Nestled in the forested hills west of Napa Valley, Enchanted Hills Camp—which is owned by LightHouse for the Blind and Visually Impaired—has provided unparalleled recreational opportunities and skills training for blind and low-vision campers of all ages since 1950. After the devastating Napa wildfires of 2017 destroyed more than 25 structures and in excess of 900 trees on the property, the camp was not only rebuilt but also reimagined.
The redesign presented a unique opportunity to go beyond prescriptive code requirements by integrating intuitive wayfinding cues into every aspect of the environment—from the placement of buildings and pathways to the contrasting hooks in the bathhouse—thus creating a campus that fosters independence and exploration.
Co-creating with a blind and low-vision client team
To reimagine the camp, our Perkins&Will design team aimed to center the lived experiences of people who are blind and people who have low vision. We worked closely alongside many blind and low-vision stakeholders―LightHouse leadership, board members, campers, counselors, and staff.
Bryan Bashin, former LightHouse CEO, was a key visionary in the master plan and building design process. Other critical voices included Chris Downey, a blind architect and former LightHouse board chair; and Jerry Kuns, a mobility and wayfinding expert, as well as a visioning committee and design committee member, who is also blind. We listened, observed, and learned from one another. The resulting design reflects the collective work of this team of blind and sighted individuals.
To communicate visual ideas to our blind and low-vision client team, we started the master plan process with a large tactile model. Before this engagement, the camp did not have a to-scale map of the site, which operates in 312 acres (126 ha) of redwood forest ravine and sunlit oak meadows. The developed camp area spans roughly 23 acres (9 ha), with nearly 600 feet (183 m) of elevation drop from the top of Mount Veeder Road to the Redwood Grove Amphitheater at the site’s lowest point.
The true-to-scale tactile model became a critical tool for communicating spatial ideas. We used cord and electrical tape for the vehicular roads and cord for the footpaths to allow people to slide their fingers along these linear features of the site and understand key relationships between terrain and proposed pedestrian and vehicular circulation. Buildings were made with wood blocks—the existing ones were modeled with smooth surfaces, whereas proposed buildings were modeled with sandpaper. Water features were made with smooth and slippery materials—acetate for the lake and pool, and fishing line for the creeks that wind across the site.
A permanent tactile model, reflecting the implementation of the master plan, will be located within the new welcome structure to help orient future campers and staff upon arrival at the site.
Designing for traffic
Our first big move with the master plan was to separate vehicular traffic and pedestrian paths, halting public car access beyond the parking lot. Before the 2017 fires, vehicles and pedestrians traveled along the main road, through camp. A few guide ropes strung along paths remained—vestiges of the camp’s early days, before widespread use of the white cane, after World War II. Today, a vast new network of cane-detectable paths triples the area where campers can explore independently.
Along these new paths, we carved out spaces for retreat, reflection, and gathering. A bench located along a path encourages moments of spontaneous conversation—another orienting strategy. Recognizing a familiar voice can, like seeing a friendly face, prove welcoming and ensure that you have reached the right place.
Throughout the camp, buildings are grouped in villages that are named after the site conditions they inhabit—Lakeside, Hillside, and Forest. Cane-detectable paths lie between the villages. For campers and staff in need of mobility support, Enchanted Hills offers a shuttle for transportation between villages. Within each village, all buildings are wheelchair accessible. Wider paths and broader spacing between buildings do double duty, accommodating a cane-user walking alongside a person with a dog guide, while also providing increased fire breaks that add a new layer of defense within the camp.
Former LightHouse CEO Bashin urged our team early on to consider how, in the absence of sight cues, we would find our friends and know where we wanted to join others. To respond to this challenge, buildings are positioned in relationship to one another to maximize social space. Cabins are arranged, in pairs, with facing porches; operable windows at cabin entries let campers hear when people outside are walking past.
At the level of the master plan, we considered the environmental cues that support orientation, such as the uphill or downhill slope of the camp or the sound of flowing water. These features helped us locate the pathways that would serve as primary routes for getting around the camp.
