardees. The D.T.'s** of Dendrology began Thursday night with the cursing fly slapping construction of a key to a few (less than 1000) of the woody plants. The final struggle to take out Chamaedaphne calyculata on the characteris-
'Tabinidae (Hawse flies to Smokev). “ Have it as you will, “death throes" or "delirium tremens" will do.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 CAMP LOG
tic of quadrupley palmately compound cotyledons ended in most cases at about 5:30 A.M., just in time to avoid a conflict with K.P. Insult was heaped high upon injury when the keys were finally returned (after Wild Bill's hasty departure for parts unknown). Seitz was curtly advised in bold red pencil to "keep it clean, anywayl" because he described witch- hobble as "scurvy pubescent." Friday morning found a murky cloud of gloomy expectation shot with jagged streaks of unscientific names and practical profanity resting upon the usually peaceful shores of Joe Indian. In spite of our best efforts to leam the t leading species by geographic characteristics in the morning, the instructors outsmarted us and avoided our familiar landmarks in the afternoon quiz. It was Wild Bill's last crack at us (we hoped) and he and the stooges made the most of it. In spite of all this, the Witch-hobble Mangier proved himself a thoroughbred at heart. Not even Bogdonoff managed to flunk. (He wasn't there.)
Meditations After Seven Days in Camp
With Hemlock and Birches along the shore, With ants and mosquitoes and flies galore, With classes and details and sleeping on hay, The Foresters' Camp is on the way.
Our time is spent in working and hiking, For outdoor life we've developed a liking. The only thing that has worried me, Was how the heck to make a KEY?
The food is good and the water fine, The sun is shining most of the time. The boys play tennis and softball too, They swim and bitch and pitch horseshoe.
The boys are dressed in shoes and shorts. They're all good men and damn good sports. They take stiff blows on chin or snout, They may be down, but they're never outl I
JOHN J. KEETCH, '37
Page 16 COLLEGE of FORESTRY
CAMP LOG
ODD MOMENTS
Page 18 COLLEGE of FORESTRY
i ECOLOGY
HE succession of events in Dendro was followed by a succession of plants in Ecology. Under the guid Ting hands of such great personages as Chapman, "Pan" Gysel, Gruschow, Cron, "Boggy" Smith, and the famous "Stub-pusher-over" Kilgore, we decided that what we missed in the line of knowledge would more than be compensated by the "line" of the instructors. In the comprehensive study of Ecology, such as is given at camp, one must be familiar with the various'tools used in getting and determining the results of the investigations made. It would amount to almost sacrilege without speaking of first, the shovel, and secondly, the peat borer. The former, as you will come to know, is a noble tool. Not only is it suitable for uncovering "lost horizons," but is most excellently and suitably constructed for piling and throw ing the duff. (Occasionally it is used on .details, but this is only one of its minor adaptations to various uses.) The latter instrument, demonstrated and explained to us by none other than the great Smith (not John), was found to have a variety of uses. Not only can it be utilized in boring peat, but also finds occasional application in fooling tramps searching for cigar butts and bewildering stray dogs running around on lawns and barking up trees. The course started off with a canoe race. The instructors were disqualified when it was found they had a motor on their boat. The flora and fauna (Homo sapiens) were given the once over at Bear Mountain. We were introduced to such personages as podsol profile, bum succession, climax type, and hosts of others. They were pronounced O.K. by the crew and the trail back to the canoes and lunch was taken. During the lunch hour a squall appeared over the lake and'the trip to East Flow was detained. Finally the storm abated and the voyage was undertaken. To the delight of the crew and the chagrin of the leaders, the motor on the boat would not work. It was a long, hard row for Smoky and Gysel. The East Creek area was quickly and efficiently explored and the day's work was finished, except for the report, which required only about five hours to write. Smitty took us on Tuesday to the Beaver Meadows on Sucker Brook. After determining the depth of the water table at various places in the swamp, we were glad to return to camp, where the flies were less plentiful. The afternoon was spent cruising Forsaith's bog for heath plants and in peat boring. If the flies and heat had been omitted, it would have been an enjoyable afternoon. That night, "$ # %&()* this report will never get finished!" Wednesday was spent in examining the virgin timber east of the Ranger School. Rapp was heard to ask here, "How do you know this is virgin timber?" And Reed replied, quick as a wink, "Wait, and I'll esker." Lost Pond was finally found and lunch was eaten at the borders of its amphitheater. Randall, Martin and Miller furnished the entertainment when they waded knee deep in bog water trying to catch aquatic insects in a net made of a forked stick and a bandana. Rouse s big knife found use in making undercuts for the felling
SUMMER CAMP of '36 CAMP LOG
of tall stubs by Nelson, Pearson, Phinney and Rapp. Wednesday night—the same as Tuesday. The thingmographs at the Ranger School Weather Station occupied most of our attention on Thursday. Cathedral Rock, the frost pocket, and almost all of the favorite haunts of the Rangers were trampled down by the plodding feet of our party. Esker Pond, and its cute little esker occupied some of our time. The day would not have been complete without taking a boring in the Bog, so Gruschow obliged us and proceeded to do so. The trek back to the boat was spurred on by the lack of water en route. At last the water tap was reached and our thirst quenched. That evening our earlier reports were handed back, and "what a commo tion under the ground." The earth shook as Lake paced back and forth. Intermittently throughout the nightly writing period he could be heard telling Kelly and Fiske in no uncertain terms, "Look at that! Six pages and only a C. What does he want, a book?" Friday morning was spent in a review of the week's activities and observa tions, the services being held in Sarason Hall. After a session of discussion and cross-examination by both the prof and the students, the class was dis missed and everyone was presented with a sheaf of mimeographed sheets. Our violent enthusiasm was dampened, however, when we discovered, upon the perusal of the pages, that siccocolous means "similar in meaning to xerophilous but hardly euphonious." After the final dose of EXAMINUS FINISHUS in the afternoon, it was the concensus of opinion that we were really "all wet." Few will remember the depth of the water table in Forsaith's Bog, but who will forget the thrilling sight of Smokey knocking over a big stub, and his triumphant call, "Dad bum, did you all see that one fall?"
Our Navigator
We have a sneaking suspicion that this has been told before, but Dick | Witchley swears that it is true. I Dick and Herb were on a midnight tour up the Oswegatchie, we never did | find out why, and Dick was acting a little nervous at the way in which Herb | was piloting the boat through the rocks and stumps. | Herb, noticing Dick's condition, assured him, "You needn't be uneasy, Dick, | I m the best pilot on this lake. Why, I know every rock and stump in the lake." | The words were hardly out of his mouth when a loud crash was heard and | the boat stopped with a jerk. As Dick picked himself up from the floor of the | boat, Herb nudged him and said, triumphantly, "What did I tell you? There's | one now." I
Page 20 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
SILVICULTURE
ILVICULTURE—what magic in the word. The key S that opens the door to the real wonders of Forestry. But who of our entire group ever thought of that as we stumbled through the brush or over the rocks, trying to keep up with one of those speed-demons called "instructors"? We started off with a will to master the stuff on our first day out. Warren's Raft (Camp Launch to you) took us over to the Ranger School property, where the weather set-up was inspected. Here, under the able tutelage of Monsieur Gruschow, we were shown and explained the workings and intricacies of a complete, modem weather station. After learning to pronounce such words as psychrometer, anemometer, and hygro-thermograph, we were shown and told about the other secrets of the tract by none other than "Pan" (Si Lawson's prefix) Gysel. All went well until we started.to board the launch, when Ran dall fell in the brink, thus officially opening the swimming season. . The trip to Curtis Pond was made enjoyable by the personality and numerous sidelights that were injected into it by Professor McCarthy. It was found, during the lunch hour, that he could sleep just as soundly as any of the fellows. Little Davie became the shining light on this trip when he lost his shadow and was unable to find it. Wednesday we again hied ourselves to the tramping grounds of the Ranger Boys, where we counted trees on different forest types. Our inspection of the numerous sidelights on the property was made much more interesting by our unquenchable thirst for water. At every spring, creek, and stream a halt was called, and everyone tried to get a drink without getting wet. To do this was almost a Herculean task for everyone except Renner and Robinette, who can drink while standing on their heads. The trip back to the boat was lightened by the ride that Richardson thumbed while being held in Rouse’s arms. Pearson and two others went into Wanakena to get some ice cream. (Pearson was later seen talking to a fair maiden by the others, so that disproves his story.) A trip to Black Duck Hole was scheduled for Thursday, so Mac ordered up some real duck weather. Because of the efforts of "Tea-Ball" Cron to aid the boys in their insect collections, the trip was detained a short time while they dug specimens of Scolytidae from an infected pine tree. Because of this delay, there was only a short time for the inspection of the cute little dam that the beavers had so cunningly built there. After unbeaching the canoes, we paddled to Aspen Point. A stormy trip ensued, but there were no casualties and the party finally landed without mishap and repaired to a repast of luscious sandwiches and hot tea. The growth after the great fire of '98 was looked over, along with a couple of slaughtered porcupines. Then to the other side of the Flow and the inspection of some state land and its forest cover. In returning to the canoes Cron led a group past "Suicide Leap" (sd named because Phinney and Nelson missed the jump and tried to
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 21 CAMP LOG
fly over ihe cliff). In a staunch canoe (No. 17) three fellows sailed down the flow with a raincoat for a sail to retrieve a forgotten tatum. They were picked up by the raft on its return to camp. Axe inspection was the next thing in store, and this took place Friday morn ing. To prevent any axes from becoming mixed up with others, they were stamped when they were graded. While awaiting the inspection, Charlie Williams proved his mettle (or metal), have it as you will, by sharpening Whitney's axe in just 21 seconds. As Mac was about to step before Eli's place, Whitney dashed into line with an edge that won him an A. Inspection in the use and handling of an axe was demonstrated before the morning's work was to begin. Due to the heavy precipitation, it was postponed, and we hiked over to the messhall and tried to write down in two hours everything that was said or referred to in the past week. (At least it seemed so.) After lunch, the rain having stopped, with axes slung over our shoulders or dragging along behind, we started for the woods. The general plan of the course is to practice improvement cutting on a portion of the tract. We received our directions and began our slaughter of the undesirable and un wanted trees. The forest rang with the sound of axes and the ground trembled beneath our feet from the shocks of falling trees. Chop, chop—hack, hack— slash, slash—we progressed through the woods. The boys learned a great deal about hanging up trees, trimming out tops, and girdling in that short afternoon. As Grober said about his four-pound axe, "You can sure do a lot of damage with this thing once you get it swinging." And, as Stone replied, "Well, why don't you start swinging it then?" The woods, when the boys finished, were truly a work of art. A hurricane could have made it look no worse if it had tom directly through it. To the uninitiated it was a scene of desolation, but to our trained eyes, it presented a picture of a perfect job (?) in forest improvement. And so ended Silviculture for our group. Luckily, no one was decapitated in the process. There is no doubt, however, that in succeeding years to come a new and better forest will spring from the ground of our memories. (It ought to be a humdinger, there was plenty of fertilizer spread there.)
Page 22 COLLEGE of FORESTRY SURVEYING UR return from side-camp one bleak Friday after noon was rendered all the more bleak by the O depressing sight of wild and maniacal individ uals, once our class-mates, who dashed madly about camp searching wildly for things called "Ephemerises." Little did we healthy and vigorous side-campers realize that in the short space of two weeks we,
too,' would be reduced to the Ml same level of mental anarchy as those homy wretches who glared wildly at us and howled, "Where's my Ephemeris?" "How did he get that P.V.C.?" "The so-and-so said my notes looked like a Crezy-quvilt!" "The watch was thirty seconds fast." "I forgot to add an hour for daylight saving, or do you subtract?" "Etc., etc." "Absolutely whacky," we decided, and turned our attention to the long- planned and contemplated feat of hurling the hitherto un-throw-in-able Dari- guzzle into the Water-loggery. The following. Monday the degradation from men to maniacs (Surveying) began. Scarcely knowing one end of the transit from the other after our post side camp celebration in the village, we were hurled unceremoniously into the intricate "manipulationinks," "accumulationinks," and "stationinks" of tri angulation, a process where men work in two-man crews. One man diddles the instrument with much swearing and erasing, while the other brews tea over a driftwood fire to keep the instrument man from falling asleep with possible damage to the transit. The perpetrator of all this agony, the arch-villain of the drama, was none other than the "Sad-Sam" Sarason of "Ve cannot accept dose figgersl" fame. During the days (which seemed like years) following triangulation, someone discovered that Sad Sammy was really a human sort of a fellow after all. This occurred when someone, in setting up a transit at a "stationink," planted the steel tripod shoe firmly on Sam's toe and rammed it home to be sure the instrument would not wiggle. This with the full force of his 180 pounds, of brawn (?)l Suffice it to say, Sam broke the ...... Commandment.* Having polished off triangulation in a cloud of "Qi-oi's!" and "Dot’s terri ble's," we proceeded to survey "Sarason's Fog Road," also known as "The Bog Road," "The Million Dollar Boulevard," "Hell's Half Acre," and "The Unfinished Samphony." To our vast disgust, we found our work was being checked against that of previous crews, with their work as a standard. As though we couldn't phenagle-phaster than they couldl The majority of us found the work of the previous sections inaccurate in the extreme, but those few foresighted fellows who were equipped with small, mysterious hip-pocket note-books backed up the crews who had gone before us every time, and so managed to out- phenagle the mystified Sammy. For some reason, their figgers were accepted in all cases.
