Sandy Hill

A camper who very much wanted to join the stable-staff, rides across the pasture back to the stable entrance. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

During the summers of 1959 through 1961, when I would have been 15 through 17, I was on the staff of a religious boys-camp in northeastern MD.
The camp's name was Sandy Hill. I think it still exists, although no longer owned by those who founded it — i.e. no longer the boys-camp it was when I was there.
I was a C-I-T; Counselor-in-Training.
The campers were shepherded in groups of 10 in cabins by counselors, usually college-students in their early 20s.
As a C-I-T I would substitute counselors on their days off, plus I also lived in a cabin with another counselor.
I had been a camper at that camp since 1954; frightened and shy at first, but I got the hang of it. —The camp was founded in 1949.
I felt the reasons they hired me were: —1) I'd been a camper there six times, and —2) I wrote a fabulous application, very much like this blog.
As a senior in high-school I was told I could sling words together better than most, which is what got me the job.
The camp had a horsemanship program with nags they had rented.
It was the hip program to be in — everyone wanted to be in horsemanship.
My horse-riding ability was questionable, but I could shovel manure.
Which is why they decided I was valuable.
The program included horsemanship instruction; the drill being to put every camper on a horse no matter how scared they were — a parent thing.
Most stable-staff abhorred instruction, but I did fine.
Usually the most horse-riding campers did was around a closed riding ring.
“Chief BobbaLouie, I can barely hold on.”
“Let go of the horn, Johnny; and post,” I'd say.
Sandy Hill was where I picked up the name BobbaLouie; “BobbaLew.”
And all authority-figures there were called “Chief,” including senior staff, counselors, and me.
Senior staff was who ran the camp. They lived in an old mansion-house, the ex-DuPont mansion that Sandy Hill once was.
Sandy Hill overlooked the northern reaches of Chesapeake Bay.
As such it had a canoeing program, with five fabulous Old Town wooden canoes.
I suppose this was what I enjoyed about Sandy Hill most, paddling those canoes out onto Chesapeake Bay.
In 1961 my cabin counselor was the head of canoeing, so we'd swap off; canoe trip for a horse ride.
I remember one twilight watching a gigantic thunderhead roll about 20 miles away, so far you didn't hear thunder. Giant streaks of faraway lightning, but no thunder.
We were in one of those Old Towns, and the bay was like glass.
The bay had a channel in it, and we'd paddle up to a faraway ship-buoy.
Another joy was dodging ships when the bay was stirred up by wind.
Canoeing four-foot waves wasn't easy, but it could be done.
Plus jumping ship wakes. You always had to do them at 90 degrees, lest you capsize.
I enjoyed canoeing more than riding horse, yet got so I could do even that pretty well.
One night we rode horse down to Elk Neck State Park in twilight, a place we used to canoe to for overnight camping trips.
It was pitch-dark when we returned, but our horses knew the trail in.
Sandy Hill is one of the most pleasant memories of my life.
I was set to be a counselor there during college, but my father felt otherwise.
There was no money working for Sandy Hill.

• “Posting” is an up-and-down motion in the saddle to offset the horse trotting. If you hold the horn on a western saddle, it becomes a fulcrum, and you bounce up-and-down.
• The bay was navigable past the camp, so ships could go up to the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal.