Camp Fitzhugh

Countless Howell Council Boy Scouts could recount the only way in, particularly after the fork off Old Route 34C. First was the crackle of bright gray stone being pulverized into rock dust, then a silence of a dirt road, broken only by the soft sounds of crows, blue jays, crickets, and chickadees. A monstrous hand-carved, stained-plank sign, less than firmly anchored in a cobblestone base, arched loomingly over the road, declaring "Fitzhugh BSA Camp." The car windows are invariably open, allowing the soft breeze to usher in the fresh smell of white pine and blue spruce with a faint hint of musty pond water. Long, overhanging branches of oaks and maples masked the road to the front, creating a wash of greens and browns with the occasional white top of a Queen’s Anne Lace.

The car wheels provide the sudden, crackling choruses of breaking twigs as the fields to the side explode open. To the left, thick green grass first drops down a few feet before climbing to the top of a slight knoll. A 100-year old elm stands, ever vigilant over an algae-green pond ringed with cat-o-nine tails, their velvet-brown tops still holding their seeds. A bullfrog barks a welcoming trumpet call from his hidden rock at the edge of the pond.

The green elephant grass reaches over the car’s hood to the right, when a narrow cut appears, bearing off to the right. The car’s wheels find the two deep ruts running parallel into the distance, towards the towering assortment of poplar, pines, cedars, and birch trees. The car slows to a crawl, yet we still rock back and forth from dip to dip. A sign, its post and back covered by ivy leaves, reads "to Seneca Campsite."

Once within the cover of the tall trees, scouts and adults alike scamper out of the car, wasting no time in claiming the best bunks out of the eight lean-tos, scattered in a fishhook pattern. These simple frame edifices, resting on four dirt-caked concrete blocks, have brown plank sides covering three (or, if you were lucky, three-and-a half) sides, with sloped asphalt-shingle roofs and plywood floors. No one ever chooses the lean-to to the west, as the floor is completely rotted out, the roof shingle-less, and is permanently relegated to homes for mud wasps.

The insides of the lean-tos are always a sight and smell to behold. Daylight filters in between the gaps and knots of the planking. The bunks are permanently built into the structure with strong but aged 2x6’s, with metal beds inserted into the bunk frames. A grimy, dusty, flat, holly mattress is set onto each bed, the mattress bottom invariably sagging through the steel criss-cross. Nature and previous occupants have provided a thick carpeting of crushed dirt and stone dust. A pungent odor of perspiration, M&Ms, mold, and animal droppings can never be completely ushered out, no matter what.

There is nothing to the north or south, or east except thick woods. To the west is a deep gorge with a running creek down the middle, which is the only path to the rest of the 800-acre scout camp. It is home.

Update Camp Fitzhugh - or Babcock-Hovey, as it was truly known - is no longer. In 2023 the council chose to sell the property. Its future is unknown; its past remains in the memories of the countless scouts who call it home.