•Bet you don't know which one.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 CAMP LOG
Our evenings were spent at this time in hilarious lassitude and departure parties, with Sarason pouring, and Hyde poring over how he got that way. A sample of these salubrious occasions follows: Sam: "Let's see, now, uh, North Lat. 2298.6, uh, No. Lat. 2298.6, uh, 2298.6, uh, 2298 ------" Hyde: "You're wrong, Prof, that's an East Departure, not a North Latitude." Sam: "Vot, you crazee? Dat's no East Departure, dot's an East Departure! Cut out de vize creckink, and get down to business!" Reed: "Har, har, har, he entered it on the wrong line in the wrong column." Richardson (loudly): "Where's my canipulator?" Kelly: "D'ya get it, Guy?" Lake (in a hoarse roar): " * * * * # #00XX&." Hyde (purple with exasperation): "You're wrong again, Prof, that should be 2298.6, not 6.2298; do you think we chain with micrometers?" Sam: "Oi-oi! Dot's terrible, 20 degrees off!" Lake (in a terrifying bellow): "Grrrr. ****# # 00X X $!" Mac: "Well, fool me!" Rapp (in a rich baritone): "Yodel-ladeee, O-ladee-ooooo!" Sam: "Outside vit dot catervaulingl" Lake: "*****##$%00XX!" And so, peacefully on until the parly broke up and everyone went home mad. Then one bitter night (cold enough to freeze the bearings off a brass transit), Sam announced that Polaris was to be given "de voiks." We had previously learned that the establishment of a true meridian involves much prowling about with flashlights and transits in an attempt to make the Ute boys think "we know what we're doing." It also involves going inside at 2 A. M. and passing out with boredom while interpolating six ways in the wrong table. Sam seemed surprised to leam from our data that Polaris moves across the firmament in a reciprocating motion, rather than a continuous one, as he had previously supposed. An argument ensued, but it was twenty surveyors against one aerial photographer, so he let it pass with the usual, "W e cannot accept dose figgers," and turned his attention to teaching Herb, Si, and Mr. Delavan astronomy. "See dot star. Herb, dot's not a star, dot's a planet," etc. The Fog Road" was eventually polished by every method from azimuth to apple-polishing, and contours put in by the "Third Azimuth Method," or "Quadruple Reverse." This method* (not found in Tracy) was discovered when it was found that azimuths and calculated bearings are readily and conven iently calculated from the magnetic bearing; also, that the compass needle may be read much more easily and faster (and in many cases more accurately) than the vernier. The method is described as being "applicable to small areas and large erasers," and is recommended for the use of expert topoglers only. Plane-table surveying (or canoe racing) enabled us to catch up on our
•Credit to the inventor of this method is withheld for obvious reasons.
Page 24 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
sleep, lost as a result of the raucous noise-making during the nightly Hyde vs. Sarason debates. The mapper's signals were invariably unintelligible, any way, so the rod-men utilized the time to best advantage (Zzzzzzzz). The crisis of the course was reached in Hydrography when "Speed-ball" Saragr>n was swamped by a chorus of "Readeee-Markl" rendered by super efficient sextant crews. He was forced to concede, "Oi, dot's terrible," when he saw that the course he plotted across the lake would have broken a snake's vertebrae to follow. We were not fazed in the least, because it had been obvious from the start that the sextant is designed for reading vertical and not horizontal angles, hence, no’doubt, our apparent inaccuracy. The lake bottom turned out to be all the same depth, anyway, "so triple shux, boys, triple shuxl" At the end of the course, Sad Sam showed his mettle by meting out a ferocious final, guaranteed to be flunked flatter than the lake bottom or your money refunded. The final consumed some three hours of our valuable time, after which we hastily razor-bladed our maps, turned them in, and the course was over. Un-dunked, Sammy made his escape, to the shouts of Cy's "So long, Keeffee," before we could recuperate from the morning's exam. After our recovery from the course and the perspective given us, we realized that that was as it should be, for Professor Sarason was a grand fellow, and had performed the seemingly impossible. He had at least taught us "what the score is" in surveying.
TRIANGULATION PICNIC!
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 25 CAMP LOG 1
I “SICH NONSENSE”
Introduction to Silviculture Under the spreading wolf tree. The little forester stands; He eyes it quite serenely. His axe clasped in his hands.
$ Surveying D' Dompey level? Vel' all set? Vot’s de matter, you're all vet. Ve ken't axcept dot crezy figger! Vot? It's right? Veil I'll be jigger’ll
Ecology This is the forest primeval The murmuring pines and the hemlocks Growing on a Spruce Flat In a podsol soil. (This started out to be a poem, but Ecology got the best of us.) I t Mensuration j As we run our compass line | Thru the spruce and stately pine | Everything is going fine I What? LOCAL ATTRACTION? !
% '] Dendrology I Some write Odes to a Rose, J Some, a Verse to the Linnet. j To Witch-h'bble my praise goes | I hope there's no holes in it. |
' j Side Camp | Water, placid, calm, serene, Relic of the Pleistocene. |
Upon thy marge wood-orchids grow, | To thy fair face fowl come and go. !
In thy clear depths plump sunfish swim ' And feeding deer disturb thy rim.
From thy shallow plashy edge The bull-frog sings amid the sedge.
Here, in the stillness, Nature reigns ' But son-of-a-pup, offset ten chains!! ,
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MENSURATION
T WAS the beginning of the third week. Everyone was recovering from the effects of the Silviculture course Iand lying around waiting for something to happen— and happen something did. It was announced that the Division one was to be divided up into three sections, preparatory to beginning Side Camp. The second group ("Ah Fame") started out on Mensuration, the other two on Surveying. ( As is the general custorA',' the first day was spent in first walking up and down and back and forth, trying to determine how many paces we took in going five chains. It wasn't bad enough on level ground, so they took us through brush and up and down hills. To test our determinations we were taken out behind camp to a place where the briars grow especially high and thick and are provided with extra large, sharp thorns. As we plodded along— "One, two, three, four, four and a half, five, etc." "How many chains is that, Charlie?" "Where did you end up?" "There?" "Let's split the difference and call it here." "O.K., chain it off." "What, it comes way out there? Something must be wrong with the chain." In the afternoon we paced our way back and forth from the Sucker Brook trail to East Flow. Everything was all right until Cron found out that all the bearings we had been given were wrong. That night when the results were checked up many curious things were found to have happened. Somebody's lines crossed. East Flow ran up and down. Half the stakes were missing. The land between the two stakes was not level. The maps and data were finally drawn up and everyone went to bed waiting for the surprise of the morrow. The second day we went to the virgin timber on the State Land and com pared instruments. Throughout the day everyone was heard to exclaim in no soft manner, "*)('&%$#"$%$&'()! I this Faustmann! I wouldn't even use one of these things for firewood." While Gruschow reclined under a tree on duff packed hard by endless tramping, we plodded to-and-fro under the arboreal canopy pacing out the trees for the measurement of their heights. It was not uncommon for the height of the same tree to vary anywhere from ten to twenty feet between estimates of two or more fellows or even instruments. The work was completed at last and we departed for camp on Warren's raft. At night there was the usual compilation of data and report to write. On Wednesday our work was located on Joe Indian Island. A line plot cruise of half the island was the assignment of each party. Here we learned from Jed Hyde how trees really should be calipered. Luckily, no one was lost in the wilds of this formidable island. When the maps of the island were drafted, the areas, as planimetered, varied not more than thirty acres. Thursday was spent in strip-cruising virgin timber. It was done on a grand style and with all the fixings: type maps, cruise sheets, tapes and Abneys, staff compasses, and various other dingi. Everyone decided that they had had a wonderful time in this woodland glade.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Pago 27 CAMP LOG!
On Friday the first group, under the direction of Prof. Delavan, learned all about topographic mapping with the Abney, chain, and compass. We were sent out into the woods with the directions that, in the region surrounding the lake, the sun customarily rose in the East and set in the West. The maps, such as they were, were turned in after supper. Luckily, all the creeks continued to run downhill, and the sun still set in the West at the end of the day. A plan to alter the old traditions of the region in relation to the sun was frowned upon by the authorities, so it was abandoned. To our group, the next twq weeks are lost in a hazy ephemereal cloud—they were spent at Side Camp.. Upon our return, we spent the following Monday on the stamping grounds of the Ranger boys at Wanakena. There we estimated the volume of standing timber without the use of volume tables or anything else. After our field work was completed, the trip to camp was a delightful voyage on the Lac du Cranberries. At night our brains rang with the phrases of "Rule of thumbs" (phenagling e pluribus unum). At last, with our reports finished, we went willingly to bed. The data for the short term yield prediction was gathered on Tuesday. Wednesday was spent in the mess hall amid the smoke and clatter of slide rules as we drew innumerable graphs and computed tons of figures. Egan and Gysel led us to the slaughter of five carloads of logs on a siding at Conifer on Thursday. The logs were numbered on both ends for scaling, but it soon became evident that the same log did not have the same number on both ends. The boys stripped for action. They grabbed their scale sticks, and with a rush clambered over the cars. They soon found to their dismay that scarcely any of the logs were without defect of some kind. By noon their enthusiasm had abated somewhat and they reclined in the shade of the cars to partake of their luscious sandwiches. At this time they were entertained by Prof. Egan, who was plinking tin cans in Silver Lake. After lunch they again started scaling, but their work was interrupted by the arrival of an engine that took the logs to Conifer. The company store in the village provided an attraction to most of the fellows. There a pretty miss doled out ice cream to those provided with the necessary funds. It is needless to say that Egan ate about ten cones. Friday it rained (you should be used to this by now), so we were quizzed in the morning. It was an easy quiz, but through the haze of smoking slide rules and the clatter of scale sticks could be heard the muttered mumblings and cursings of the men. After squaring twelve three times and still getting one- forty-four, they were unable to figure it out. But at last it was over, and we got up from the tables just long enough for the K.P.'s to put the grub on. Our course in eye-estimation" was finished.
