In the 50 years of LandSea, the program has existed in a variety of forms. These student pieces paint a picture of the different activities and emotions that the program has evoked. While the places and time periods may be different, the LandSea spirit is present throughout.
When we arrived at basecamp, the jovial Bunky
Laura Livingstone-McNelis ’80
VanderSalm introduced all of the 50 or so new
students in our group to the upperclassmen who
would be our patrol leaders. He directed us to a
rugged man sitting in a rowboat who looked like he
had been in the mountains for…awhile. Looking at
his long shaggy hair, and noting his dirty, torn jeans,
I wondered: Who is this guy? Was he a hermit who
occasionally transported groups of hikers? No, this
is Dr. David Winch, professor of physics at K, and by
the way, Laura, he’s your advisor!
The entire three weeks of LandSea was full of
challenges; my most significant moment was rapelling.
That morning we woke up to drenched sleeping bags.
A heavy rain had soaked us and everything we’d been
carrying. But, the upside was the beautiful waterfall
that formed—though it ran through the path we were
to hike. This waterfall path led us to the top of the
small mountain where we began our descent.
The sun came out, the water still ran, and we
hiked up to the top of the rock face. One by one, my
peers went over the edge—in more ways than one! I
buckled up, and started backing up toward the edge.
My heels dipped and I instinctively gripped the line
tighter and looked to Dave. His big smile reassured
me that all was well. So I did what he’d told us to do:
I stopped walking backward and just leaned into the
space, the space about 150 feet above the rock ledge
below.
All was going well until I realized I had gotten
a little too interested in the vista. The tops of trees
from a bird’s eye view, the large lake below as smooth
as glass…Ack! What happened? I yelled “Falling!”
“Thank you!” came the reply. I thought, this makes no
sense! “Falling!!!” I yelled again. “Thank you!” Dave
called back. What an odd exchange as I was falling off
a cliff!
But Dave knew what he was doing, even though I
did not. I managed to navigate around the overhang
and cavernous space, then make it back onto rock.
When my feet finally hit the level ground and I was no
longer horizontal, I began to unbuckle the clips and
relay the lines up for the next anxious person at the
top. Standing there, by myself, I thought, “If I can do
this, I can do anything!” And do you know what? That
feeling never left me.
Thank you, Dave.
LandSea 1982 was a blessing for me. As a foreign student arriving in the U.S. from Argentina for the first time, the three weeks spent on Lake Huron and in Canada helped me land on my feet quickly. I will never forget the bus ride up to Killarney and being stopped at the border because I did not have a visa to enter Canada. At that time of year, and in the middle of the night, I think I was more entertainment for the border patrol than a real threat to Canadian national security. I will never forget the cold rain, the freezing lakes, Dr. Winch’s famous advice of “wool stays warm even when wet,” my buddy Kurt Wayne Brubaker from Indiana, and the rest of our group. Our fearless leader Fran Durivage would rattle off the names of her numerous siblings over and over. I remember the difficulty of building a fire in the rain, freezing at night, solo, repelling, the northern lights when the sky was clear, beavers, Rye-Vita crackers to fight seasickness on the way back to Windsor, and many, many other wonderful memories. While I was blessed to go back as a leader a couple of years later and have many fond memories of that trip, my first foray into Canada and Michigan with LandSea is something I am thankful for and will never forget.
