I am, by nature and necessity, a “logistics guy.” On any given day at CKC, you’ll likely see me busy and bustling — ducking into the office to check a schedule, then back on campus with a flurry of directives. My mind is constantly on the next event, the next meal, and the next transition. In the heat of a summer season, it is easy to start viewing the world through the lens of “tasks completed.”
But last summer, this “logistics guy” got a much-needed reminder of what we are actually building here.
It was after our co-ed luau — an amazing, high-energy evening. As the music faded and the crowds dispersed, I stayed behind, doing what I do: checking over clean-up and wrapping up the loose ends. As I finally turned to head back to my cabin, I spotted two counselors sitting off to the side, on the edge of the field. Their cabins were nearby, and their girls were inside getting ready for a movie night.
I walked over in “Director mode.” I figured I’d check in, see if they needed a hand with planning, or perhaps to answer a trail question: these were two of our wilderness staff—tough, capable young women — and I assumed they were hashing out trip itineraries or to-dos.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
They invited me to join and as I sat down, I realized they weren’t talking about gear lists or trail maps. They were deep in the heart of it. They were discussing the philosophy of leadership and the weight of character. They were talking about the kind of women they wanted to become.
I stayed for a while, taking off my director hat and joining in as just another person seeking to grow. We talked about the responsibility of influence and the grit it takes to lead well. Before we called it a night, one of the counselors—a first-year “Kahda-lady”—turned to me with a look of quiet clarity:
She told me that her time at camp had reshaped her image of leadership. To her, leadership was no longer about being the strongest voice or the person in charge; it was rooted in the willingness to listen—to take time for the person standing right in front of them. The role model of the Directors and Program Directors had shifted her outlook.
Beyond the Summer Season
That conversation has stuck with me. As a Director, I often measure a “good day” by how smoothly the luau went or how few hitches we had in the schedule. But those are temporary wins. The “Eternal Work” (as the man, the myth, the legend, Dave Trufant would say) is what was happening on the edge of that field.
At Kahdalea and Chosatonga, our beautiful campus and the wilderness around us provide the setting for fun and challenge, but growth is forged in those quiet, unscripted moments of staff formation. The lessons in leadership flow down to the campers and set the tone of the community as those counselors I spoke with go forth and live out those lessons with the girls in their cabins and on their trips.
When we pour into our counselors, we aren’t just making sure they can lead a hike or supervise a cabin. We are helping them build a foundation of virtue that they will carry into their future marriages, their careers, and their communities. And into the life of each camper. We are teaching them (and continuing to learn together) that leadership isn’t a title — it’s a disposition of the heart.
The Heart of the Mission
It’s easy to get lost in the flurry of directives. But that night reminded me that the “logistics” are the scaffolding. The building itself—the real work—is the transformation of the young men and women who lead our campers.
If a staff member leaves our valley realizing that leadership means loving the person in front of you, then we have done something far more important than running a successful camp. We have participated in a work that doesn’t end when the trunks are packed. We have done work that lasts forever.