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NEWCOMB NIGHT LIFE ... with a picnic every day Don't you remember. That traditional member, Of Side-Camp's crooked crew. Who was 20 feet wrong In elevation. (Before long, He'd phenagled it down to two.) /OU ain't seen nothin' yet, young fella, wait’ll you go to SIDE-CAMPl" Y Thus the kitchen staff, ^eparteed to the myriad complaints and queries • . which came their way. • With the exodus of us, the first, and omeriest of side-campers, the immortal words of Bitchely-Darriguzzle, Inc., were put to the acid test (and found want ing as usual). The first intimation that we had gone came to the rest of the camp when a strange and foreign silence settled over Barber's Point one murky Monday mom, broken only by the receding "chug-chug" of the "Barnacle II" bearing the best twenty men in camp away to the slaughter with "Kill-em” Kilgore and “Kill-em-All" Cron as the executioners. The stay-at-homes were at a loss to explain the weird silence until they dis covered that Lake and Kelley were off to Newcomb, and that Bob Ryan was also out of camp. Led by "Coerce-'em" Cron and "Kurse-'em" Kilgore, with good spirits restrained only by packs of 100 pounds and up (or down) we trekked into the Wolf Pond wilderness to accomplish our mission, to leam to type map and topogle. "Crooner" Cron (the new nickname was earned at 5 A. M. the next morning) showed his power on the pack by stepping off at a hot pace in spite of the 100 pounds of flour as ball and chain. On arrival at the "camp-site," a tangled jungle of beech, bitch-hobble, and more bitch-hobble, a pleasant afternoon was enjoyed by all. Lake (the demon chopper) felled the same beech six times and hung it up ten I It's still hanging I (son of a Fagus). Tarzan Miller, the woodland songster, was cut down in his prime due to the unfortunate juxtaposition of his foot to an axe, and his life-of-the-party songs and cheery quips, not to mention his G minor "harmonicee," were lost to us for the remainder of side-camp. Our second day with Archer and Anna began with the soon-to-be-shunned shout of "Roll-Out" rendered by leather-lunged Cron and heartily backed up by Cron. This was followed by the now famous MacAdam-Lake Non-Consti pating Breakfast (Pat. Pending). After breakfast, a sad cavalcade filed out of camp, led by Smokey, who was followed by the four smallest fellows in camp staggering under the tonnage of the disabled mastodon. Miller. With them went Rouse, the bearded lady, who had compressed a finger rather severely in an attempt to build a rock dam on it. Thus began the steady stream of wounded back tc Cranberry Lake and to the outstretched sympathetic arms of Professor Delavan, who always greeted the wounded lads with a cheery "Well, well, another little lamb back to the foldl" On the trip down with the wounded, the boys considered intimidating the CCC's by covering the stretcher-borne
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 29 UP NEWCOMB WAY
Page 30 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
form of Miller with a black blanket and putting Rouse's arm in a sling, as they passed the lead bulldozer crew. “Just a little scrap we 'uris had amongst us! This 'un's daid, and that 'un's lost his arm is all! 'T'wan't much." Those of us who remained immaimed whistled up our pack of contour beagles and started off at once to unreel the weary chains of cruising, topogling and arguing, which was "what we were there for." During the next seven days "early to bed and early to rise" became a grim necessity. Cron's thunderous "ROLL OUT" began the day at 5 A. M. and the rear chainman's remark, "It's gettin' too dark to see the bubble, must be gettin' along towards quitting time," was the quitting whistle. An hour or so after an invariably fine supper, when Chuck Williams began to run out of bar-room ditties, and Smokey tucked away his mouth-organ, it was time to hit the bed of boughs. (Mostly pine knots.) It has been said that the wilderness brings out the best in a man. We found that it also brings out a man's skeleton from the closet. MacAdam should make someone a fine wife, his cooking was supreme—not a bad shape either! Joe Nelson could bake his cake and eat it too. Jed Hyde can make "the kind that mother used to make" in the rain at 4 A. M. Charlie Rapp will make a great landscape man, his latrine and garbage pit were capacious and well designed. Phinney is a whirlwind at any kind of work. Guy Lake can suspend a tree in mid-air with sheer verbal power. Renner is a brute. He smashed Jake-staffs like match sticks in his murderous raids on the porkie population. Robinette is a weasel. He chains away both day and night. Smokey is a true "South'n Preachah," he smokes not, drinks not (tea), nor chews not. (At least not in our sight.) Of course, one shouldn't forget Whitey Richardson's ability to "wheel a smoke," "guzzle breakfast," lace shoes, and gird on equipment all in one motion; nor Pearson's love for the downy balsam; nor Martin and McCain's "Hell's half acre"; nor Rapp's missing partner (Clovenhoof Reed); nor Madison's anecdotes ("By the beard of Uncle Henry, I sez"). "The lucky four" finished their work three days ahead of time and took a "vacation" helping "Can-'em" Cron run hundreds of miles of transit lines per day. The softest part of the vacation was paddling the smooth-running college canoe about Catlin, with some odd tons of Cron, Lake, and equipment as cargo. The last day of side-camp was a sad one for Smokey. "The more Ah sees of civilization, the better Ah likes the woods!" said he. (I wonder where that girl's camp was up there, anyway.) In spite of his laments, we were all packed out and ready to meet the truck at noon. After a careening ride behind Red, the demon gear-grinder, we arrived in Cranberry, a rough, tough, and nasty gang of phenaglers in a mood so domineering that we had scarcely set foot upon the shores of Barber s Point before the mighty Evo, who had dared jeer our departure, was cornered in his lair behind the stove, and hurled into the icy waters of the water-loggery by Rapp-Lake & Co., dunkers extraordinary. The sissies who were to carry on in our footsteps pushed off for Newcomb the following Monday. Having done all the hard work, we were confident that they would be able to carry on. However, the "Irish Plague," developed
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 31 CAMP LOG. \t
by whom we know not, laid many of them low, and "I wanna wake up in the morning with my socks all soaking wet" became a grim reality for them, as they enjoyed 20 days of rain out of a possible 10. The outstanding accomplish ment was the construction of the "Manhattan tent" under the able tutelage of "Semmily" Grober, woodsman supreme. An object of wonder to all (both Semmily and the tent), it served the dual purpose of automatic sprinkler and catchment for rain-water. The boys were mainly notable for discovering that Catlin Lake has a slope of 15 feet every ten chains and that "When in doubt, call it local attraction" is the true forester's blanket alibi. . The last group to pull into Catlin's shores was a motley crew. With them were the derelicts Miller and Rouse, and the lunatic Schectman. Prof. Mc Carthy's prophecy of long rains in the Adirondacks also became a grim reality. Swenson, fortunately, discovered an infallible rule for forecasting the weather. "When the mists rise off the lake, then it's going to rain. If the mists don't rise, I ban' tank she rain anyhool" Every morning Little Davie would survey the lake and prophecy, "No rain today, boys, the mists are rising." At which words a terrific downpour would immediately ensue. The last day in camp he gave it up—and it stopped raining 1
A Side Camp Dream One night as I lay on the humus And watched the rain drip through the fly I wondered if ary a Forester To Heaven had ever drawn nigh. Then rolling myself in wet blankets And wedging 'tween two other guys, I was swept to the sweet arms of Morpheus To the pounding of rain on the flies. A vision then crept through the hemlocks, The halo around its head dim. It read from its tatum and pointed Its finger at me and said, "Him." Then forty-four demons jumped on me And carried me off with the breeze, Their Jake Staff legs whistling like wires As they dodged in and out through the trees. And then from my slumbers so peaceful I was waked with a terrible shout. It was four-thirty and Egan was calling, "AH right, you fellows, Ro-o-ool Out!"
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DOWN MEMORY’S TRACK
Oh, we went down to Newcomb town And there was that super-man, little Davy To do a bit of cruisin’. Schetchman, To learn to type map and topogle Who phenagled so furious and fast. And mebbe lay off the boozin'. That lakes rose above hills, and brooks flowed uphill! t The first day out we spent in packin’ But they caught up with him at last! Some thousand tons or more , From Catlin's shores up Wolf Creek 'Road, Remember Rouse, that bearded louse? It was a mighty chore. Who crushed his finger, built a dam on it. He proved himself brave, he didn’t rant or rave. Who has forgot those breakfasts we got All he said was, ”XX?!XGY TRIPLE------!" On moms of heavy precipitation When Lake took a look in Mac’s little black book My God! What a pain, that week of rain, And declared, "Prunes'll fix constipation." When it ceaselessly poured from the sky, Said Ryan as he lit up another cig’rit, And who can't recall that cooing call, "Should I smoke, ain’t it gettin' too dry?" Like a canary in a cage, When Cron would shout, "Come on, ROLL And then there was Seymor, the forester- OUT!" sailor. Or pour water on Pearson in rage! Who rowed in the fog so damp. One oar was shorter, or else longer than it Can any forget, those blankets so wet. o'rter. That a dive in the brook left us dried. For he ended up right back at camp! And the pancakes like bread, constructed of lead, And there was one fine man, that Jim Egan, Tho' the batter was mixed up by Hyde? Who grinned, "Boys, this weather is dry. I've seen times in Califomy, when the weather The second day the homy crews, got om'ry. Went out the cruise to make. We'd take an axe to the fog to get by." The homiest remained in camp, To sleep. ('Twas Mac and Lake.) The last day of camp we spent packin'. Some 2,000 tons or less, Down Wolf Pond Road to meet the truck, How well we all know, that alibi woe. Those tales of attraction so strong, ■ With many a scurrilous jest! That the stake he passed by, ten chains off or The pay-off came when "Woody" sang, nigh, ’Twas attraction! Sam couldn’t be wrong. A serenade to Pitman-Red, The song was scurrilous, and Red was furious. Likened to Mrs. Murphy's head! And as we go back, down memory's track. We recall the other extreme. And when we were on the truck once more. When both jubilantly said. "Right on de And speeding the homeward track, head!" How good to roll along with story and song. And they stuck by their story like a team. While stretched out on your back.
But for a mighty deed (ask the Swede), Now those two weeks have passed. The Forest Service guy, Like a dream from the past, Takes the cake, for he hit the stake. And the bunch will gather no more, Only fifty feet off. (Toward the sky!) But as we go back, down memory's track, We'll wish we could live them o’er.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 33 CAMP LOG
A DAY IN THE WOODS or Side Camp Monologue (Expurgated)
• Ro-o-olll OutI . . . Second call's a pail of water . . . Dad-bum, wet pants . . . Huh! no salt in the oatmeal again. Well, it smells like coffee, anyway . . . Sight on the nail . . . Two hundred chains today.
• Flash your tatum . . . got the correction? Six, eh? Well, I got four—make it four . . . Where's your scuff mark? . . . That creek don't run uphill . . . it just can't. Oh, for my purple-striped contour hound . . . Gimme four links, demmit. Hey! The lake musta gone down six feet . . . HOLY...... ! . . . 180° local attraction!
• Oh, you 1700, ain't you got no home . .. Dad bum, the baseline. Tie 3-J-38N by 2+54W eh? Well, make it 40 links North and 49 West . . . Must be local attraction . . . Thassall for the topog.
• Dammit, left my calipers on the last plot . . . Witch-hobble, 28, 4 logs . . . Is this in or out? T'ell with the Abney, estimate . . .
• Lost my k e e l. . . Oh, heck, it's raining. Mark that center tree . . . Gimme a back-sight on that one—zigged a little too much. Too dark to see the needle— must be chow time.
• Told him not to bum those beans . . . In the lake! Tea's too strong.
• "Twenty feet out in the lake workin' under water," he said. Hell, we were.
• Eight o'clock? W ay past my bed time .. . Who made those rocks? Aw hum.
"WHO SAID WE WOULD COME OUT EMPTY-HANDED?"
Pago 34 COLLEGE of FORESTRY
CAMP. LOG I f;
AROUND BARBER'S POINT j
Page 36 COLLEGE of FORESTRY SILVICULTURE
ID you ever jump out of the frying pan into a fire? What a sensation! To we Division II boys the frying D pan was nothing other than Dendro, and as for the fire—Silviculture. , One week of hiking through the woods chasing down information needed for leaf keys was not enough. We had to have another week of esker chasing to give Bob Cron a chance to once more prove his ability for getting lost in the woods and showing the. "impracticability" of the box compass. (For details, members of Cron's famed "Lost Squadron" may recall further incidents.) In spite of the apparent fruitlessness of it all, we fellows kept to the brass tacks nailed by Professor McCarthy, and before the week was over we were all surprised to find that we did know something of the "relations of the factors of site to forest cover." , , Looking back on this week brings to mind some very pleasant memories. Perhaps the most unique method of hitch-hiking was developed and tested by Gould, Kendall and Hermstead on that rainy day hike around the Ranger. School—invalid stuff, but it worked. Then that uncanny sense of direction that Jim Egan possesses—perhaps it's that Western cultivation that Cron is lacking. Starkie should have been wearing a pair of those "perfect vision" ranger goggles, recently developed by the Forest Service, the day he argued with Mac about the "forest fire" the other side of Curtis Pond that turned out to be a rising fog. There is no use of arguing with Mac—he knows his woods. When he says, "Boys, there's evidence that deer frequent this place," you know there must be signs around. True enough! Casting the eyes ground ward, you just have to admit that he is right. Mac sure knows his woods. You should have been there to watch the "white collar men" slaughter the forest while trying to carry out McCarthy's thinning instructions. On the morn ing of the last day of Silviculture the axes were tested for sharpness, the first aid kit was hauled out, and directions were given to follow the shore trail to the scene of the slaughter. The inimitable Prof McCarthy was going to attempt to teach us thinning. Says he, "To further the cause of the typical hardwood type we must take out the Pin Cherry and give the Beech, Birch and Maple a chance to come through." With instructions ringing in our ears, we set to work to destroy "Forest Enemy # 1 ." With the thud of falling axes and the swish of falling trees it soon became apparent that the forest was to be turned into an ideal spot for a sunbath. Realizing that he would soon have no trees left, Prof Mac was forced to call a halt to the axe swinging and retire all hands with the announcement, "No runs, everyone hit, and one error." "What was the error," someone asked. "Well," drawled Mac, "some fellow tried to tell me that he was hacking on a Pin Cherry. Boys, I can tell Yellow Birch a mile away." So it was that a mistake was made, but also a record was tied up that afternoon that is hard to beat. The First Aid Kit remained unopened.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 CAMP LOG
I
I
THE WHITE COLLAR BOYS IN ACTION
Page 38 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
UTILIZATION
A S THE TRUCKS headed from the Village of Cranberry toward Potsdam, it was almost in imison that sighs • 'o f relief and relaxation could be heard from each of the thirty foot-weary "brain-trusters" who had been chasing heedlessly up and down eskers for the first two weeks of camp. c To be out of the environs of the "dirt" forester and amidst the clashing roar of saws, hum of planers, splashing o{ logs, and the slithering squeals of bark spuds along recently felled spruce were the reasons of these sighs of contentment. It was at the Elliott Hardwood Company in Potsdam that the first of these anticipations were realized. Here, the future utilizers of timber found consider able difficulty in sketching the boiler house on the proper side of the saw mill The superintendent would have been greatly surprised to have seen how quickly the mill layout expanded and contracted in those few moments of sketching. Above the busting clangs of the head saw, the boys were warned that the company believed in keeping its saws sharp and that it was not neces sary for anyone to seek proof of this statement at the expense of his fingers. After observing the dexterity of the head sawyer, Blew and company were given a warm reception in the boiler room. The sorting decks and the mys teries held therein were exposed to the boys as the (final treat of the day. After a vain search for souvenirs, the gang piled into the trucks. They had to be satisfied with the sawdust in their hair as their only material remembrance. Specialized and unit production were observed on Tuesday's trip to wood working factories in the vicinity of Carthage. On this trip, acquaintances were made by some of the boys with "the" town folks. These acquaintances were further cultivated the following week when Carthage again played host to ihese same fellows on the P and P trip. From Wednesday on, the journeys of the party kept us far from Camp, not returning to the Point until late Friday. During this trip, the large saw and flooring mill at Conifer was the first plant to fall prey to our attack. After a close inspection of the workings of this plant, we prepared to make the next jaunt to Newcomb, but the Camp "chariots" did not roll out of Conifer until Ken Wooden had succeeded in snapping a picture of the ONE pretty girl in town (Evo's wife excepted). Arriving in the vicinity of Newcomb late in the afternoon, we pitched camp in a hurry, and following supper proceeded to invade the mountain metropolis °f Newcomb (five houses and ten bars) and make merry at the inn. The next morning, Jim Egan demonstrated a California method for getting late sleepers out of bed. The system really works—just ask Bill Lambert for the details l The program for this day was undoubtedly one of the most outstanding of cmy of the days throughout the entire summer. It was filled solely with an Inspection tour of the Finch-Pruyn pulpwood. holdings and lumber camps in toe territory surrounding Newcomb. We arrived in time for dinner, the dinner which, we had heard so much about and whose fame held us all in great
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 39 CAMP LOG
anticipation. (It is to be said here that not one anticipation or expectation was unfilled.) As each fellow sat down to the table, he was given a tin plate and a large bowl. Being unaccustomed to the "woods etiquette," each one of us immediately poured the soup into the bowls, a faux pas comparable to using the wrong fork at one of Mrs. Astor's dinners, for this left everyone with no place to put the tea or coffee, causing great distress among the cooks, who had to wash the bowls for re-use. Some of the boys were also troubled with faulty vision, for they could not see anything beyond an arm's reach from their plates. Thus, when portions of two or three of the several kinds of roast meats and some of each of the five different vegetables had been downed, they were rather mortified to discover that they could only sample three of the seven different kinds of pie (not to mention the extra cakes and cookies). It was with regrets and groans that the party finally waddled away from the meal table and assembled for the inspection trip through the timber holdings. Whether or not we could have learned much about pulpwood operations following such a robust repast can be evidenced by examining the technical reports concerning this trip that are held by Prof Blew. On returning to the trucks which were parked in the middle of the operation, stories from lumberjacks along the wayside entertained us. The one about "Da bigga bear, alia treea of heem, who come an' staya all day dis afternoon and eat my loonch only two or treea foot away over dere—while I can no saw wit' heem in back a me an' log in frontl" will be the one remembered the longest. With both this practical knowledge and good time obtained from this expedition, we returned to our camp at Newcomb to prepare for our evening off, which was spent in THE "night club" at Long Lake. (And believe you me, that bar-tender was sorry that Schaffrath had such a big mouth and such a "little" fist, for "set-ups" were in order—thanks to you, Schaffiel) Thus, the last night of our Ute trip was spent in a longed-for hilarious manner. But it wasn't a weary crowd of fellows who returned to Camp at Cranberry the next day. For with the grand experiences of the Ute trip behind, we were looking forward to the following Monday, when we would again leave Camp—this next trip to be that given by the Pulp and Paper Department.