We learned that some unavoidable sounds, such as the hum of a building’s mechanical equipment, also give pedestrians audible landmarks. With buildings situated along this forested slope of Mount Veeder, many buildings don’t have a true back side. Mechanical equipment, typically regarded as a nuisance to disguise, here adds an unexpected layer of functionality when located in intentional ways.
We used building forms and landscape elements to buffer gathering areas from sound-generating equipment, while still allowing equipment sound to travel to the paths between program areas. The equipment sound becomes a navigational aid for pedestrians traveling from one area of the camp to the next.
Building scale
We learned from our LightHouse stakeholders that a simple, rectilinear floor plan is the first step for comfortable, independent access, making interior space more knowable and navigable for blind travelers. Campers can enter a space with confidence that the room won’t branch off in unexpected ways. In cabins, the bunks line the walls to leave space for gathering in the middle.
For large communal spaces, navigational information is in the edges—the walls, the floors (material change, texture), the ceilings. As designers, we are mindful of how the space will be used: Where will people gather? How will people negotiate through and around the space? This understanding presents opportunities for embedding predictable navigational information in the architecture, as with textural changes to the floor or path material.
Generally, we tried to avoid columns. Where they were necessary for long spans or deep roof eaves, we located them at the edges of spaces or with other embedded navigational information. At the forest commons, a dropped soffit creates a very different acoustic condition over the main circulation space, thus dividing the communal dining area from the service areas of the building. Columns support the edge of this soffit and delineate the circulation area with a lower ceiling from the large, vaulted adjacent gathering space.
In the active pool area, the pool bathhouse features a generously sized covered opening—or dogtrot—at the entrance between the locker rooms for men and women. Benches line this space, which becomes a place for people to gather, wait for friends changing inside, or simply rest in the shade.
Acoustically, this vaulted outdoor space is often filled with people chatting, which provides an auditory cue at the bathhouse entrances. Beneath the roofline of this long, linear building, a flush metal trench drain provides a break in the pavement that serves as a cane-detectable navigational aid in the area, and as a marker between the building and the nearby pool.
The details
At a fine-grain level, we learned that the details sighted people take for granted can be literal pain points for blind and low-vision individuals.
When confronted with a bank of cubbies to store shoes and personal items while using the pool, Jerry Kuns described for us the frustration that campers may feel in trying to locate their items within this large field of receptacles. How would a blind or low-vision person find their specific cubby? Jerry had the idea to include recessed wood stiles to break up this field into smaller groups of cubbies, thereby helping people orient and recall where their things are located.
We learned that contrast is key for individuals with low vision. We specified beautiful wooden hooks for coats to be hung against the redwood bathhouse walls without realizing that wood hooks on redwood are invisible to someone with low vision. We solved the problem with a coat of black paint to provide contrast between the hooks and the wall.
Similarly, the dark building exteriors (recalling the materiality of charred redwood trees) would be featureless to campers with low vision. Bright green doors pop against the backdrop of the building’s dark siding to make finding the entrance easier for people with low vision. Blind travelers use the crisp edge of cast-in-place concrete paths that lead to all building entrances. Once at a building entrance, tactile signage—made of smooth, polished wood and friendly to the touch—can be found in a consistent location.
With fingertips and canes investigating every surface at Enchanted Hills, we learned to pay a higher level of attention to all places that could have sharp or abrasive surfaces. We sought to ease right angles, whether on a bench, on a table, on apparel hooks, or on bunk frames. One example we initially overlooked was the stamped aluminum strike plates on the doors. This fabrication technique can leave sharp edges. Upon recognizing this condition, our contractor team filed down these edges after installation; next time we will ensure that this step is written into our door specifications.
As designers, we try to be inclusive in how we approach a place or space. Working with—and learning from—our blind and low-vision team members has made me more aware of the impact of our design choices. Each decision—from building layout to material selection and detailing—can enhance access or impede it. For our designs to meet their potential, we must invite more voices into our design process, challenge our basic assumptions, and learn from the lived experiences of others. These lessons are ones our team will carry forward, so that the spaces we build can be appreciated and enjoyed by everyone.
