Dave Standfield’s high school ambition was to live in a cabin in the woods.

Growing up in Richmond Hill, he was intrigued by tales told by his father, who worked for the Department of Lands and Forests and was the head of wolf research in Algonquin Park from 1950 to 1960.

“When I was a kid, my dad was up there for weeks on end and came home with incredible stories,” says Standfield. “I listened to him talking about all the characters he got to know, people who were larger than life, who lived in the bush and snowshoed. I wanted to do that, too.”

Little did he know at age 17 when he applied to be a counsellor-in-training at Taylor Statten camps on Canoe Lake that he was taking his first step toward realizing that dream.

“That summer was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says.

Standfield returned for the next few summers and then was recruited to help Bill Statten in the canoe shop, which turned into a year-round job.

Now in his 30th year at the camp, Standfield is head of the canoe shop, and his summer residence is — you guessed it — a cabin in the woods with no electricity or running water. Situated across the bay from the boys’ camp, his summer abode was used as a quarantine area in the 1920s.

For years he had a one-room cabin in the boys’ camp, but when his wife Alison ended her 10-year run as director of the girls’ camp in 2005 and gave up the cabin that came with that position, their family was offered the slightly bigger place.  

Sometimes he is on his own, but he’s happiest when his wife and two young daughters join him. “We enjoy hanging out as a family. I’m always sad at the end of summer,” he says.

In winter, Standfield lives with his family outside of Baysville and commutes to the camp. “It’s a regular house, not a cabin,” he says, “but we do heat with wood. I couldn’t live up here without the smell of smoke and wood.”  

At Taylor Statten Camps, Standfield is responsible for the fleet of about 200 canvas cedar canoes. “It’s a push to keep them going,” he says.

Encouraged by Jack Hurley of Dwight, he also put his own mark on the position by starting the camp’s canoe-building program.

“It has taken off. The kids really enjoy it,” he says. “It takes a lot to get organized and cut the pieces for the kids, but it’s worth it.”

Standfield, who enjoys doing things the traditional way, says it’s unfortunate that people are gradually losing practical skills and knowledge.

“One kid asked me, ‘Is this how all canoes are made?’” he recalls. “I guess he thought a machine somewhere pumped them out.”

During his decades at the camp, Standfield has also become  knowledgeable about the history of Canoe Lake, including the Tom Thomson story.  Campers often seek him out to ask questions and look at various photos and artifacts hanging in his shop.

Spring and summer are hectic, but when the weather turns colder Standfield has more time to devote to collecting and making decoys, which he has been doing since he was a teenager.

In the shop, the focus turns to building and rebuilding canoes. For example, next winter’s big project is rebuilding the camp’s two war canoes, originally built in 1926 by the Peterborough Canoe Company and last rebuilt in 1979.

“They’re actually in the Guinness Book of Records as the biggest cedar canvas canoes,” he says. “It’s neat to be in charge of looking after something like that.”

Standfield refers often to mentors like Bill Statten and his uncle “Dr. Tay,” (Taylor Statten II) as well as oldtimers from around the lake.

And he himself is continuing that mentoring tradition: Bill Statten’s son David (also Standfield’s godson) is now his apprentice in the canoe shop.

A group of boys paddles by, the fall colours reflecting in the water around them. Standfield smiles.

“I’ve been so lucky,” he says. “The camp’s been good to me.”