EVOTOWN (CONIFER)
Page 40 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
THE PAPER AND PULP TRIP
HE boys of Division II, from the beginning of Camp, looked forward eagerly to "that Monday" of the Tfourth week—that Monday when the drudgery and routine of life on Barber's Point would be left behind to be supplanted by trips and night life in and about Watertown. "That Monday" did come, and it was not a sorry bunch of fellows that bid Camp farewell—farewell to details, trudges through the woods, the wooden benches of the classrooms, and the studies 'neath kerosene lamps. We were to be free from this grind for one whole weekl From the village that morning, two truckloads and two carloads departed amidst cheering and singing. Throughout the whole trip, in spite of the daily inspections of pulp and paper mills that became rather monotonous and tiring, the spirit of the gang was continually keyed at a high pitch. Through the endeavors of Profs. Hisey and Barry, assisted by Jim Egan, an entire barracks was obtained in the Munn's Comer C.C.C. Camp. This barracks served as our home for the entire week, during which work and pleasure both were experienced. It so happened that there were numerous mills in the vicinity of Watertown and Carthage, the St. Regis Paper Company, Dexter Sulphite Company, Knowlton Rag Paper Company, and the J. P. Lewis Paper Company not escap ing investigation by us marauders who overtook each place with that "zeal" for learning. There were few mills that did not hate to see us leave; however, the situa tion might have been otherwise had not "Detectives" Studeny, Russel and Fox constantly tried to discover "what made this workl" Studeny's famous "squirt" act in the St. Regis plant when friend John halted the operation of an entire set of dryer ctnd presser rolls will go far in making the Division II boys the most outstanding and long-remembered groups from the N. Y. S. C. of Forestry—as iar as the mill operators are concerned. Then Foxie's log rolling "exhibition" in the mill pond at the Dexter Sulphite Plant was not necessary to prove to the Profs and mill-hands that he was all wet! You should have seen him drag himself out of that mucky waterl However, life on this trip did not deal entirely with pulp and paper produc tion—just ask Ken Wooden about his "midnight love-bird" from Carthage or Bill Lambert about his Watertown "five and dime" sweetheart. Noonday meals in both Carthage and Watertown provided ample time to make acquaintances and arrange dates for the evenings during which Prof Hisey did not lecture. Then the free dance at the Herring Inn found Hollrock, Whitney, Kohl, Scott, Schmid and Mullens—our Division "Romeos"—going to town and trampling down all local competition. It was not until the trip was over and we were back in Camp to spend the rest of our summer at hard labor that we realized how grand a "vacation" we had been given—thanks to the Pulp and Paper Department!
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 41 MENSURATION
HE three weeks course in mensuration opened very auspiciously with a dark gloomy day. It was "Blue TMonday," especially to Bill Lloyd, who tied in his compass line a mere six stakes to the right. Monday eve ning Professor Geltz attempted to give an introductory lecture. One by one the boys, exhausted by a week of night work in surveying, gradually fell asleep. At last, after completing a diagram on the blackboard, "Daddy" Geltz turned to face the class and found every one of them sound asleep. With a disgusted remark, the class was dismissed and sent to bed. The first assignment was an exercise involving the use of various instru ments. Some of the boys preferred to apply "the factor" and merely estimated the measurements. The biggest laugh of the week was watching Geltz quietly walking about twenty feet to the rear of "Flash" Feldman as he clicked the calipers and rattled his chain while casually estimating the measurements. Further practice in the use of the compass and measuring instruments was gained on Joe Indian Island. It was on that small island that those daring woodsmen, Keller and Hermsted, lost their bearing and were discovered map ping the north shore where they were supposed to be on the south shore. The acme of accuracy was attained by Charley "On the Knob" DiCarlo while running a strip cruise on the Ranger School Tract. Believe it or not, kiddies, he checked at his starting elevation with his abney reading zero, the tape at zero and his elevations exactly matching. Professor Geltz complimented him, saying that in twenty-seven years of teaching and woods experience Charley was the only person who had checked in "on the knob." (Next year's campers may secure the proper phenagle factor at cost from Charley.) Credit for making the biggest faux pas of the course is hereby awarded to "Heil Hitler" Schaffrath. Schaffrath and a small group had been working in the cabin, and during a lull in the activities someone asked him how he liked the course. He arose, opened his sm^ll mouth, and proceeded to state in very- vivid language his feelings about the whole system. Awed by such a mag nificent vocabulary of sulfuric cuss words, no one noticed the shadow which crossed the doorstep. The tirade continued as Paul climaxed his speech with a personal commendation of "Daddy" Geltz. Just as he finished he looked up to see Geltz standing behind his chair. Was his face red! The course was climaxed by a day of scaling in the rain. Everyone, includ ing the instructors, was caught unprepared. To add insult to the injury, a couple of loons swam offshore and laughed heartily at the crews. They were quickly silenced, however, when "On de Knob" DiCarlo skipped a stone across the water and caught one loon plumb in the neck. The gang returned to camp, soaked and hungry, cursing the weather and heartily hoping that the campers in years to come will have to suffer in the same fashion.
COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
SURVEYING IEVELS, chains, transits, leveling-rods—all new to us; but I Prof. Bill Farrisee promised us the first day that, by I— the end of the course, we would be able to handle these and other pieces of equipment with "professional dexterity." If we didn't, it wasn't Bill's fault, for he tried hard enough in this time to help us do just that. / The first week was spent in receiving the fundamentals and putting them into practice. Evenings werie spent in Farrisee's Hall, where "Bill" gave us the dope on angles and such. It was not until the actual surveying of the Camp grounds (in preparation of the map to be made) had gotten under way that we were able to experience the pleasures and disappointments of this course. Any Division II man can relate the thrills involved by having his iraverse check after its first running. Or else he can tell of the joys felt when his party's running of elevations checked within a hundredth of a foot—and without any phenaglingll But the acme of satisfaction and success was unknown until the map of the Camp was finally completed—every building and telephone pole located, every contour line completed and drawn in, the beach filled in with brown dots, and the lettering perfected and inked. Not every task turned out to be a bed of rosesK Somehow angles seemed to change mysteriously between the time of the transit work and calculations; we knew that the mess hall didn't lie out in the lake, but why was it surrounded by the waters of Cranberry when located on our map? After the first roar of laughter had ceased and we all had gathered around DiCarlo's desk to look over the cause of the outburst, the second roar could hardly be controlled when we saw that Charlie's notes claimed that the elevation of the lake was thirty feet higher than the base of "Pitman Hall," which overlooked the lake for miles around. Even Prof Bill will never forget this great engineering feat of "On-the- Knob" DiCarlo! How frequently were such raucous occasions quelled by the maddened voice from out the upstairs bedroom of C. C. "But honest, Mr. Delavan, we didn't know that you retired before 1 A. M. each morning!" Then when all had quieted down and we were industriously at our labors once more, who should become the more cursed topic of conversation than good old "Prince" Pitman. Why couldn't he leave those lights alone instead of mak ing us grope around in the dark for our kerosene lamps? All of a sudden, Gould, in the search of knowledge (kept in Greminger's field-book), would ask where George was. After a thorough search of the Camp, Dick would return and tell of the wonders accomplished by George during the solitary confinement that he took upon himself in attempting to cover up the secrets of his master-skill! At last, everything was completed. It was hell at times, and the rush at the end was worse than that. But as we now glance at our maps on our walls and look back upon those three weeks of Camp—satisfaction and content fill us all.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 43 CAMP LOG
DETAILS
Page 44 COLLEGE of FORESTRY A & reflections CAMP LOG
THE FIRST JOB
OU will soon be hunting your first job. This is said with the full knowl edge that many of you have been hunting jobs and filling them since Y 'way back in high school. But none of those jobs have the same impor tance as the one which you hope to get when you finish your college course. You will then be prepared for something definite. You want to use that prep aration to the best advantage, and you want that job to develop into something permanent—something which will be the start of your career. During the first six months or a year at least of your first job you will feel that you can join Paul Criss in the statement that he has never had to use "a half of what he knows." You may wonder that your employer does not draw more heavily upon the almost supernatural technical abilities which you feel that you possess. The truth is that your technical ability is probably only one of the things that he is interested in. He is asking himself the following ques tions about you: "Is he intelligent? Honest? Interested? Willing? Indus trious? Accurate?" If the answer to a majority of these questions is "No," then you will soon be seeking another job, because those are the qualities your employer will be looking for. The second job may be harder to get because of the failure on the first. Many employers prefer to take a man who is untried rather than one who has been found lacking. One failure, or more, does not mean defeat, of course. Often it is just the stimulus that is needed, but it is not sweet medicine —always bitter. I have recently talked to several who are looking for an opportunity to make another start, and these conversations, and those with their previous employers, lead me to write as I have in the hope that you, when you tackle your first job, may so conduct yourself that you will be retained long enough to display your technical ability. C. C. DELAVAN
*
Tragedy in One Act (The last notes of the bugle die away as the curtain rises.) Enter the Hero from the right. He stands in the middle of the stage with folded arms. Enter Dave Scott from the left. He is trying to pull up suspenders while tying shoes, meanwhile progressing in a most peculiar manner towards the mess hall in the rear. Scott (noticing the Hero): "Hurryl We'll be late for breakfast." Hero (disdainfully): "H...... , man, that's recall."
