A Tinnerman High Adventure
Boy Scout Troop #173
July 28 - August 5, 2001
Introduction: To the Scouts and Parents of Troop 173
My first opportunity to visit the Tinnerman canoe base along Ontario's French River was when I was a scout of roughly the same age as the boys whose pleasure it was for me to serve as an adult leader on this year's trip. It was sometime in the mid-to-late- 1960's and, unknown to me at that time, the camp had only recently opened to accept scouts from the Greater Cleveland Council of the Boy Scouts of America.
To be honest, for the life of me I cannot recall whether I partook of one adventure or two back then (I think it was two) to this most beautiful land. If indeed it was two, then they have long since blended into a single trip in my mind.
Had you asked me how I got here, I would have responded: Well, on a bus. I only dimly recollect the long overnight bus ride from Cleveland to Tinnerman. I knew only that we were headed vaguely north. After a night of carousing on the bus, we all eventually drifted off to sleep, only to awaken early on a misty Sunday morning at a quiet marina, where we were whisked away on small motor craft to the lodge at Tinnerman.
Typical of any teenager, then or now, I recall few of the pertinent details.
What I recall is, fittingly, the bigger picture.
Scenes of massive rock formations, topped by majestic firs, interspersed by countless waterways and passages... rivers, lakes, streams.
And the companionship of scouting friends.
Each day was a new adventure.
It was, as the expression goes today... all good.
It was only in the intervening years - more than thirty of them since my last visit there - that the memories mellowed, and I began to appreciate just how special they were. When I set out to organize this trip for our troop, I was as excited for myself as I was for the young men who would join me. Something I'd long since left in those woods was calling me back. Memories of youth. A longing for a week of the simpler life. Or maybe it was simply the unparalleled natural beauty. Whatever called, I was only too happy to heed it and return to the rivers, lakes and boulders of this northern wilderness.
In writing this journal, both on the trail and after the fact, it struck me that this record is not necessarily for the immediate benefit of those boys who made the trip - at least not for today. Rather, these notes are meant to serve a more distant purpose: my hope is that the boys who made this trip might look back on this journal - in ten, twenty, maybe thirty years -- and perhaps then appreciate what they've done in proper perspective.
When you're 14 or 16 or 17 years old, life is forever. We tend not to appreciate its subtler subtexts. We miss many of the finer details. It takes many, many more years before we appreciate the simple truths of a youthful adventure. When you're that age, it's all about here and now. Memories are for later. As we get older, we learn of course that later comes all too soon.
While I hope the scouts today will appreciate the memories this journal keeps and the descriptions and observations it may hold, it is for their future years that I write this, and for which I hope they will save it. They say that youth is wasted on the young, and I suppose this is so. Still, who would have it any other way?
To the scouts who teamed up for this wonderful adventure, I hope you enjoyed it - right in the here and now, as it deserved to be enjoyed.
But beyond that, I hope the experience you had will inspire you to better appreciate this adventure over time.
And that this record will serve you well as a starting point for any memories and recollections you may care to keep.
Maybe one day in the distant future, it will encourage you to start a similar adventure, perhaps with your own sons and fellow scouts.
And if you do, maybe you'll write it all down too.
And when you do, save a copy for me, will you?
Brian R. Sittley
63299 Orange Road
South Bend, Indiana
July/August, 2001