Camping in Tall Grass

May 20, 2010

It's Friday evening, and we're pulling our four-season tent out of our storage locker.  The descriptor is necessary because this four foot by four foot by four foot storage space actually contains many tents.  Five is my best guess, but there may be more.  Most need repair.  This particular tent was a splurge last year.  It's definitely not ultra, but it'll get us through snow and rough weather.  I like to joke that it’s actually a one-season tent, as we wouldn’t bring it on a backpacking trip during any season other than winter.  But, as it can easily go car camping, we are breaking it out in the heart of spring, and it gets its chance to live up to its many-season reputation. 

We take a pleasurable break from packing and gear sorting to chat with our currently shod neighbor about his next business venture.  It’s an emperor’s new clothes type of thing, and I’m thoroughly confused.  Alex loves its brilliance.

Soon after the discussion ends, we head off on our weekend adventure.  We have only been driving for a half hour before we leave the highway and begin to twist and turn along a windy road leading us higher and higher.

The land opens up, and it’s spectacular.  Sprawling around us is a moor straight out of Wuthering Heights filled with unkempt grass and scraggly old man trees.  In awe, we feel so lucky to have a beautiful, wild space so close to our home.

Taking the romantic blinders off, I declare it tick country.  Little did I realize how right I was.

We set up our tent, deciding the weather is so nice we’ll leave off the rain fly.  We throw in our hand-sewn sleeping quilt and then head over to the campfire to share stories with friends.

Under the twinkle of a million stars the hours pass quickly, filled with much laughter and a few surprises.  Lots of secrets are half told, but with this group you never know who only has nine toes.  Finally, with half-lidded eyes, we call it a successful night.

May 21, 2010

I wake up beaming.  I’m relaxed and on vacation.  Work is distant, and nature is near.  I just spent a wonderful night’s sleep under a sleeping quilt that Alex and I made by hand.  After a bit of breakfast, we head out for a run.  We choose Frog Lake Loop and are greeted with grassy slopes, brilliant landscapes, and lots of tall grass.  We stop every mile or so to check for ticks.  We are lucky and don’t find any, but all total our group has already found several.

We effortlessly fly through the trees thanks to the subtle downhill, but once past the lake we are greeted by the equivalent elevation change crammed into one long steep uphill.  Being the billy goat that he is, Alex bounds upwards leaving me at my slow but steady turtle pace.  After conquering many fake crests, we finally reach the real crest and are greeted by more expansive views.  We take a detour to look for even better views but are met instead with even more grass.  Fearful of ticks, we turn back and head to camp.

After a change of clothes and a second breakfast, we take off on a hike with the whole group.  We’ve packed lunches and water and are ready for whatever the day brings.

The hike quickly becomes a series of mini-missions.  Our first mission is a little lackluster.  We take off in search of lion spring, but our majestic hopes are dashed when we find a large rock in its stead.  With camera in hand, I do my best to capture what I think could be a spring at said rock. 

It is just after this mission that I find my first tick.  The little creature is feasting under my shirt, just above my waistband.  Thankfully, NQ has tweezers, and AS removes the tick within seconds.  Surprisingly, I don’t think to tuck in my shirt.

Our second mission brings us to a clearing that is perfect for lunch.  Together we laze in the comfort of the sun, snapping pictures of gophers and telling the boys that they’re crazy for playing Frisbee in the tall grass.  I am persistent in my teasing - I just know that they’re going to end up covered in ticks.

The group splits up – some going back to camp and some continuing on in search of mission three:  a new lake.  I was part of the latter group and set off to divine water.

The lake is filled with fish, both live and dead.  On the far side three boy scouts sit pumping water.  Multiple members of our group oppose their actions.  We walk the circumference.  Around one bend I find stuff hanging from a tree.  I call back to Alex, who’s squatting on the ground many meters back taking artistic photos of a log, since I know he’ll enjoy seeing stuff on this side of the world.  Alex discovers that said stuff has a hook with unidentifiable bait on the end of it.  The true fisherman, JS decides he’s going to catch a fish and looks particularly amusing trying to do so.   The fish chase, but they also seem to question whatever it is that’s attached to the end of the hook.  Eventually both a buoy and a rod are attached to the stuff, but, in a triumph for the lake, the only fish that is caught is the already dead one.  It’s for the best, as AS had already declared that any fish that is caught must be eaten – and I can’t even imagine how that will work out well with the limited gear we have on us.

As we meander away from the lake, there’s a split in the group.  Some are thinking about going back to camp, some want to continue walking until mission four happens upon us, and some want to determine what exactly mission four is and set out for it with purpose.  Nothing happens except more milling about.

Finally, though Alex was more a member of the second split, he takes a cue from the third split and declares that he’s walking to the other side of the map where there’s supposedly a spot to swim called China Hole.  He draws a line and asks who’s following him.  Instead of crossing to his side of the line, I stand back to observe the group politics.

Ultimately, he convinces everyone to follow him, and we set off for mission four:  China Hole.  We pass through a grove of giant manzanita and then descend along a sun-baked slope into a valley.  I enjoy a brief period where we play the “No, but if I were an animal, I’d be a lion” guessing game, at which Z seems to be a natural.

China Hole is the big accomplishment of the day.  It does indeed offer swimming, although, feeling a little prudish, I only get in up to my knees.  While sunning and enjoying the water antics of some of the others, I am surprised to find four ticks crawling on me:  two on my pants, one on my belly, and one on my hand.   Fortunately, none had been tempted to bite down, but all seem to be mocking my earlier teasing of the boys – neither of whom got a single tick despite the lengthy time they spent frolicking in the tall grass in pursuit of the Frisbee.  Again, I don’t consider tucking in my shirt to protect my midriff from attack.

After a bottle of wine, a block of cheese, and a pound of chocolate disappear, we set out for home.  Alex leads the charge out of the valley with me steps behind.  Mission five seems to be home, and in no time we’ve covered the five miles and are back at camp.  I find one more tick at the top of my pants, and only then do I realize that I should tuck my shirt in to defend myself from the assault these little creatures are directing at me today.  I’m the only one who’s found a tick today, and I’ve found six.

Tonight’s dinner is a feast of cheese quesadillas, mushrooms, asparagus, salads, and tofu dogs (and much more if you eat meat).  I sneak away for a bit to listen to the story of the woman who donated this land to the people of California.  It is touching hearing how much she loved this land.  Then, back at camp, the fire inspires another round of stories deep into the night.

May 22, 2010

I wake up many times during the night.  I’m cold since my dear husband keeps throwing the sleeping quilt off of him and thus off of me.  He’s wearing his puffy jacket and I’m only wearing a sweatshirt and shorts since I’m worried the rest of my clothes might have ticks on them.  I’m wet because it seems to be raining inside our tent.  We never put on the rain fly, and the tree above us is catching the early morning fog and condensing it into our own personal rainstorm.  I’m sore from covering over 16 miles of ground yesterday.  But, I’m still thankful for the weekend.  Not thankful enough to venture out for a morning run on the trails, but thankful enough to relish the morning at camp.

After a leisurely breakfast we pack up.  Our adventure is over.  It’s time to share with the kittens all the fun that they missed.