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LOOKING BACK
OW that the 1936 Forestry Camp is past history, we can relax for the first time in many weeks, breathe a sigh of relief, and look back with N satisfaction on a very successful camp period. In professional courses, the camp work is one of the most essential phases of a student's curriculum. How little we know of our classmates until we live with them at Cranberry Lake. The quiet, retiring fellow, who hardly speaks in school, loosens up a bit in camp and exhibits real wit and humor, although "Bob" Ryan has never yet recited "The Round River Drive." True friendship manifests itself many times during the summer. A six-mile paddle across the lake to get a delinquent tent-mate who couldn't tear himself away, or wasn't able to, is a frequent gesture of good fellowship. Class leaders soon make themselves evident, and men like Guy Lake, "lim" Wenban, and "Bill" Lam bert helped a lot in the organization work of the 1936 camp. Probably the most important function of the camp is the chance it affords the faculty to observe the salient characteristics of the students, a valuable bit of information when recommending graduates for life work. Some men exhibit extraordinary talents in the field, while others excel in the office work. Some show ability in directing work, while others make better followers. The morning details reveal many handy men and craftsmen. Old "Cookie" laid shingles with expert technique until "Major Hoople" Phelps saw him nail ing one on upside down and then he put him on the rock pile. "Bill" Ryan, at a "table for two," showed promise of becoming a head waiter at the Club Candee. "Dick" Gould will probably end up doing an interpretation of Sally Rand's Bubble Dance in the Evergreen Tavern, taking his pay in cake and fudge. "Chuck" Williams, the people's choice, will no doubt become a ward politician. He talked everybody out of everything. The best bit of organization work was probably the "Big Parade," featuring "Dick" Witchely and co-starring "Si" Lawson. Evo and "the Little Man” are still laughing at the ducking given to our champion bell ringer. The biggest improvement at the 1936 camp was the new dining hall, a testimonial to Professor Delevan's efficient camp management and a manifesta tion of student cooperation. Members of the 1935 camp who dug the excava tion and those of the 1936 group who finished it up will look back with pride to this excellent piece of camp property. "Eli" Whitney, after he settles down to the quiet life in Cranberry Lake Village, will row his family across to Barber's Point and show his many offspring the scenes of his clowning and K.P. duties. And now that I've relaxed and breathed my sigh of relief, I'll conclude by wishing the members of the 1936 camp the best of luck in the future. Those of you who came through with chins up and a good record will succeed without doubt, for you proved that you could work and work hard. "BILL" FARRISEE
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SOME OF THE BOSSES
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CONFESSIONS OF AN INSTRUCTOR or A Day in Camp
OON after midnight—5:30 A. M., says the administration—while the stars are still beaming brightly behind the clouds which overcast the sky, a S bleary-eyed, bedraggled bugler startles the camp with his harsh and discordant blarings. A few short minutes later comes the second call to again disturb the slum bering camp. As though to heap insult on injury, the bugle once more blares forth in the dark, at which sound students and faculty alight from their beds. Hastily bedecking the body with such clothing as can readily be located, all rush madly for the dining hall with hearts hopeful that some early bird has not acquired all of the food—for, when all is said and done, it is not what you want but what you get that makes you fat. A great din fills the air through which may be distinguished the clashing of knives and gnashing of teeth. As the conquest for food comes to an end the din gradually subsides to be replaced by a chaotic scramble during which one discovers to which detail he has been sentenced. Camp duty work is begun. The first three-quarters of the hour is spent in such profitable tasks as locating and awakening enough stooges to form a skeleton detail, searching for tools, and explaining (and re-explaining) to each individual what one would wish him to do if he could be persuaded to bend his back in the behalf of the commonwealth. A sonorous blast is gently wafted to us on tthe breeze. The hour is up and the statues suddenly come to life. Tools are cast aside. What marvels of speed these fellows become. Where but a moment before it was necessary to sight by a tree to perceive any motion, they are gone with the speed of a lightning flash, leaving behind only a scattered mass of tools to show where they had been. Order must be restored, and the instructor works feverishly to make it look as if something had been accomplished. A doleful sound reaches the ear. Class time has come. The melancholy notes of the bugle tell full well the joy with which students contemplate their tasks of the day. There is no sudden, joyous dash for class. For some time all is peaceful—no sign of life being visible on the scene—and then, slowly, with bowed heads, the students drag themselves classward. The instructor waits as the more industrious youths shuffle into the room and flop on the benches. When the majority of the class has put in an appearance, and those absent-minded ones have gone and returned with forgotten articles such as notebooks, knives, toothpicks, trousers, bug bottles, cigarettes, chewing tobacco, dice, etc., the class begins. Perhaps it is best to omit the gruesome details of the lectures and class Tvork of the day and evening. 'Tis said, however, that one of the pleasantest higs about camp is that everyone has four hours out of each day to himself— rom one-thirty A. M. to five-thirty A. M. How to spend one's leisure hours—that is the 'luestion! "HM" EGAN
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 49 CAMP LOG
THE DEMON FORESTER
A MONG the Summer Camp laddies were several whose apparel and f \ actions entitled them to the name "Demon Forester." Here are a few • ' stories about them: • Swenson gazed in awe and fear at the gleaming blade held for his inspec tion. Then his glance became more appraising and he said sympathetically to the proud owner, "Too bad, Jake, seven inches isn't long enough to reach a bear's heart." • 'Twas the night before the Silviculture final; three of the victims-to-be were grouped around a cozy fire discussing seed dispersal, while a fourth listened from the shadows. Said one of the three, "I believe squirrels would carry beech nuts two to three hundred feet." Little Davy's voice, from out of the dark, "But how do they germinate that far down?" • McCarthy cast an appraising eye up the long bole and announced to his Division Stew Silviculture class that the tree would "run about a thousand." Volkes, intrigued by the statement but a bit dubious, inquired, "What, pounds?" • It seems that Grober is not at his best as a map reader. After several days of secret study he gave up and asked to be told "how the Oswegatchie flowed out of Cranberry Lake down by the village and then flowed right back in again past the Ranger School into Dead Creek Flow?" • The intricacies of (n-2)180° as a solution for the included angles of a polygon had just been explained to the group of would-be surveyors. Forthwith they were sent out to measure, from the center of a polygon, all the angles between the comers and so "close the horizon." After a number of attempts, followed by a thorough examination of the transit, Greminger and his partner sought out Farrisee and informed him that the formula did not work. The most they could get was 360°. ‘ • Much as we hate to tamper with the facts of life, a question has arisen that we cannot afford to overlook. '"This," said Smokey gravely, "is a virgin forest." "Then how do you account for the litter?" puzzled Duke. • How the philologists would have suffered had they been able to read some of the keys that were turned in to the "King of Leaves." Seitz and Sexton wrote of a leaf—doubtlessly scorbutic—that it possessed "scurvy pubescence." ' Upon its return they found that Harlow had thoughtfully noted "lemons will cure it." With a vocabulary second to none, "Irish" Ryan wrote "twigs sterigmaterferous," which caused Cron to enthusiastically pencil, "Hot Dawg." • While this incident is not credited entirely to foresters, it is about them and too good to leave behind. During an interval at the Camp Dance, Norm Tripp was one of the normal quota (three) talking to a rather pretty miss. Norm, you may know, is an ardent sailor, and after a few minutes the conversation veered to this. Unaccustomed as he is to talking of his past, Norm finally admitted that he had once tried to enter Annapolis. Immediately the girl brightened, as though on familiar ground, and said, "Oh, do they have a good forestry course there?"
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THE KITCHEN KABINET or The Beleaguered Block House on the Point "The shovels flew, The wind blew. The air grew thick, And there was Dick. And suddenly the storm became. A veritable hurricane, How the wind did blow! How t h e ...... I*1 * And ,(he cause of it all was the mighty Evo. TURMOIL rages within the stout timbered structure on Barber's Point. Men rush furiously hither and yon—with ammunition and tools in preparation for the coming siege, and shouts and commands rend the otherwise pure pine and food-scented ozone. Above the hubbub of making ready for battle can be heard the belligerent bellowing ("In de lake—1") of the bellicose besiegers, held at bay by a thin sheet of wire screening. Suddenly an unrecognizable bugle call blares forth. The signal! The attackers swarm savagely forward, and the block house is taken. But not by surprise! For from the copious kitchen at one end of the hall the famous Darriguzzle stew (a form of food) is being hastily slung at the bustling K.P.'s, who dash madly back and forth with refills and more refills, to appease the bestial hunger of the invading horde. But who are those two villainous figures leering upon the busy scene from behind the hash-counter? One has eyes of a deep fish-blue, the other is pos sessed of orbs of piercing brindle brown. One is a dish-water blonde with a handsome German goitre, the other is a rugged, black-thatched individual with beetling black eyebrows. Suddenly he of the fish-blue eyes gives vent to a slimy sneer, and his immortal words ring out, "All the pie you can eat, boys, . . . onepiece!" Ha! 'tis Dick, the dastardly disher-upper, and his com panion is Evo, the ever-effervescing kitchen-kollosus. Soon the terrible two are joined by two well-liked and respected gentlemen, Major Rodney (Stepan Fetchit) Van Dusan Stanford of military fame, and Bruno, the potato peeling Apollo, the kitchen "V" man, and incredibly enough, a Darriguzzle. The mob in the hall begins to disperse and the K.P.'s sit wearily down to eat twice as much as the common herd did. Meanwhile (as always) a hot shoveling contest is being waged, the dynamic Darriguzzle being pitted (as always) against the wastrel Witchely. Evo (gazing intently at the ceiling): "Well, will you look at THAT?" Witchly (also squinting roof-ward): "Say, it's not often, in fact it's mighty seldom, that you see anything like that around here." K.P.: "What's that, Dick?" Evo (jumping up and down with hilarity): "Horse flies in front of a garage! Har, har, harl" And the two scoundrels leered in evil mirth upon the now crimson-eared sucker.
‘ Fill in your own line and mail to the "Camp Fog," Kalamazoo, Mich. The best entry will receive a free copy of Belyea's "Forest Measurement"; 2nd prize, a "D" in Manual Arts.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 51 CAMP LOG
Evo (carefully whittling on a peculiarly hooked piece of wood): "Dick, this'll make a fine conipulator, don't yuh think?" Dick (guardedly): "Yeh, it's coming along good." Evo: "Yesser, when I get it finished I'll have some fun with this conipulator." Dick (enthusiastically): "It certainly is an efficient looking tooll" K.P.: "What's it for, Evo?" Evo (again jumping up and down with glee): "To iron the wrinkles out of a cat's whisker!" And the raucous laughter of the terrific two peals out again. For a time the air is filled with long and loud pleas and threats for more pie, but the impending riot is quelled by the iron-handed Evo. "Alright, you fellows, get these dishes washed up, two of you fill that wood-box, go get a bread sponge from Mr. Delavan, Stanley, we need it in a hurry------1" His voice is nearly drowned in the ensuing clatter and clamor. With miraculous speed the dishes are washed and put away and the camp emporium put in order. The K.P.'s linger to listen in awe to the kitchen orators as they sit down to a choice supper of steak and mushrooms. Bruno, the popular, the courteous, the reserved, seems as out of place as the well-known "horseflies in front of a garage" in the company of the terrible two. Dick: "Yup, fellows, Bruno says you fellows aren't big enough to put him in the lake------blah------blahl" Bruno (smiles disarmingly): "Don’t you believe him, fellows!" (As though we would.) Evo (a lighted match in each hand, shouting desparately): "Grab these matches, Schwartz, grab 'em, grab 'em quick!" Schwartz: "Wot'U I do with 'em?" Evo: "Shove 'em up the flue!" (Raucous laughter from the two, and colora tion of countenance for Freddy.) Dick: "Now, if one of you boys will go and ask Mr. Delavan for the key to the wine cellar------1" Rodney: "When Ah was in command of a regiment during the Spanish- American War------" Bruno: "Pass the salve, please."
j1
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The scene changes. It is the hour of repose in the kitchen gods' lair. From the muffled, recumbent figures a steady, rasping, "Zzzzzz—zzzzz" rhythmically rises and falls on the still night air. Suddenly a low rumble of voices is heard from without. Two stealthy black figures noiselessly enter the lair. The yellow beam of a flashlight pierces the gloom, and reveals the German goitre of Witchley rising and falling in time with his sonorous breathing. A mean-looking, bespectacled, straw-hatted individual holds the flashlight beam on Dick. His companion, a purple-faced, beer-blossomed thug, points furtively. "Right there is where I lost it!" he growls. The answer comes in a high-pitched Hoosier nasal. "Sure, right thar's whar you was siftin’, ain't it?" Twitchley twitches, and suddenly awakening, turns a sleep-besmeared eye fearfully upon the intruders. In horror he cries out, "For gosh sake, not the lake, fellows! Oh (relieved), there are only two of you! What the devil are you guys look ing for?" The two thuggish individuals throw caution to the winds. They leap for ward The answer comes in a flash, loud and clear in a nasal falsetto from Indiana, "Why the plug out of my drain, you old fool!" The two disappear, and silent peace settles again upon the lair, with the exception of muffled cursings and loud crashes as Rodney keeps finding and throwing out plates from under his sheets and mattress.
'Magine That! It is a well-known fact that few students manage to get the best of Professor Delavan. However, we know of one time when this happened, and to Neil Croom goes the credit. "Little Nell" Croom checked out his instrument—a level—at the usual time, but having some calculations to finish before he went into the field, returned to his tent. About eleven "Nell" finished his math lesson and started out into the field to find a missing elevation. Much to his disgust, he found that in his hurry that morning he had forgotten to take a tripod for his level. Nothing could be done but return to the office and ask Del for a tripod. "So," snapped Delavan when the request was made, "you've been out leveling all this time without a tripod. ^ ■ "Yeah," returned Neil innocently, "we'd leveled about up to BM3 when, Zip, all of'a sudden I noticed we’d forgotten the tripod."
