Antiquity Echoes: Summit Honeymoon Resort

Off of Rt 715 in the Poconos there once existed a premier honeymoon destination known as the Summit. Opening in the late 1960s, the resort quickly became quite popular within the then-booming Pocono honeymoon scene, with people traveling from all over to experience the amenities of the famous establishment. The boom faded within just a few decades though, and by the late 1990s the property had come to be a mostly-vacant fragment of its past self. In 2002 the Summit was forced to shutter for good, and the property was left abandoned, surrendered to the surrounding forest which quickly set about reclaiming the old resort. There it weathered away for nearly twenty years, mostly unseen, a shadow in the woods. Though its abandoned form resembled the proud resort it once was, it was merely superficial. The place had grown cold in its disuse, any warmth or life which it once held had sunken into the darkness that claimed every corner of the old resort. Still, in the filth and the dark, something lingered. A pulse of sorts, an echo just faintly discernible beyond the failing timber and peeling wallpaper. The anemic beating of many hearts, of many lives, all slowly turning to dust.

The long driveway of the main entrance stretched out in front of us. Once a roadway traversed by hundreds a week, now potholed and strewn with debris, framed by a splintered sidewalk. Upon it lay the glass of the entry doors, shattered into thousands of fine pieces. The lobby beyond, once impressive with its walking paths over an indoor brook and through a planted forest complete with fish and birds, lay ransacked and covered in streamers of receipt paper from the booking office. All the ferns and trees within had died well over a decade prior, shriveled to brown stalks and bare limbs stretching out toward the skylight above. The last remaining hues of green to be found belonging to the plastic flowers and 1970s 'avocado green' paint job which coated a two-story cinder-block wall. Tucked away behind the lobby desk we chanced upon a box of vintage brochures. On their pages stared back the faces of ghosts - Page after page of advertisements as vibrant as they were outdated, promoting indulgences for which the Summit was once renowned. Throughout this entry we will share scans from those pages with you, juxtaposed with our imagery captured long after the final guests checked out.

In the next room over lounge chairs lined the surround of the indoor pool. A pool that sat mostly empty, with what little water remaining turned to a stagnant, murky brown. Despite the row of large bay windows which lined a full wall, the room itself had grown surprisingly dark in its disuse. The whole of the area seemed outwardly lonely to wander through - Gone were the muffled conversations of guests, the canned music which once played on the resort speakers, the constant splashing of water in the pool. Everything was overwhelmingly still, and powerfully silent. That stillness, coupled with the open space and cement floors created an echo chamber that repeated back even the most subtle of sounds over and over again.

On the floor above we discovered what remained of 'Club Scheherazade'. It was barely visible in the heavy shadows, but as our vision adjusted to the darkness more and more of its features emerged from the murk. Walls covered in hues of red and gilded in gold culminated at the center with an immense heart-shaped bar. A single patch of light penetrated the adjacent dining area from a fire escape, it illuminated a swath of damask wallpaper adorned with framed mirrors, and a baby grand piano. Long ago this sad-looking piano provided visitors with backing tracks to their evenings, now it sat disused and out-of-tune. Beyond the bar, concealed in thick shadow, we discovered the former live-entertainment stage, visible only by the beams of our flashlights. Golden curtains still hung above, tattered and soiled. Bordering the stage, rows of seats outlined the dance floor. This space was built to entertain hundreds at a time. Now though, it was just the two of us. Alone with our flashlights.

Outside, in the trees beyond the lobby, crumbled the former lover's suits. These small cottages were the mainstay of the Summit during its time, with the heart-shaped tubs and floor-to-ceiling mirrors becoming an iconic part of the resort's identity. Many of the cottages still stood to greet us. Dozens of them in fact, speckling the unmaintained forest. Though most appeared to be in sound shape at first glance, the condition of their exteriors belied the rot within. The tubs and mirrors still existed as well, though they were now filth-covered and in various states of destruction, both natural and man-made. Neighbored by disintegrating beds and tilting vanities that were slowly falling into the imperiled floors.

We left the Summit that day knowing we would never return. It was a strange feeling, a somber one really, punctuated by a weighty feeling of finality. We walked down the old roads and pathways that weaved the grounds, dried leaves crunching underfoot. Occasionally we would glance back over our shoulders to see the resort growing smaller and increasingly obscured as we put more and more forest between us. The sun was beginning to set now, and the sky was beginning to change from an overcast grey to light amber. We looked back one last time and there was nothing left to see.