Crumbling foundations, moss-covered chimneys, rusted water tanks and rotted utility poles are all that remain of a long-forgotten, nearly century-old settlement in East Lyme that once housed hundreds of transient workers.

The makeshift village, spread out in a heavily wooded, swampy section of Nehantic State Forest, was officially named Camp Nehantic, but most people disdainfully referred to it as “Tramp Camp.”

Constructed in 1934 by the Federal Transient Bureau through one of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s First New Deal programs, Camp Nehantic contained four barracks that housed 352 men, as well as a dining hall, blacksmith and carpentry shops, henhouses, piggery and recreation building.

“This is an amazing place. Camp Nehantic was a very good thing. It helped people,” Barry Gorfain told me the other day. He added, “I think it should be protected – but I have no idea how.”

Barry and his wife, Debbie Tedford, both longtime hikers who live in East Lyme, led me and a group of friends to the site, located on an unmarked path off the Richard H. Goodwin Trail, a couple miles north of Grassy Hill Road. Joining our four-mile outing, on an overcast, humid morning, were Andy Lynn, Manuel Lizarralde and Marco Barres.

This section of the 14-mile trail from East Lyme to East Haddam mostly follows a gravel forest road. After the first mile, we veered off onto a single-track path that meandered past marshes and through evergreen groves. I had strolled by this unmarked side path three years ago while hiking the Goodwin Trail but never noticed it.

Our progress the other day was halted briefly by a wild raspberry bush. Manuel, a professor of botany and environmental studies at Connecticut College who often forages, hunts and fishes for food, could not pass up a free meal, so we stopped to feast on the sweet berries. Manuel also paused periodically to fill his hat with bright orange and yellow chanterelles that grew along the trail. He planned to sauté the mushrooms later for dinner.

“Delicious!” he proclaimed.

After we crossed beneath power lines, Debbie announced, “We’re getting closer.” She and Barry, both volunteer hike leaders for the Appalachian Mountain Club, stumbled upon the old camp a few years ago, did some research, and revisit it periodically.

Finally, we approached the ruins of a foundation, over which a dead tree had toppled. Not far away rose two enormous chimneys, along with an old fireplace, parts of a pumphouse and other structures, most covered with brambles and vines.

An imaginative visitor could envision the area once bustling with activity – workers hammering and sawing, feeding pigs, stoking the boiler, or gathering for dinner after working odd jobs.

All was still and silent during our visit, save for a blue jay’s occasional cry.

The government built transient camps across the country to help provide quarters for millions of working men who had been living in squalid, tent- and tarpaper-shack “Hoovervile” communities during the administration of previous President Herbert Hoover.

The transient camp, at best a temporary solution to the housing problem, shut down two years later. Then, some workers likely signed up for two subsequent New Deal programs, the Civilian Conservation Corps and Works Progress Administration.

Legacies of these programs have proved more enduring – CCC workers, dubbed “Roosevelt’s Tree Army,” planted trees, created campgrounds, and cleared trails for state parks and forests; those employed under the WPA constructed roads and public buildings, including the magnificent, 350-foot stone pavilion at Rocky Neck State Park in East Lyme.

The pavilion, which overlooks Long Island Sound, remains a popular attraction that has been restored and meticulously maintained. By contrast, deteriorating structures at deserted Camp Nehantic are covered with graffiti.

“Damn humans come in, see a pile of stones and they spray paint it,” Barry grumbled. “It hurts me to see this relic of the past defaced.”

He was not advocating that the old camp be turned into a tourist attraction, but suggested that, at very least, placement of a plaque to commemorate its historic significance.

“It’s a part of our history,” Barry said.