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 53 CAMP LOG
PERSONALITIES
Pago 54 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
AMONG THOSE PRESENT
"Ed-WIN" Anuswith . . . The Old Man of the Mountain. "Jughaid" Bigelow . . . He went aquaplaning. "Shadow" Bogdanoff . . . Nasty Evo. "Bum" Bowen . . . "Early to bed and early to rise ..." "Ohio" Boyle . . . "The meek shall inherit the earth"—ask Pitman. "Shiek" Buhl . . . LOST, one Abney. "Hatchetman" Cappello . . . The Adonis of Cranberry Lake. "Hank" Carello . . . Sufferer in Silence. "Awtha" Connell . . . The Man from Bahston. "Cookie" Cook ? The Goldbrick Twins. "Cootie" Coutant $ "Fritz" Coveil . . . Lost his contour hound. "Slippery" Croom . . . "Sorry, old man." "Polaris" Cullinan . . . "So I took my Solar Ephemeris . . ." "Ace" Dengrove . . . "I'm in bed every night by eight o'clock." "Sleepy" DiCarlo . . . Bear and forbear . . . (Schwartz’s tentmate). "Slim Jim" Dodd . . • Aquatic artist extraordinary. "The" Duke . . . He plays for the King's daughter. "Espy" Espenas . . . It's seven miles to the village. How far back? "Fay Welch" Feldman . . . The perfect 43. "Elm" Fiske . . . The Munitions Maker of Cranberry Lake. "Boy Scout" Foulds . . . "Have you done your good deed today?" "Insects" Fowler . . . "Most assuredly and indubitably." "junior" Fox . . . "Only Clod can make a tree." "MerriweU" Frank . . . "So the Yanks signed me upl" "Goose" Gossner . . • "We weren't lost, we were just finishing the strip." "Bzzzz" Gould . . . "Chow in half an hour." "Georgie" Greminger . . . The bridge shark. "Semmily" Grober . . . He who gets pushed. "Just Plain Lynn" Harrington . . . The Hard Luck Kid. "Conny" Hermsted . . . "I'll do it lor practically nothing—twenty cents a sheet/1 "Sunny" Hirsch . . . Service with a smile. "Jarge" Hollrock . . . The sour singer of sweet songs. "The Don" Howlett . . . One of those strong, silent men. (Five in a tent.) "Side Camp" Hughes . . . Just one big happy family. "Woodchuck" Hyde . . . Letter a day. The man from Homer's Comers. "Ketchum" Keetch . . . Hiawatha had nothing on him. "Helen" Keller . . . No pants at all. "Stooge" Kelly . . . "Got your letter yet?" "Goldy" Kendall . . . "Haven't got the brains of a two-year-oldl" "Brevity" Kennedy . . • "When I built the stairs at Summer Camp .. ."
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 55 i CAMP LOG f
"Tennis" Klayman . . . The Hydroastronomer (Star Lake Kid, if you prefer). "Eight-Ball" Kohl . . . One of the Sleepy Four. . ; "Handy Andy" Kratina . . . "Now, when I was in Carthage ..." [ "Man Mountain" Lake . . . The Bellowing Beomoth of Summer Camp. ! "Willy" Lambert . . . "A short letter this time—only eight pages." | "Little White Mother" Lloyd . . . In the lake. j "Beautiful Bob" Loweth . . . The Man from Division Stew. "Maddy" Madison . . . He really wasn't. "Horseshoes" Martin . . . "I once met a Ranger ..." "Tarzan" Miller . . . Sarason's yes-man. "Red" Mullens . . . Mac's yes-man. "Mac" MacAdam . . . Lake's yes-man. "That Dope" McCain . . . Big Feet, who cut your hair? j "Idaho" Nelson . . . The Adonis of Hogan's Alley. J "Nordska" Pearson . . . The Chair Rock Kid. . j "Phony" Phinney . . . "Everything happens to me." j "Poet" Piasecki . . . "Had it marcelled last Thursday." [ "Hayseed" Randall . . . Opened the swimming season at Wanakena. j "Physique" Rapp . . . "Dat guy Hercules ..." J "Handsome Hal" Reed . . . Woodsman, woodsman, spare that tree. j "Tommy" Renner . . . Quit talkin' when you're eating. j "Whitey" Richardson . . . "Ja wohl." [ "Rubinoff" Robinette . . . Horseshoes and Checkers. "Viking" Rouse . . . The Bearded Lady from Rainy Mountain. "Rudy" Rudolph . . . The splitter of split hairs. "Penny-Postcard" Russell . . . The Hero of Bear Mountain. "Silent Bob" Ryan . . . "Not so much noisel" "Hop" Ryan . . . Mother Machree. . "Nazi" Schaffrath . . . You scdd a mouthful. "Little Davie" Schectman . . . Three foresights and seven backsights. "Hog Caller" Schmid . . . The Man from Montgomery Ward. | "Butch-the-Barber" Schwartz . . . The Pride of the U.S.F.S. (CCC to you). j "Scotty" Scott . . . Safe in the arms of Morpheus. I "G-Man" Seitz . . . "Zip goes the aig money." I "Gabby" Servatius . . . Likes the Ranger School. j "Sexy" Sexton . . . The Bouncer of Hogan's Alley. \ "Hypsometer" Smith . . . Ask the man who owns one. I "Bugs" Speers . . . "The cleanest tent in camp." J "Jodphurs" Spring . . . "Did you see my woman down on the beach?" j "Looney" Stanley . . . Longs for his feathered companions. j "Snowshoes" Stone . . . Timber Poacher. "Little Teacher" Studeny . . . Man against Machine. "Svenska" Swenson . . . "You is in de House of de Lawd, Halleluja." j "Pappy" Tripp . . . "S' help me, Hannah." i "Demon Woodsman' Ulmer . . . "So it shouldn't be a tuddle loss." j "Timber Cruiser" Yokes . . . And how are all the old Yokes? J
Page 56 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
"Windy" Wenban . . . Address: Recording Secretary, The Vigilantes, Barber's Point, N. Y. "Lover" Whitney . . . If silence were golden, he'd be a pauper. "M arcy" Williams . . . BANG! "Who threw that fire-cracker?" "Sahib" Williams . . . Who burned the oatmeal? "Little Father" Wooden . . . "Oh my Yaassl" "Tatum" Woodruff . . . The Waif of the Woods. "Mort" Zaleon . . . Old Stay-out. “Kidney-Foot" Zelvin . . . He had a waterproof bed—once.
Our P al Sheltered by no tent, never crowding at the mess hall, with nothing to do but swim and fish all day, friend Loon had a swell time at Cranberry. Some times in the evening he would paddle over to mourn with us over our lost liberty, or in a more jovial mood, he would lie off shore and laugh long and loudly until we all knew of his presence. Always formally dressed in "white tie and tails" he was never too proud to exchange a few words with a poor working man such as Stanley. A certain amount of affection grew up between friend Loon and the Summer Campers, and many a day did he spend on the camp premises waiting until the returning boat brought us into range of con versation. So, although not an official member of the camp, his presence was so obvious that he could well be considered an honorary member.
The Loon (with all due respect to Ogden Nash and the S.EP.) The loon is a most peculiar creature, It is black and white and, as an added feature, Has webbed feet which, I understand, Are better in water than they are on land. They tell me that these appurtenances; Being made more for travel than dances, Serve also as sort of a pontoon . When our species becomes an air-loon.
I have often heard of loon-laughter And the mournful noise which comes after. But upon due reflection, why Shouldn't a loon laugh with city campers near-by? Regarding food, the most favored dish Of our subject, the loon, would seem to be fish Which the intelligent beastie, rugged of jaw, And dispensing with manners, eats quite raw.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 57 CAMP LOG
IN MEMORIAM IN COMMEMORATION of those valiant youths who I gave * eir best but ended up with the rest” (in the « hospital behind the eight ball) this page is reserved. (It has been said that Prof. Delavan's state mileage shattered all pre-existing records in trips to and from Tupper, in their behalf.) Prof. C. C. Delavan: Cranberry Lake is the healthiest place in the world to live, if you don't come near Barber's Point, or fall into a ditch." Prof. Farrisee: "What a careless bunch of dopes." Jim Eagan (limping painfully about): "Shucks, boys, it's just an old football injury." Miller: At first I thought it was my leg, then my foot, but it was only a scratch. Hand me my mouth organ." Reed: "There's nothing like a good, keen Kelly axe." • Rouse: He tried to build a dam with his finger as a foundation. Cullinan: He of the picturesque limp. McCain: A post side-camp casualty. Tch, tchl And after all that axe in struction. Gould: The arm-chair boy breaks through (with an axe). Whitney: "This sunburned nose is a good disguise." Coutant: "Saw-foot." Woodruff: The dynamic track man downed by a mere micro-organism. Wenban: No one hit him, honestl 'Twas a bee stung him. Hyde: The sullen invalid of Barber's Point. Nelson: The world's fastest topoggler, in spite of a ball and chain ankle. Keller: "Don't take my pants off, fellows, plee-e-e-eese. I’m a sick man------o-o-oooh." Lake: No, he didn't, cut himself with his little axe. "X& % $#—()*- this tooth ache." Kendall: "This arm is as sore as a &—%$#"()// boil." Fox: "Send my mother my wages, boys!"
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Page 58 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
THE FLESH POTS or Those Week-Ends Away EEKDAYS at camp flew by like the proverbial sand through a tin horn. When Saturday after Wnoon rolled around the boys awoke to the realiza tion that there was "nothing to do." They began to yearn for the flesh-pots of Cranberry Lake, Upper Tupper (or Tip 'er Upper), Chair Rock, Star Lake, Benson Mines, Placid, Plattsburg and other civilized" areas. Some choked down the inclination with a sigh and bent over their washing, horseshoes, bug-collecting or1 dogging. Immediately after dinner knots of the more calloused souls were always to be found around "Prince" Pitman, the keeper of the keys, optimistically naming their destinations and stating hours at which they wouldn't get back. At such moments the able "assistant director" was the most popular man in camp. "Can I have number 6? What, gone? Gimme 13. Whatl All you have is number 11? Why, that XX?-*G//&%! Holding out on me again!" In twos and threes the n'er-do-wells are off for the village and the week-end
1S °Canoes scattered in all directions. Those sufferers from Chair Rock fever, McCain Pearson, Bigelow, Nelson, and perhaps even certain instructors, headed towards their relief. Those intrepid esker-hunting explorers, Stone and T . turned the prow of their sowbelly and bean-laden canoe towards some ecially desolate spot. Miller and Madison (the Swedish edition of Mutt and r j heaped their craft high with an ungodly amount of paraphernalia and turned to the wilds of East Inlet for solitude. The crews manning the vast majority of the stream-lined speedsters removed their shirts and settled down to the fearful physical ordeal of paddling to the focusing point of the week-end activities, Cranberry Lake, also known as "Beer- Brook Flow." The distance is not great (7 miles down and 23 back, making a round trip total of 176 miles), but even through such a short span of navigation some of the boys would have been trapped by the autumn freeze-up had it not been for Professor Delavan's inimitable rule of the spiral, "the zigs equal the zags." The amusements offered to the woods-weary foresters (tea-totalers all!) by the incorporated village of Cranberry Lake were indeed extensive and, in true forester's parlance, highly variable in character. All in all, there were two places to go in the village—the Dance Hall and the Evergreen Hotel. If one wanted to be a real heller he could get stewed, food and tattooed at Tupper, the populous metropolis of the North Country. The Dance Hall was where our boys met the fair maidens of the surrounding region. Gould, Whitney, Cook, Coutant, Hermsted, Hollrock and Wenban, the denizens of the dance hall, preferred to dally with home talent, while Sexton and Seitz preferred to look farther afield, even going so far as to obtain the services of two fair female chauffeurs for an evening or two. (Remember that V-8 from Buffalo?) Cookie and Wooden staged a thrilling sack race for one of the immortal Terrys (the oldest, or was it the largest?) Cookie, with the aid of
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 59 CAMP LOG
his dynamic personality, a few inspiring pep-talks from Professor Delavcm, and certain other advantageous connections on Union Point, managed to eke out a close decision over the game Wooden. Eli Whitney stole the show with the fairest gal in town, the much sought but seldom found store-mistress. Gould did equally well with—guess who?—her aunt! 'Twas a pretty sight, indeed, to see them tripping gaily about the village of a Saturday afternoon, Saturday night, Sunday morning and Sunday afternoon. However, the local gals hadn't "seen nothin'" until, on the last night in camp, the reformed and metamor phosed and hitherto unshakeable "Make-'em" MacAdam suddenly appeared at the Dance Hall with the old time Deke's glitter in his eye. One of the waitresses waged a hard battle but was losing ground rapidly when lack of time forced the "Maker" to give up with a sigh and repair to the business of paddling several tons of pickled flesh back to B. P. The Evergreen, run by the McAleese clan, was a quiet resting place for the boys with shattered nerves. Anuswith, Bigelow, Schmid, Swenson, Smith, Tripp and Williams, those demon paddle-homers, were known to drop in occa sionally for a quiet talk and a sandwich. Upper Tupper was a disappointment even when one could get a ride with Smith or Hermsted (especially if one got the ride with Smith). Most of the time was spent on the road (especially with Smith). The lone show in town invari ably featured either a cowboy or G-man hullabaloo; one never knew exactly which it had been. The dispensation of limpid liquids, after the show, was in no way superior to that of the Evergreen, all the Urbanites seemed to have gone to the dance in Cranberry, and then there was that long ride back. (Especially if one rode with Smitty.) Twenty-three miles across the lake by bicep express was a long way, so the more prudent and provident of the boys (and the Gozz) invariably appeared after the dance with blankets, sweaters, and other paraphernalia in readiness for the night of intense cold among the pews and around the altar. (What! You didn't know that we slept in the church?) An hour after the dance the little white church would always be reverberating to the snorings of Loweth and the fuss-budgetings of the "Little White Mother" Lloyd, who went about untucking everyone out of bed. Those of the grasshopper type preferred to use their coats to sleep in, but G. B. Phinney was fortunate in possessing a warm and comfortable sleeping bag. The pass-word for entrance was, "Dis is de house of de Lawd, HALLELULUHI", preceded by the muffled raps on the floor by the broken ball bat always found behind the altar. Those nights in the church were indeed incomparable, but there never was a more welcome sight than the sun on Sunday morning. Usurping the chairs on the Evergreen porch and attempting to read the Sunday papers occupied the time until we were ready to return to camp, or go back to the church. (This time to hear an inspiring sermon, delivered by the local pastor, a really swell fellow.) Finally back to camp and a long sleepy afternoon, watching the sun go down behind the purple hills. In the evening, a big fire with tall tales, and so to bed, for tomorrow we must work.