Marcelo Casas ’86
This is what you do on solo. First and foremost, you don’t have to do anything. Isn’t that something? We always have to do something. We always have about a million things. Actually, you have to do one thing. You have to be yourself. You have to know yourself. You have to exist alone and know that you’re going to be all right. But that’s it. That’s all. You sleep. Mostly you sleep. You’ve been trekking through the wilderness for almost a week, and what you need more than anything is your rest. You stretch your legs and you curl up in a bed of leaves and dirt. You stare up at the sun through the tree tops and feel warmth. You sleep through all the daylight. You sleep through some of the night—but the nights are the worst part. It cools off, it slows down. You can hear everything that exists in the woods at night. And sure, nothing’s going to get you, but what if it does? And yet you wake up. You make it through. And nothing says “you are not alone” like seeing another sunrise. You can write too. You can write pages on pages in a journal about every person you’ve met that you can remember. You prop yourself up against a log and write everything you know. You will never have as much knowledge and wisdom as you do when you’re completely alone. You don’t need to eat, and you don’t need very much water. This is what confuses people. You’re not doing anything besides existing. Besides being. It sounds a little scary and it sounds a little dull—but we’re existing all the time. You come back to your tiny patrol, chattering and thinking about dinner and missing each other (or at least pretending to) and you’re still existing. To some extent, you’re always on solo. Isn’t that funny? All you ever have to do is be yourself for yourself. The rest is just extra.
Fran Hoepfner ’13
I slept in before the service project, and basked in the first non-oatmeal breakfast I’d eaten in eighteen days. Flipping pancakes next to peers with whom I would later learn Shakespeare, I began friendships that lasted through my years at K. Next, they had us out chopping wood. One red pine and two maples had fallen across a trail near basecamp. As a former boy scout, I tried not to be too proud of my mainly theoretical ax knowledge. Moods spoiled in the work and warm weather. We returned to the lake in a sweaty quiet.
The following day we cleared another trail, laying boards and bricks where the lake had lapped over the bank. As one of the few participants taking two days of service, I worked beside a whole new group of my graduating class. I talked faster than I needed to anyone who would match my pace.
In the afternoon, we retreated to a peninsula, and witnessed two loons circle one another in a mating dance. We sat silent, staring out at the water. Reflected on a still bay, the loons called to one another as if miles apart. The strain and heat and awkward introductions drifted away, replaced by this new language which only required me to listen.
Completing two days of service allowed me to meet twice the amount of new people. Already, I felt I was getting to know what college might be like.
School started. The loons swam off together. I saw them sometimes, when I needed them.
Jonathon Townley ’22
When I first learned what Landsea was as an incoming freshman, I thought there was no way I could do it. I had never been camping in my life, never hiked, never canoeed, and never had any real interest in the outdoors. I was from a firmly indoor family and had every intention of being an indoor college student. It was my parents who actually talked me into the experience, and the only reason I said yes was because of Basecamp.
While the basecamp program included a couple of short expeditions, most of the time was spent exploring the grounds of Camp Massawepie. Having the comfort of a home base and intentional time with my patrol was exactly what I needed to throw myself into such a new experience, and I am so glad that I did. My participant year on Basecamp opened an entirely new world for me. It’s where I began to find out who I wanted to be away from home, along with meeting people who would become my lifelong community. I was pushed and pushed myself harder than I ever had before, all while feeling deeply seen and supported by the people around me. Through LandSea, I developed a profound relationship with the outdoors that has only continued to grow. There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to apply to lead after program ended; I couldn’t imagine walking away from such a life changing experience without giving back some of what I’d gained.
When I returned as a basecamp leader, many of my participants were in the same boat I had been in a year before, having never experienced anything remotely like LandSea. Basecamp tends to attract a more diverse group of incoming freshmen than the expedition patrols do, all with extremely differing backgrounds and levels of experience. To me that is the beauty of Basecamp and why it will always have my heart. Those patrols are made up of people who may have never connected or crossed paths without LandSea, and most likely never would have done LandSea without Basecamp. Because you aren’t constantly moving from campsite to campsite, there is more time in the day to just be together. Just being for that long is actually much more of a challenge than it sounds, and the lessons learned in the stillness are just as invaluable as those learned in the movement. Basecamp is what allows LandSea to reach just a bit further outside of the outdoor lover bubble and touch those around it. It touched me, and I hope it continues to touch many K freshman to come.
Julia Leet ’22
Have a LandSea Experience you would like to share? Feel free to reach out to us with photos or personal testimony at our email! @outdoor.programs@kzoo.edu