Button Bay State Park -- A World Divided

by Jacob Mnookin

The first time I went to Button Bay State Park was during my sophomore year, and there were about 20 of us; we brought a keg, plenty of hamburgers, hot dogs, all the fixings, a soccer ball, and good cheer. It was early spring, but after a long winter at Middlebury, whenever the weather is above forty degrees it's cause for shorts and an outdoor celebration of sorts. That fine Friday afternoon we were going to barbecue, drink, and play soccer until the sun went down telling us it was time to go home. The State Park was officially closed, but with several SUVs we just drove around the gate and onto the Park's main road until we reached the final campsite which has a beautiful view of Lake Champlain and a small island lying about fifty yards offshore.

The second time I went to Button Bay State Park was a week ago-two years after my first visit. Once again the park was closed, but during this trip it was significantly colder than it had been and snow covered the ground. The mouthwatering smell of meat cooking over an open fire was months away, and in its place was the smell of cold, crisp, windy winter air. Because there was so much snow, we (James, Sara, and I) parked James' Explorer at the gate and proceeded into the park on foot. It is only a short walk to the water, past many campsites each containing a fire-pit, picnic table, and lean-to. The State Park also has a basketball court and a bathroom facility. On our way to the beach, I stopped and stared for a long time at the basketball court, trying hard to imagine it during the summer, bustling with activity as children swoop from one end to the next-laughing and cheering, swearing and crying. The sharp wind biting at my face, however, prevented my imagination from straying too far from the winter reality that surrounded me in the form of snow banks and footprints.

When we reached the end of the campsites and saw Lake Champlain sprawled out ahead of us, I was surprised at how well I remembered this awesome sight. Lakes as large as Champlain have always boggled my mind; growing up in Newton, Massachusetts, when we say "let's go to the lake," we mean a tiny body of water-tiny enough that you can swim across it-five minutes away. Huge lakes like Champlain, however, look to me more like oceans; the "other side" is often nowhere in sight. I precariously ventured out onto the actual lake, using the somewhat frozen water to walk places unimaginable during the summer. As I cautiously walked further and further out onto the ice, I couldn't help but think about many things. First, of course, I wondered how frozen that ice actually was. After several hard and concentrated stomps with my boots, I decided it was secure enough for the moment. Feeling sort of safe, I began to wonder how I was going to write about this experience in a way that my teacher would not think sucked. After all, it seemed as though a fair amount of what we had read about nature up to that point had sort of sucked--and we had been reading a recent anthology of what was supposed to be the "Best American Nature Writing."

This sudden anxiety attack gave way to some rambling, sometimes disjointed thoughts about Button Bay's more commercial brother, the Basin Harbor Club which lay a mere mile up the road. It seemed to me that everywhere a campground or a piece of unadulterated nature exists, man has set up luxurious and more commercial alternatives. Several examples come to mind: the U.S. side of Niagara Falls vs. the Canadian side of Niagara Falls; Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon vs. the Bright Angel campground; and in this particular case, the Basin Harbor Club vs. Button Bay State Park.

Anyone who has been to Niagara Falls knows about the contrast between the Canadian border and the United States border. The Canadian side is a repulsive display of man's incredible ability to commercialize a natural wonder-the streets are littered with haunted houses, a Ripley's Believe It or Not museum, a Guinness Book of World Records museum, and a plethora of restaurants and snack shops that all sell the requisite cheap and useless Niagara Falls souvenirs and disgusting looking hot dogs and popcorn. The American side is, surprisingly enough, less commercialized-or rather not commercialized. There may be a snack shop, (I don't really remember), and some people offering guides of the Falls, but other than that the experience of the Falls from the New York side is only altered by the presence of an incredibly useful information center, which lets people know that, contrary to popular belief, the Falls are not actually one of the seven natural wonders of the world.

