The Chairlift Moments at Camp Bauercrest

I was riding up a ski lift a few weekends ago, somewhere between the bottom of the mountain and the start of the next run down, when something about camp caught up with me.

Not the noise. Not the games. Not the big moments.

The quiet ones.

Camp is loud, full, and deeply communal. The mountains are quiet and solitary. I don’t go there for connection or community. I go there because skiing allows me to slow down just enough to notice what usually gets missed, while still providing that little adrenaline rush I love. 

As I was riding up the lift, I found myself deep in thought, recognizing that anyone who has ever ridden a ski lift knows that the ride up can be just as meaningful as the run itself. 

You’re no longer pushing forward or trying to get it right. You’re suspended between where you’ve been and where you’re going. Sitting beside someone. Talking a little. Thinking a lot. Looking back at the last run, glancing ahead at what’s next.

Even if you’ve never been on a ski lift, the feeling is familiar, that pause between moments, when things slow down just enough to notice who’s beside you.

When I think about Camp Bauercrest, I think a lot about those chairlift moments.

Our camp days are full and active, games on the fields, time at the waterfront, structured activities, laughter, and energy from morning until night. There’s plenty of motion and momentum. But what truly shapes a camper’s experience often happens in the spaces in between.

I see it in the walk back from the euro field, cleats still on, when a camper replays a missed pass that no one else seems to remember. I see it when boys sit on a bench waiting for the next game, sharing a water bottle and a look that says, you good? I see it when they stand shoulder to shoulder without saying much at all. And I see it late at night, in a quiet bunk conversation, when someone admits they didn’t have their best day and no one makes a big deal out of it.

Taken together, these small moments begin to stack up. That’s how brotherhood forms here, not in one big moment, but in the everyday rhythm of boys side by side, learning what it means to be brothers.

Those are our chairlift moments.

They’re the moments when boys realize they don’t have to fill the silence, leaning in to look at the same page of an old Bauercrest yearbook, watching the same ball in the air, jumping at slightly different times and knowing not everyone is going to get it, and that it doesn’t really matter. Someone makes a ridiculous face mid-game and no one tells him to stop. In fact, someone probably does it right back. A joke breaks the tension, even if the timing’s off. And when the day finally slows down in the bunk, cleats kicked off, lights dim, and someone is quieter than usual, a bunkmate pulls him into the conversation, hands him a flashlight, or makes room on the bunk so no one has to sit with it alone.

This is what brotherhood looks like at Bauercrest.

Not a slogan or a matching jersey, but shared space. Arms slung over shoulders without thinking about it. Sitting close because it feels natural, because no one is questioning whether they belong there. After a hard moment, or an unexpectedly great one, you don’t peel off on your own. You stay. Someone stays with you.

From where I stand, brotherhood here isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s showing up for each other after a tough loss. It’s celebrating a win without rubbing it in. It’s noticing when someone is quieter than usual and making room beside them without being asked.

These moments aren’t scheduled, and they can’t be forced. They happen because the pace of camp leaves room for them, and because the people here understand their value. Brotherhood shows up most clearly when no one is trying to prove it’s there.

Just like on a ski lift, no one is in a rush. You’re headed forward, together, with time to look back, look ahead, and take in where you are, not wondering if you’re supposed to be there, but knowing that you are.

Long after the summer ends, it’s often these in-between moments, the chairlift moments, that campers remember most. Not because of what they did, but because of how it felt to be part of it.

That’s the Bauercrest brotherhood.
And for so many boys, it’s where belonging begins.