Summers At High Point State Park

Many, many moons ago, back in the mid-50s—when I was a little tyke—we used to spend two weeks or more at the campgrounds surrounding Sawmill Lake in High Point State Park up in Sussex County, NJ. Friday night, Dad would load up the massive canvas tent (I think it was something like 8 feet wide and 12 feet long but had no floor) and the little 8-foot pram he built from a kit. Saturday morning, he and Mom would pack the cooler with meats and milk, throw in some ice cubes and the four of us (Dad, Mom, Sis and I) would drive up Route 23 to HPSP.
We would usually have a campsite on the lake. They were the best, but sometimes we would have to settle for one across the road which meant an extra 20 yards or so to the lake’s shoreline for fishing. The campsite had a picnic table, a fire ring and a raised platform for the tent. The tent would be set up and four wooden and canvas cots set up inside. Outside, Mom would set up the “kitchen” consisting of a cooler, a wooden box for foodstuffs and a gas stove. A tarp was strung over the picnic table to protect against rain, bugs and caterpillar frass (crap).
Once the campsite was squared away we would drive around to the beach that doubled as a boat launch. Dad would hoist the plywood rowboat off the roof and set it at the shoreline. Oars were set in the oarlocks and while Dad drove the car back to the campsite I would stand guard until he returned. Then we would take the boat across the lake to the same place.

For the next two weeks we would live at the campground. We spent our days swimming, fishing from the shore or in the boat, exploring the shoreline with a net or just wandering around the lake, usually on our own. Mom and Dad would cook the meals. We would play cards when it rained. We’d be outside 24/7 for two weeks. We’d collect worms from under rocks and logs. Occasionally we would locate a huge toad or salamander and it might become a temporary camp pet. Mosquitoes and poison ivy thrived and we occasionally had a fresh pink coat of Calamine lotion applied by Mom to ease the itch.

Going to the latrine at night we were always concerned about running into bears but never did. I suppose today you would be far more likely to come upon a bruin in that part of the state. I know they have been frequent visitors at the Boy Scout Camps out that way and hikers have run into them up on the AT. Raccoons and sometimes skunks visited the campsite at night and would make plenty of noise but seldom got anything for their efforts. Their racket was enough for a seven or eight year old boy and his little sister to imagine something far bigger was about to break into the tent and gobble them up.

Twice we spent the entire summer at High Point—at least Mom, Sis and I did. After two weeks, Dad had to go back to work. He would join us on the weekends to get out of eastern Passaic County.

I remember catching lightening bugs and crushing them against the backs of my hands. The chemical released from the beetle’s abdomen would continue to glow for 15 to 20 minutes before it faded.

One summer, my Dad’s brother brought his wife and three kids to the campsite next to us. Us five kids had a blast. With two punts we would be out fishing from dawn ‘til dusk. There were three boys and two girls mucking around in the lake.

Rainstorms were a hoot. I loved the lightening that brought daylight to the middle of the night and the thunder that boomed through the night shaking the very forest around us. Mix that with the sound of the raindrops on the canvas of the tent, the smell of the wet earth under the tent platform, and the water pouring off the canvas to splash on the ground and I was in heaven. I still enjoy a violent summer thunderstorm and have been able to get up close and personal with several in the Adirondacks both at the Bolt Hole and BSA’s Sabattis.

We could catch frogs with the net or with a fishhook baited with a tiny piece of red cloth. We’d creep along the shoreline scanning the water’s edge ahead of us. When we spotted a frog nestled among the weeds or rocks we would dangle the tiny red scrap in front of the frog’s nose. Sooner or later the frog would jump forward to grab the “fly” that was right in front of its nose. A quick jerk on the rod and we had ‘em.

Sawmill Lake had lots of sunfish and bass. It also had plenty of small catfish. When we caught sunfish we put them in buckets to bring back to the campsite. We would clean our catch and then Mom would fry them up in a big cast iron skillet. She wouldn’t use any breading and we wouldn’t filet the little fish (most were under 6 inches) and for grease it was either bacon fat or Crisco. When they were done, we would feast on OUR catch and it was perfect, bones and all.

We did this for four summers, if I recall correctly. At that time we were living in Hawthorne, NJ. In 1958 my Dad got laid off from the Ford plant in Mahwah so he and his brother, who was a carpenter, build a new home in Oakland. My uncle already lived there across the street from what we called the Big Lake (there are two lakes in town). While the new home was being constructed, we lived in my uncle’s basement. While we stopped going to High Point that summer, we still had a great time with the boats, fishing poles, lightening bugs and a whole lot more kids along the shores of the Big Lake. But those stories will have to be told another time.