Page 60 COLLEGE of FORESTRY THE LAW OF THE LAKE
O SUMMER CAMPER ever arrives at Camp with out being fully aware of the lake and its poten Ntialities. We had not been long at camp when many of its good citizens banded together and induced their errant neighbors to take the water cure. Unsated, these Vigilantes began molesting the hitherto-innocuous ones who then formed a Counter'Vigilantes. Soon these became undesirably powerful and a Re-Counter Vigilantes sprang up. * Thus ’twas not long before all of us had approached the dock in a recum bent position with the possible exception of those individuals who could hide in a bark crevice or under a dusty drawing board. It was then that our full attention was devoted to the proposed ducking of one individual, nameless for the moment. His position was not quite clear, in spite of Seitz's naive con versation with Delavan, and we were somewhat dubious about the proper method of procedure. As the last week of Summer Camp drew to a close, the ancient "Law of the Lake" reasserted itself without reservation, so------. Silence like a cloud lies over Barber's Point. With easy consciences, the aristocracy (Division II) sleep peacefully while the inky blackness of the night is lacerated by shafts of light from rows of tents and from Delavan's Diner (open all night, tables for ladies), where toil the miserable serfs. In a piny thicket that fringes the bluff, a weary lookout lies; scanning vigilantly the quiet lake. But harkl far out on the lake there comes a faint throbbing hum and a gleam of light appears close to the water. For an instant longer the lookout remains, peering intently, then arises and emits a piercing blast. Activity begins immediately; a band of scouts spreads through the encamp ment warning the inhabitants of the forthcoming arrival of the boat. The steady hum of the engines increases; special deputations awaken the sleeping. Tired but rejoicing, the foresters (Division I) drop their work and assemble, to be joined at intervals by bands of the awakened aristocracy. From the now nearby boat, a cone of light cuts through the dark along the shore. No one is visible in its beam, so the boat slowly drifts into harbor. To the hidden, awaiting multitude it is an anxious moment: suppose midst thunder and lightning King Delavan should himself appear. No, nothing is suspected; the boat is made fast and the passengers begin to disembark. Now each heart beats faster, each body grows more tense as the victim appears. Slowly up the trail, happily unaware of the gloating multitude, comes the Prince of Pitman Hall. With a sudden roar of unleashed fury, the mob leaps forward; the miserable creature is immediately swept from his feet and submits quietly while his valuables are swiftly taken. Trumpets blare triumphantly. Singing with glee, the joyous assemblage troups and winds through camp bearing with them the body of the unfortunate Pitman. Following this mad burst of exultation the corpse is dragged to the wharf, where, amid wild cheers, it is committed forever to the deep—and Oh, what a lovely splash I
SUMMER CAMP of '36 CAMP LOG
THE BIG PARADE
All morning long the mutter ran, Like waves crashing down on the white beach sand, And whenever the boys a "five" would take, You could hear them whisper, "In the lake."
So from the comer of mouth to eager ear Sped the word that brought the cookees fear. Only Dick in his gloom remote Failed to hear the dreaded note.
At noon as the boys the mess hall filled Only the mutter itself was stilled, And from old Si Lawson an evil leer, Told each man what he could not hear.
Then after dinner the picture was taken, Of all those mugs so God-forsaken, Then out stepped Cook with a mighty cry, "The Big Parade, boys, where's old Si."
Like waves crashing down on the white beach sand On Dick crashed down the summer camp band. Swept from his feet by the current strong, He was hoisted on high and carried along.
With wide-eyed terror and sickly grin, Dick vainly pleaded, "Don't throw me in." While laughing loud with joy and glee Was that old rep, "Doc" Farrisee.
With mirth and laughter, dockwards bound, They cheerfully bumped Dick up and down. Then figuring it time for the greater shock. They dragged the wretch out on the dock.
There six good men, both tried and true, Hove our cook, Dick, to the briny blue, And as he entered with thund'rous splash . . . T'hell with making this rhyme, it's the first time In five years that Dick has gone in the lake.
Page 62 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
SUMMER CAMP—1976
HE big dirigible dropped slowly and easily to the mooring mast, and in a moment I stepped from the Summer Camp Special onto the tiled platform of the Summer Camp Airport. A porter, uniformed in a fetching combina tion of forest green and butternut, took my bags and followed me to the nearby Administration Building. As I walked up the marble steps I- saw- someone standing by a Doric column and smiling down at me. Sure enough, it was Herb, garbed in the scarlet and gold of a doorman. His former work, he told me, was now done automatically, and his magnificent build fitted him for this position. Upon entering the anteroom of Director Delavan's office, I found it was very difficult to see him. His secretaries were possessed of a grimness and resolve rtUn to his own, as well as considerable pulchritude. Finally, I convinced them that I was not a student, parent, or old grad, but an alumni reporter for the "Forester's Review." Graciously one of them took my card and soon showed me into the sanctum sanctorum. Mr. Delavan greeted me warmly, and for several moments we chatted about the events of the years intervening since our last meeting. Then he rose and standing at the window pointed out the innovations since my stay. Lining the lnlfo front for three miles were the student villas. Each was built of finely polished native granite and syenite; especially selected for pattern and megocrystalline arrangement by Professor Ploger of the University. Laurie D. Cox, of course, had designed the villas, assisted by consulting architects, Anuswith and Kennedy. Each was sheltered by gigantic maples, grown rap idly, I was told, by the application of a wondrous fertilizer discovered near the springs. Flower gardens and shrubbery had been arranged according to the individual tastes of the various inhabitants and small landing areas for student and Camp autogyros were conveniently located. My guide, provided by Professor Delavan, Dariguzzi III, proved to be a very personable lad with an Oxford accent. We entered Delavan's private aero-coupe and soon were soaring over the polo field. Dar, as I soon learned to call my guide, explained that the present game was between the Entomology and Pathology majors. Continuing on over the beautiful landscape, I noted that East Inlet was now protected by a breakwater. A number of fine cruisers and sailing craft lay at anchor near a large building that I correctly assumed to be the Camp Yacht Club. Regretfully he explained that we could not land there until we had obtained permission from the Student Governing Body or had been accepted for membership by the Club. Upon my return I enjoyed a pleasant dinner in the Camp Hotel and after wards attended "Tristam" by the Metropolitan Operatic Company. The following morning I embarked for Side Camp on the Santanoni, which was piloted by Warren Jr. Upon our arrival, I found that no time was wasted whatsoever. Instruments were assigned immediately, and the students set out to work. One instructor took me in charge and we visited the groups as they cruised. The thing which I immediately noticed was the clear stand devoid
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 63 CAMP LOG
of all underbrush. At my question the instructor explained that following the destruction of Witch-hobble by repeated defoliation, McCarthy had set a large number of CCC boys clearing out the brush, and by their efficient efforts the understory had been completely removed. Insects, I discovered, had also been eliminated in a state-wide campaign conducted by MacAndrews. I was very much interested in observing the operation of the new auto matic calipers which differed radically from the primitive ones I had used. They consisted of a rod containing a series of photoelectric cells receiving light from one direction only, and when held against a tree effectively measured the DBH. A phloemator measured the bark thickness and, through the cell sap content, the species. A small attachment at the end of the rod recorded heights, while, if desired, a silvicultural vertical displacement level was avail able to measure the sway of the trees, and thus knowing wind velocity, calcu late the crown area. All of this data was recorded automatically upon a revolving tape as were the total volumes in cubic and board feet. A small device permitted sum-totaling these at the end of any type or strip. The extreme rapidity of these calipers and the necessity for accurate information resulted in 100% cruises instead of the 214-20% as in former times. Compasses, naturally, were obsolete, being replaced with a zero-photomagnetic beam generator. These beams were directed down the strip lines with a transit; whenever a student crossed a beam, a sensitive metal disc on his calipers gave warning, thus avoiding any possible duplication of measurements. So fascinated was I that the instructor finally reminded me that the students worked only three hours a day and that there was much to be seen. Further on our way we observed the Utilization majors obtaining practical experience in the new skyline method of selective logging—a heavy cable had been stretched from Catlin Mountain to Wolf Peak. Upon this ran a self-powered hoist from which dangled a smaller cable and choker. The choker was attached around the crown base of the selected tree, which was then lifted bodily out of the earth. The soil was carefully shaken from the roots back into the cavity and the tree conveyed to the college mill. Ninety-nine and eighty-six hundredths percent utilization was attained in this mill, and Professor N. C. Brown hoped to eliminate all waste soon. Returning to our conveyance, I observed topographic mapping which also used the zerophotomagnetic beam with a radiophonozoic vernier and the auto matic aledaic mapping level. The latter consisted of a magdalum Jacob Staff on which rested a plate glass traverse board. When precisely leveled, an intricate mechanism based upon the principle of nova-stadia and barometric contouring was super-heterodyvinely activated to produce a topographic map. The limit of error for this instrument I found to be 1-10,000, which only suited it for rough work. This concluded my visit to Side Camp, and we returned to Camp. Luckily, I was just in time to get a ride back to Syracuse with Professor Delavan in his new gravitational-actuated gyroscopic monoplane, thus concluding a most pleasant visit.
Page 64 COLLEGE of FORESTRY
j* r \ I CAMP LOG
SPORTS
Fag© 66 COLLEGE of FORESTRY
J CAMP LOG
THE REGATTA AND FIELD MEET HE first field meet between the Rangers and Summer Camp was augmented with a regatta. The officers T of the Cranberry Lake Boat Club and the administra tion officials of the Summer Camp and Ranger School got together and decided to combine both activities into one. It was a great success. To the individual winners of the events of the meet a medal was awarded by the Boat Club and a goodly number of them went to the Summer Campers. To start the day off. right Ed Anuswith took first place in the breast stroke, with "Cooty" Coutant third. So first blood was drawn by the Campers. The canoe tilting was a flop. Ask Pearson and Johnny Keetch. But the ducking we took in the tilting contest was soon wiped dry when "Eli" Whitney and Johnny Woodruff took first and second in the backstroke. Say, can that man Whitney shake a mean finl He showed them when he hooked up with the speed artists Cook, Hollrock and Seitz to win the 200-yard relay. You just can't keep a good man down. Whitney won the 100-yard freestyle, too. The next event was the underwater swim. We thought we had picked the man with the greatest amount of air around camp, but we found that the Rangers had two men who could beat Gossner at the game. Be that as it may, "Gossy" garnered a point for us, and so ended the water events. The score up to this time was 22-25 in our favor. While the power boats of the Boat Club were warming up for their races the spectators were entertained by some fancy diving put on by two or three lady visitors. No swan ever developed a form like they displayed. Under stand, we're speaking of diving. The Camp was represented by Stanley and Anuswith. We saw some real diving when Stan left the board on the way up, and who will forget the novel innovation of Anuswith's "All-American?" The power boats were jockeying into position by this time, and with the signal they spat smoke and flame and roared away. The first class inboard motor boat race was won by Fox with Fridan second and Streeter third. In the second class division Mrs. Sleicher's boat showed too much power for Terry and Miss Arnold, who finished in that order. One point was brought out—Cranberry Lake residents possess some very fine boats and a great com petitive spirit. After the regatta was over the field events started. Guy Lake sent the cross-country boys into the woods for their race while the shot-put event was being run off. And what a lot of heaving went on. Almost everyone in camp was adept at throwing something or other, but Robinette and Cook showed the crowd how an iron shot should be thrown. It was "Robbie's" day to heave, and he did—43.6 feet. But "Cookie" was very close with 41.9 feet. Just then a roar went up. Our cross-country team, composed of Woodruff, Foulds and Bowen, was romping across the line to win first place. The best we could do in support of Darwin's theory was a third place by "Marv" Schmid in the rope climb.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 87 "Ladees and Genlemen, we have here the Bushwhack ing Behemoths of Summer Camp braving the brawn of the Blaspheming Bulldozers from Ranger School." To you, my dear reader, it is the tug-of-war. Witcheley's Wampus babes had their way about it after a hard tussle. The three-legged race, chariot race, and sack race were run aways for the Barber's Point boys. Gould, Hermsted, Ulmer and Wooden had a good practice run in winning the relay race. The last event of the day was the wood-chopping contest, won by the "Champeen of Champeens," Guy Lake (he changed his name to Kelly), who went through the log in 1 minute and 47 seconds. Second place went to Hager of the Ranger School. Lake got well acquainted with Hager a few weeks later. Don't ask us, ask Lake. Well, the adding machine was brought forth, and after punching our fingers to the elbow and burning out all the bearings in the contraption, we arrived at the final score. What was it, you ask? Summer Camp...... 81 Ranger School...... 35 The final score was not the end of the day's events, however, for, as Lake put it, "We repaired to a bounteous repast." Four hundred people partook of the mountains of sandwiches and gallons of punch so ably made up and served by the Kitchen staff. After everyone had consumed about a dozen sandwiches each and drunk three or four gallons of punch, the fellows who had just returned from Side Camp, accompanied by Duke and "Smokey" on their mouth organs, serenaded the visitors with some real classy harmony. "In the evening by the moonlight" the mess hall was filled with soft, seduc tive music. Although ..the fairer sex was outnumbered about three to one, opportunity was offered in every dance for at least three or four steps through the novel system of cutting, soon inaugurated. The custom prevailed that a fellow had to dance at least three steps before being cut.
