I was never much of an outdoorsman. With apologies to those who live, eat and breathe the sumptuous offerings of the Maine wilds, this time of the year always takes me back to camp life on Branch Lake in Ellsworth.

I remember the day 40 years ago when my father asked my friend Arthur and me if we’d like to accompany him on a trip to the lake.

We, of course, were thrilled, and off we went. I had no idea at the time what this venture involved, but a few weeks after the journey, my mother informed me that she and my father had purchased the very camp we had looked at that day.

Beginning that school vacation, we moved from Bangor to Ellsworth.

At this writing, my father is getting ready for his 41st summer trip to his hideaway. What wonderful times we’ve all had there.

My father and his friend Bill were up at the crack of dawn every day. My sister and I were not used to waking up in the wee hours to the rustlings of a couple of men who could always find something to do first thing in the morning. Our alarm clock was the sound of Bill’s Jeep on our gravel driveway, or one of the two adults banging on the bedroom windows, informing us that when they were kids, there was no such thing as sleeping in.

My sister generally opted for kitchen chores, while I had to help straighten out the dock, or pull the boat in close so the men could tinker with it.

Branch Lake water, any time of the year, is always cold. After all my summers at our camp, I can tell you, truthfully, that I’ve never felt colder lake water than what that scenic body produces.

My favorite times there involved snorkeling along the shoreline on a nice, hot day. Branch is also noted for crystal-clear water. My worrisome mother would stand at the front window and watch as her only son did his best impersonation of Lloyd Bridges of Sea Hunt fame with our next door neighbor, Stanley.

Stan and I used to take canoe trips on the lake. He knew all the neat spots, and there’s nothing quite like packing a lunch – well, truth be known, our mothers did the lunch-packing – and heading out early in the morning to fish and to, well, just be boys.

Other great excursions involved my father and his prized boat. We used to troll at dusk for white perch and, for the first time in my young life, I watched my father relax. There was nothing better than a fish fry after dark with the Red Sox game on the radio, offering a background melody.

When my father retired from his business a number of years ago, he became a very active fisherman. Collectively, the family was surprised that he devoted so much time and effort to the “hobby.” He actually became quite good at it. He and his friend Ralph have many fishing stories to tell.

We were never hunters in our family. Relatives still tell stories of the days my father and his brothers used to hunt deer. My father never speaks of it, and I’m guessing he either didn’t like the experience, or it simply wasn’t his cup of tea.

Today, I tell my father how fortunate we all are to have such a lovely spot on the beautiful lake. When I’m making the basketball banquet circuit from time to time, I often retell the stories of Branch Lake and how amazed I am that as the years go by, my father really seems to have matured. Meaning, of course, that I’m the one who has done the growing up – finally.

I used to love sleeping on the top of the bunk bed and listening to the rain as it pelted our roof after coming across the lake. That sound, mixed with the whistle of the wind and the waves washing up on shore, were indeed the melodies of the Branch Lake lullaby.

This summer, I’m looking forward to our youngest boy having the same opportunities that my sister and I had at Branch. I know my father looks forward to having all his grandchildren around him, and with the recent addition of a great-granddaughter, that old camp may hop and sing again as it did so many years ago.

Or maybe the kids and I will pitch a tent on the beach like we did when we were younger. Sometimes, we’d leave the flap open and let the whole experience wash over us there.

Now that, my friends, was a good night’s sleep.

NEWS columnist Ron Brown, a retired high school basketball coach, can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net