Camp at Cooper House

A small river runs through the field near Cooper House, a farm a little more than four miles outside of Barnard Castle in northeast England. Normally the setting is quite tranquil, and it seemed like the perfect spot for our annual camp.

When we parked the cars, however, we realized that we would have some chores to do before we could enjoy our fun. Due to the location of the site, all the equipment had to be carried down a steep, dusty hill. Most of the 38 young men felt an inclination to slide rather than walk, but somehow everything and everyone arrived intact.

The next challenge was pitching our tents. Those who had brought their own tents were familiar with them and seemed to have no problems. But others, like our stake president, Craig Marshall, had borrowed tents. The owner of the tent had told President Marshall that it was a cinch to put up, but despite lots of head scratching and lightning suggestions from the great brains of the group, he had trouble getting the frame to fit together.

While President Marshall struggled, the rest of us put up the food tent (the most important camp item), collected firewood, constructed a rack for the canoes and paddles, and prepared cocoa and biscuits to eat around the fire in the true tradition of camp. Eventually even President Marshall got his tent erected, with some friendly help from the rest of the group.

The next morning some poor, unfortunate boys had to go to the girls’ camp seven miles away in Middleton Teesdale to collect the canoes. The girls were heading for home that day, and it was our turn for the boats. It may have been hard work shifting the canoes, but the volunteers were glad to accept the girls’ offer of fish and chips before returning to camp.

Back at Cooper House, young men clad in shorts or wet suits formed human chains out into the river, passing rocks and boulders to each other to build dams to create a section of fast-running water for the canoes. After slipping and splashing, most of us ended up soaked. Soon canoes and inner tubes were set to water, and we were all delighting in maneuvering ourselves along in the current.

After tea (that’s what we call our evening meal, even though Mormons don’t drink tea), we organized a game of T-mac (sort of like group hide-and-seek) with one team seeking and one team hiding. The game lasted until it was too dark to recognize anyone anymore, so once again we slipped back to the campfire, then to bed.

During the next few days there were special moments at camp like singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” as a group, loud even though it was off-key. And we played a puzzle game which could not be done without all of us sharing our pieces. That taught us charity and selflessness. We also read our scriptures and retraced some of the journeys made by the ancient prophets.

Some of us went on a 30-mile hike that took two days. Some of us just stayed at Cooper House and floated in the stream. One day we made a raft from the inner tubes, but it had a tendency to throw its passengers. Another day we tried to use inner tubes, plastic bags, and ropes to walk across the river on top of the water. Paul Anderson of Billingham Ward walked the farthest. He had inner tubes tied to his hands and knees.

Brian Jones, the camp leader, spent time one day leading a rope course to prepare us for rock climbing and absailing (rappeling). Brian gained his knowledge from several expeditions in the Antarctic. Later on we tried our skills at a nearby quarry.

Thursday was one of those rainy English days when there is nothing you can do but play games or read in your tents. Hot meals and an opportunity to catch up on sleep were the only relief from the downpour. But during the afternoon, the two counselors in the stake presidency, Alex Stewart and Geoff Mawlam, arrived with some of their family members to join us overnight. It was President Stewart who persuaded some of the braver souls to go canoeing in the rain. It didn’t matter to him about the rain, since he capsized every time he went down the rapids anyway.

The first thing we wanted to do Friday was to dry out. The rain had stopped, but some of the sleeping bags and clothes were wet. We hung things out to dry. Then we built an obstacle course. The course consisted of various tasks—pushing the canoe trailer around some tyres (that’s the English spelling for tires); running the rapids on inner tubes; crossing over the river by rope and then wading back; climbing a rope; and monkey climbs (climbing over and through logs fashioned together like a jungle gym). Not surprisingly, most of us finished wet and dirty. Prizes were awarded for the fastest group time and the fastest individual time according to age.

Like any camp, we also had our cleanup time. The tents were dismantled, the dams broken down, the turf replaced where the fire had been. For our last meal, Brother John Dale, our chef de cuisine treated us to fish and chips from Barnard Castle.

We picked up our tents and equipment and climbed the hill for the last time. Looking back, the field seemed bare, except for yellowed patches of grass where the tents had been. All that we have now are the memories.