My experience at Niagara Falls came at the beginning of a three-month cross-country trek I took with my sister. Although I was sort of shocked at the disparity between the two borders of Niagara Falls, this sort of incongruity, I soon discovered, is neither unusual nor necessarily a bad thing. At the bottom of the Grand Canyon, reached only by a somewhat difficult but absolutely incredible hike (or mule ride) the visitor is greeted with two sleeping options (although both require reservations). One is a basic campground that has about ten plots of leveled land big enough for a medium size tent; there are, surprisingly enough, flush toilets, but that is truly the only luxury afforded the campers at this campground. About two hundred yards away from the campground lies the Phantom Ranch, consisting of rustic cabins with showers, a dining hall that serves steak and beer, and a souvenir shop. This may not seem too extravagant until one takes a step back and realizes that all of this lies at the bottom of the Grand Canyon-a minimum journey of ten miles, possible only by mule or on foot. That means all of the supplies needed to build these facilities had to be brought down by mule, and the food still has to be brought down that way and the mail brought up (yes you can mail a letter from the Phantom Ranch). My sister and I wandered over to the Ranch after we had set up our tent, and thought it quite peculiar that we were able to buy Snickers at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, seemingly so far from civilization-although after our arduous hike, we admittedly savored every bite of them.
This recollection of a hot fall day in the desert climate of the Grand Canyon was abruptly interrupted as a cracking sound erupted from the ice I was standing on. I jolted to attention, but quickly realized that I was not going to sink-at least not yet. Regardless, I decided it was time to wander around the park and attempt to conjure up some deep thoughts to include in my essay. I noticed a point off to the right of the island, some distance away, and hoped that I might find inspiration there. I began the trek to the point, following a cross-country ski path, and was pleasantly surprised to discover a beautiful hiking trail. It was lined on both sides by imposing trees, and the trail was illuminated by a glaring sun that struck down through the branches forcing me to squint at some points. When I reached the point I patted myself on the back as I felt as though I had reached the heart and soul of Button Bay State Park. The expansive lake stretched far out in front of me and the mountains off in the distance reminded me this was no ocean. I sat down and watched a flock of birds float peacefully on the water, and then suddenly begin to fly away in one big cohesive mass.
The immense sun offset the harsh wind nicely and I just sat at the point and daydreamed. I couldn't help but compare my experience here at Button Bay with nearby Basin Harbor. These two sites on Lake Champlain, like the borders at Niagara Falls and the accommodations at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, are similarly worlds apart despite being right next to each other. Whereas at Button Bay guests are greeted by a ranger station and an unassuming plot of grass to set up a tent, at Basin Harbor guests are greeted with restaurants, a golf course, tennis courts, bungalows with showers, and, as the name suggests, a Harbor to stash your sailboat. Button Bay State Park is a beautiful public campground that is lucky enough to be rubbing shoulders with a refreshingly unexpected beach right on Lake Champlain. Campers or even day visitors can play basketball or soccer or Frisbee, swim, talk with friends, build a fire, catch bugs, or just relax and look out at the vast body of water that lies before them. Those visitors motivated enough to leave their campfires behind and venture onto the path that leads to the point are rewarded by a view that seems illogical in the middle of Vermont. The ocean-like Lake Champlain and the surrounding mountains are able to remind someone what natural beauty really is. The underlying premise at Button Bay seems to be that nature, in and of itself, is entertaining enough not to require the luxuries offered at the nearby Harbor Club. A group of friends, some food, a fire, a Frisbee, and the beautiful views of the Champlain should be more than enough to provide an afternoon of fun.
Sitting on the point and feeling more and more like Jack Handy, I realized that having alternatives to nature like Button Bay and Basin Harbor is a good thing. Some people are not ready to make the full and perhaps seemingly dangerous plunge back to our hunting and gathering selves and need a buffer in the form of the Harbor Club, or a Phantom Ranch, or a Ripley's Believe It or Not. I laughed and thought that maybe if I grow up to be rich, I'll join the Basin Harbor Club-because it truly does provide an incredible setting for 18 holes of golf or a five-set tennis battle with your old college buddy. Standing in Button Bay, however, I could not wait for warmer weather to come; I promised myself I would return here with my friends for a nice Springtime barbecue.

The sun shines over Button Bay...

A view from the point, looking south down the lake.

Ice everywhere...

Windswept weeds in the snow.

The feeling of being alone at the edge of the world...

A view of the point from the campground.

The sun peeks through the trees onto the path leading to the point.

How to get there: leave Middlebury heading west on route 125…turn right (north) on 22A and as you approach downtown Vergennes, look for official signs to Button Bay State Park. Turn left (west) onto Panton Road…if you cross the Otter Creek at the Vergennes falls, you've gone too far. There will be signs for the park at Panton Road and from this point on, as well as for "Basin Harbor Club" and "Lake Champlain Maritime Museum,"two other local attractions which are not far away.