In the summer of 1990, Allen Flying By and I began talking about beginning a primitive camp of our own similar to the camp where we were working at the time. The original idea was to find land in South Dakota, and Allen was going to explore that idea. Meanwhile, I would explore the possibilities of setting the camp in North Carolina, a place where I had worked at a summer camp for five years and explored on Quest, a travel camp that I had established in 1982. All the while, Allen and I stayed in contact with each other.

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Early on, Allen told me that he did not believe the camp would be feasible in South Dakota because of logistics, mostly centered around transportation. I continued to explore Western North Carolina, contacting real estate agents throughout the region. I looked at a small abandoned camp near Brevard that had been used in the 1960's. I'll never forget the agent who contacted us about the property. We arrived at his office and he came outside to greet me with his hand extended. The first words out of his mouth were, "Tressler, Dick Tressler!" All I could think about was "Bond, James Bond."

He led us to the property, which had a small clearing covered in poison ivy and one building that could serve as an office and infirmary; however, the building was in pretty bad shape and would probably have to be torn down and a new one built. The property also had a lake bed (the lake had been drained), but power lines ran right down the middle of it and the site was adjacent to a two-lane back-topped road, leaving no privacy.

I looked at one other possibility, a small, former camp compete with cabins, an office and a dining hall. It's biggest drawback was its location, as it was miles away from everything, but additionally I was not looking for a camp with cabins.

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The final real possibility was located in Todd, NC, an area not far from Appalachian State University in Boone, NC. The property was really isolated and deeply forested with no place for anything other than a small pond. Since the site was shaped like a huge deep bowl, I could only imagine what it would be like in a rainstorm with water running down the surrounding mountainsides. The most interesting thing about that property was the fact that Eustace Conway and his camp Turtle Island was just a mile or so away.

After three years of looking at land, I had all but given up hope of finding a site that was suitable for the kind of camp that Allen and I had in mind. Land that was suitable had already been gobbled up by the state and turned into state forests and parks. The rest was priced at over $10,000 an acre, putting it way out of our reach. After considering the cost and the ever present danger of copperheads and rattlesnakes, I came to the conclusion that establishing a camp in the Blue Ridge Mountains would be prohibitive.  (To be continued . . .)

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