"THE PERFECT END TO A PERFECT DAY"
COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
THE SECOND FIELD MEET
HIS time we invaded the Ranger School to stage the meet, and what did we find? A very determined Tbunch of lads to do or die for dear old "Alma Mammy." And did they dol The Summer Campers had to fight plenty hard that day for victory. • The events were a little different as compared to the first meet. MacAdam won handily in his frame of .tennis, but this lead was wiped out when Bill Kennedy dropped a close game to Brownson of the Rangers. When Bill and Mac paired up for the doubles, though, we saw some classy racquet wielding as they defeated the Ranger artists. Next came the 50- and 100-yard dashes. Oh, yes, dear reader, before we forget, Dick Gould was there. The running broad jump was won in one, two, three order by "Delavan's Dodos," with Hermsted showing the greatest kick in his heels. The barnyard golf devotees from both camps had their field day, too, and each tried hard but the Summer Camp slingers had the slant on the old pins that day. Martin and "Cookie" did the winning slinging. The Rangers showed plenty of form in the baseball throw, standing broad jump, and sawing contest, and certainly earned 15 good points there. They really showed their class, though, when the canoe races started, for they won 5 of the 6 events to raise their score considerably. When the smoke of battle finally lifted and the points counted, the Summer Campers had won. The score stood: Summer Cam p...... 88 Rangers ...... 64
The score is only part, my friend, It may look kind of big; They took it like the sports they are, Without a slur or dig.
And when we reminisce a bit About the games and rules. We know the squarest bunch of boys Were there at Ranger School.
Now when you're down in our big town And you're feeling like a stranger, lust look us up, we'll grab your hand, And say, "Hello there, Ranger."
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Pago 69 BASEBALL
A UGUST 1, 1936, marked the opening of another / \ series of ball games between the Summer Camp • ' boys and the Ranger School. On this particular afternoon, the entire camp, with the exception of a few "unfortunate gentlemen," scrambled aboard the Gray Goose and its silent partner, the scow, and headed for the Ranger School. The boys had been warned that the Rangers were in fine shape, for they had been practicing on their new diamond and were determined to whip the Summer Campers and avenge themselves for past failures. But that story was a direct challenge, and an untried bunch of pill-tossers took the field and fight ingly blasted out a 14-9 win over the Rangers. Wasn't that irony? Ed Anuswith pitched air-tight ball for seven innings and then he retired, but not before he had smashed out a home run. Ed's masterful pitching was no more spectacular than the infield and outfield support given him. There was one casualty sustained, and that by the Rangers. Unfortunately, they lost their catcher when he wrenched his knee in the turn from third to home. His fine catching and batting had been a great support to his team, and they felt his loss when he was taken out. "Eli" Whitney replaced Ed in the pitcher's box for the Woodchoppers and so baffled the Rangers with his variety of "straight-balls" that they became frantic and were smashing away at anything within a five-foot radius. How they were reaching for those straight ones—right to the bitter end of the ninth! The cheering section was capably handled by Evo as always. Many public markets would pay a premium for his razzberries. Jimmie Dubuar was chief arbiter, and his decisions were never questioned nor questionable.
SECOND GAME W eather...... SWELL Ball Field ...... SWELL Players ...... SWELL Beginning of the 9th...... -WELL Final Score ...... p it . Alibi ......
Rangers ...... 14 Summer Cam p...... 8
COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
THIRD GAME
HE playoff was the payoff! We staged the final game on the Cranberry Lake diamond. Side Camp and Mensuration had taken a lot out of us, but we still had left a few kicks to put behind the hickory sticks (or were they ash?). As game time drew nigh, the coin was flipped and Andy Kratina won the toss, choosing the field. As the boys took their positions, the cry went up, "Who's the umpire?" "Where is he?" Came the answer from the bleachers— "Upper Tupper!" That wasn't true, for the umpire hadn't been chosen yet. "Who'd be umpire?"—the game couldn't get started without the chief arbiter. "Who'd be umpire?" Then out of the thick, dark bushes surrounding a nearby hen-house stepped a man who was destined to make Summer Camp history. "I'll be umpire," shouted he in stentorian tones. Who was this bespectacled gent with the straw hat and the red tie? Why, none other than that awesome, Lawson man we all called "Si." The world will little note nor long remember what we did here, but they'll never forget what HE did here—and neither will wel And so the ball game started. Let’s analyze one or two of the plays. Rangers are at bat. Ed Anuswith shoots over a hot one. Crack! A hot grounder is screaming out to Madison at short. Maddy snares it and whips it to Woodin at first. Woody touches the bag and then touches the player coming in to make the out doubly sure. Umpire's decision—SAFE1 Good ol’ "Si" just missed that one. Here's another: Ranger on third. Rangers call time to iron out a disputed decision. Man on third scoots home. A run is tallied up for the Rangers. Good ol' "Si" just missed that one, too. But what of it? We were after a good time and had it. despite the 11-9 loss. The Rangers played a bang-up game and deserved to win. They're a grand bunch of fellows.
Series Standing—1936 W. L. P erC en t Ranger School. 2 1 .667 Summer Camp 1 2 .333
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 71 CAMP LOG
DOGGEREL AND DITTY
There was an old fellow named Crlss One night the boys staged a raid. His stories all started like this. They called it “The Big Parade." "Five days did I go------, So Pitman they jumped And not half what I know------And in the lake dumped. His only applause was a hiss. He got a bit damp, I'm afraid.
Oh, Evo, the great K.P. placer. There was an old fellow named Si, He’s known far and wide as a racer. A saw-filin' sort of a guy, He wrestled with Lake, He raised his right hand And when finished he spake, And assembled his band, "I'll take 'Cootie’ on for a chaser." Then in the lake Witchely did fly.
Oh, Rodney he knows all the scores. His audience he never bores. From Major to Cook With his little black book, He's a veteran of three different wars.
Side Camp Dirge (To the tune of "The Land of the Lassen") Away up north where spruce trees grow tall There's also the alders through which you must crawl, The beaver dams swampy; the broken so dry, With sharp-billed mosquitoes and Dipterous deer-fly.
Chorus Oh, my, gee ain't it grand, To map all day long in a clear open stand. Oh, my, gee it's a pain To cruise all day long in that dam' Newcomb rain.
With Abney and compass and Calipers too We stroll through the woodland with nothing to do. But cruise all the timber, and map all the ground, From Catlin to Wolf Pond and the boundary around.
We tear through the brambles, our clothes rent in rags, The plan is to equal the zigs to the zags, Our creeks should run downhill; our lakes should be flat, But somehow our topog is never like that.
Page 72 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
“Our Advertisers”
You take this book, and opening it, Peruse the Summer's fads. But please look through this section And don't neglect the ads.
Here an axe, and there a pump, Then a railroad line. Books, supplies and sporting goods— A place to dance and dine.
These ads were took for the Camp Log Book From our Advertisers wise, So open up your pockets wide And patronize these guys.
SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 73 CAMP LOG
NEW YORK STATE COLLEGE OF FORESTRY At Syracuse University
A Four-Year Undergraduate Course is offered in General Forestry with the degree of Bachelor of Science and special courses leading to higher degrees; a four-year course in pulp and paper manufacture and a short course in dry-kiln engineering and lumber grad ing are given. The State Forest Experiment Station of ninety acres at Syracuse, the Charles Lathrop Pack Experimental Forest of 1,000 acres at Cranberry Lake, the Charles Lathrop Pack Demonstration Forest of 2,200 acres in the Lake George-Warrensburg dis trict, Huntington Wild Life Forest Station of 13,000 acres near Newcomb, N. Y., the Roosevelt Wild Life Experiment Station, a pulp mill, a timber-treating plant, a portable saw mill, a dry-kiln plant, laboratories for pulp and paper and biological studies, together with a large reference library, afford excellent opportunities for research and instruction. The College of Forestry Camp for Sophomores is on the Charles Lathrop Pack Experi mental Forest. The Summer Camp Course is given during ten weeks in July, August, and September, and is a part of the regular requirements of the College curriculum. The Senior Camp is held during May at the Charles Lathrop Pack Demonstration Forest.
i t For Particulars, Address NEW YORK STATE COLLEGE OF FORESTRY SYRACUSE, NEW YORK
Highest Quality The Sager Single and Double Bit A X E S —All Patterns LOGGING TOOLS—The Best of All Kinds WARREN AXE & TOOL GO. For the Last Half Century W a r r e n ...... Pennsylvania
AMERICAN ARMY-NAVY STORE 155 James Street (Comer North Warren) SYRACUSE. N. Y. CAMP SUPPLIES EQUIPMENT AND CLOTHES FOR ROUGHING IT Years of Handling Foresters' Problems, at Reasonable Prices, Is Our Guarantee Phone 2-5996 L A. Rubenstein
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Page 74 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
GRASSE RIVER RAILROAD In Connection with N. Y. C. R. R. via Childwood Station
Affords the Safest and Best Way to Cranberry Lake and Vicinity
For Time Tables, Rates for Special Trains, etc., Address W. Clyde Sykes, Vice-President Conifer, New York
EMPORIUM FORESTRY CO. General Office—Conifer, N. Y.
Manufacturers of Band Sawn Hardwoods, Spruce, Hemlock and White Pine
Planing Mills, Dry Kilns, Flooring Plant New York Office New England Office 5635 Grand Central 161 Devonshire Street Terminal Boston
Retail Stores Cranberry Lake and Conifer, N. Y.
Groceries General Merchandise Hardware, Paints, and Building Supplies
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SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 75 CAMP LOG
FORESTERS Since 1908 EAT at the FORESTERS COSMO RESTAURANT Have Been Buying Their The Meeting Place of Friends
SUPPLIES SPECIAL LUNCHEONS DISCOUNT MEAL TICKETS
—at the— When Not in the Woods, CORNER STORE Come to the COSMO
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PAPER MACHINE FELTS
Leading paper mills look for this trade-mark when selecting paper machine F E L T S , because it is the trade-mark of the best.
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Page 76 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
Why You Should Specify "RANGER SPECIAL" KNAPSACK CANVAS WATER TANK an d . HAND PUMP i • Longer Life Proofed against mildew, rot and rust. Impervious to moisture. Flexible in all tem peratures. Made from long staple cotton (AMERICAN GROWN) and woven seamless in 32 oz. construction to prevent wear and puncture. Greater Efficiency Saves energy and prevents fatigue by conforming to operator's back like a cushion. No chafing, digging into back, or loss of balance when running. No leakage. Tempera ture resistivity of canvas safeguards health of operator. Capacity 6 Vi gallons. Weight of knapsack with hose, 3 Vi pounds. Dimensions—20"x7"x5"—permit storing and trans portation in limited space. Improved closing device for quick filling. Interior easily accessible for cleaning. Manufactured by FENWICK-REDDAWAY MANUFACTURING COMPANY 46 Paris Street, Newark, New Jersey
FORESTERS Class Room and Field WISE FORESTERS Supplies Buy Their Blue Prints Photostats CLASSROOM SUPPLIES 4?
H. H. SULLIVAN, INC. —at the— Technical Merchandise 213 E. Genesee St. Ground Floor, State Tower Bldg. UNIVERSITY SYRACUSE. N. Y. BOOK STORE 2-1945
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SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 77 CAMP LOG
VARSITY BARBER SHOP Featuring 3 Chairs and the Best Hair Cuts on the Hill Underneath Comer Store
WILLIAM TUCKER, Prop.
VARSITY COFFEE SHOP
Where Foresters Come to Get Good Food
Choice Food Special Weekly Meal Tickets
THE TERRACE ROOM
Dinner Dancing Every Night Deluxe Dinners from 1.35
Supper Dancing Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday
SPARKLING FLOOR SHOWS
NO COVER CHARGE Minimum Check 1.00 Saturday 1.50 (plus tax)
HOTEL SYRACUSE Fay B. Mareness, Manager
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Page 78 COLLEGE of FORESTRY CAMP LOG
CHAS. M. GIBBS —Manufacturer of— .. Tents—Awnings—Window Shades Since 1868
' ------5 320 West Fayette Street Syracuse, New York
Compliments of THE WALDORF RESTAURANTS
404 S. Salina Street 210 E. Genesee Street 307 S. Warren Street
Fishing Tackle W. A. HARVEY Coifs Hunting and Fishing Smith & Wesson's Equipment SPORTING GOODS CO. Harrington & Athletic Goods Richardson Tennis and Golf Accessories 215 West Washington Street Shotguns—Rifles SYRACUSE, N. Y. Ammunition
Quality Printing depends directly on research and develop ment in paper manufacture carried on by graduates of colleges such as yours. W e are looking to the members of your class for further improvement in paper, one of our most important raw materials. ONONDAGA PRINTING CO. J. EDW. HITCHCOCK 247-51 W. Fayette Street :: Syracuse, N. Y.
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SUMMER CAMP of '36 Page 79