SAN BERNARDINO NATIONAL FOREST — Driving along the Rim of the World Scenic Byway in Southern California is a feat of concentration, combining dramatic vistas with a twisty road, with steep mountainsides on one side and deep valleys on the other. Wildlife abounds, from coyotes and chipmunks to butterflies and hawks.

Due south of Big Bear, a turnoff towards Jenks Lake reveals a small collection of summer camps. Camp Conrad Chinnock looks right out of a movie set: archery set, mess hall, climbing wall, flagpole, even a swimming pool. Campers laugh and lurch about, making jokes and trading stories as they walk to the next activity together.

The familiar atmosphere is precisely the aim. Camp Conrad Chinnock’s purpose is to give children with type 1 diabetes (T1D) a typical summer camp experience. Due to the nature of T1D, it’s not a simple proposition.

“The burden of diabetes management is minute-to-minute, constant, 24 hours. You can’t quit. And it’s always part of your thinking in the background. But when you come to camp, you have a support network that helps to carry your load,” said Tracy Fulkerson, a former camper who is now on the medical staff at the camp and works as a pediatric intensive care unit nurse supervisor at Rady Children’s Hospital in San Diego.

“It’s freeing, just to have the things you need waiting for you wherever you go. They’re [staff] carrying your pack for just a few miles and every little bit helps in this,” she said, referring to insulin, other supplies, and supplements, like glucose tablets.

Type 1 diabetes is an autoimmune disease that’s usually diagnosed in childhood; although experts don’t fully understand how it develops, they think genetics play a strong role. With T1D, the body produces little to no insulin, a hormone that regulates blood sugar levels and helps the body convert food into energy. Without taking insulin, it can become fatal. Globally, about 8.4 million people had type 1 diabetes in 2021. There is currently no cure.

Because T1D demands constant management and bulky equipment, such as pumps and monitors, kids who live with it often feel socially isolated. Many campers and staff – most of whom are former campers – expressed annoyance with having to answer the same diabetes-related questions over and over and deflect uninformed concerns from family and friends about what they eat.

While untangling a fishing line next to Jenks Lake and supervising some budding anglers, T.J. Julius, 21, a mentor and counselor at the camp, recalled his early years with T1D. He was diagnosed at 5 years old.

“I’m the only one in my family who has it, so I felt alone,” he said. 

Coming to camp fundamentally changed his outlook.

“Up here, it’s a family. You feel better. You feel regular,” he said. “Being at camp made me want to take care of myself more… seeing the older people and seeing what they could do.”

Julius played high school football at Jurupa Hills and now works as a firefighter.

Emma Lloyd, 18, a counselor from Long Beach, said she struggled after being diagnosed as a child. “I decided my life was over at seven years old,” she said. “I felt alone. Trapped.”

That changed when she came to camp.

“It’s like Narnia here. It’s a magical place. It’s one of the only places where people with diabetes can get together and be normal…camp is my home and people here are my family,” she said, noting that she had attended since she was seven years old.

“It’s safe here… you don’t have to explain yourself.”

Both Llyod and Julius described how, beyond friendships, the camp had educated them on the latest technologies related to insulin pumps, monitors, and diabetes management techniques.

“I found out that I can eat everything; I just have to balance it. I did not know that before camp,” Lloyd said.

Colin Moore, 17, was diagnosed when he was 12 and said camp has helped him feel more comfortable with new ways to manage T1D.

“There is all this technology that I honestly didn’t really have a clue about. Being here showed me how valuable a pump is over just pins and needles. I was scared to use a pump…but I saw all these other campers using it made me realize, OK, maybe I should give it a try,” Moore said.

“I didn’t expect to get such a crazy disease like type 1 diabetes. Just a couple of months before (my diagnosis) I was living a normal life, minding my own business. It was pretty shocking, to say the least, at first. And then now, I’ve kind of got a full handle on it and it’s a lot easier than I thought,” he added.

Today, Moore is a 6’3″ right-handed pitcher on his high school varsity team. He manages his T1D in between innings, sometimes taking in a jar full of Skittles to help balance his blood sugar levels.

Asked to compare himself to a big league pitcher, he said his style is like the Pirates’ Paul Skenes, “except I don’t throw 100, I throw 84, but I can get some zip and movement on the ball and I’m working to be the best pitcher I can become.”

It would have been hard to predict that the camp would become such a life-changing venue for children with T1D when it welcomed its first campers in 1949. Back then, it was a standard YMCA camp. About a decade later, a physician named Dr. Robert F. Chinnock asked the camp about starting a program for kids with diabetes.

Rocky Wilson, the camp’s director since 1979, remembers those early years; he was offered a job washing dishes at age 15, and his father helped create the original YMCA camp.

“We want to help kids see possibilities and to think that diabetes won’t stop them from doing anything,” he said while eating lunch at a picnic table next to Jenks Lake with his wife and co-pilot at the camp, Debi. Neither has diabetes.

The hot dog lunch followed a rotating set of activities for the campers, which included canoeing, a balance game on a large fallen tree trunk, water balloon toss, and fishing. In addition to chips and water, kits with medicines and supplies also populated the tables – one for each cabin.

Wilson, a retired psychologist and teacher, said it’s important for kids to meet inspiring adults who have T1D. In addition to staffers, who are nearly all alumni, Wilson and his team have brought in fighter jet pilots, pro athletes, and former Miss America Nicole Johnson.

Each summer, the camp serves about 900 kids, none of whom are turned away for lack of ability to pay. There are always at least two doctors on site as well as a range of additional health care providers such as nurses, dietitians, pharmacists, and physician assistants.  

No camper or staff member is asked to bring their own insulin. Direct Relief’s insulin donations, which are used every day during the camp season, keep prices affordable. Without them, Wilson said, the cost of attendance would multiply several times over: “Camp could not exist without donated insulin.”

Walking back to camp from the lake with his big chocolate labrador, Wilson reminisced on times past and offered insight on why he spends his retirement as he does, as an unpaid volunteer running a summer camp.

“This is my church,” he said, before calling for his dog, who had gotten excited by something in the woods, to come back into view.

On one of the camp buildings, a posted schedule showed that the campers were due to arrive back from the lake for a rest period, followed by an afternoon activity, snack, free time, and then blood tests to check glucose levels before dinner. Another blood test was scheduled after the evening activity and snack, then, lights out.

The next day’s wake-up was scheduled for 7:15 a.m., followed by blood tests and breakfast.