Camping Memories

Perhaps from reading Angle of Repose or Jonathan's and Sarah's blog, I began thinking about what the West meant to me and how I've experienced it. The closest I've been to my concept of the West is through camping, whether it be in the valley of Yosemite or on the beach, and I realize that it has been a couple of years since my last excursion into our closest "wilderness".

As my daughter and wife can attest, a long road trip up the central valley or into the deserts and mountains of the western states is never complete without my commenting on the difficulty the western pioneers must have encountered and endured as they transited long stretches of sand or rocky precipices. What kind of characters left the 'comfort' of the known to venture thousands of miles to the new land of opportunity? Especially those who came before the train made its way across the continent.

My paternal grandfather came to California from the mid-West in the early 1900's and my maternal grandmother came in the early 30's. But granddad was an attorney and my grandmother married one, so their experiences were not of the working men and women who had come earlier, but rather those of a smaller subset of professional, college educated men and women whose education itself provided status.

But when I think of the West, I reach back a little further into the 1800's and think of those who ventured here before or soon after the gold rush. Hardy and self-reliant men (and a few women) who survived by adapting and hard work. Men who explored the wonders of hidden valleys and deserts, saw new flora and fauna, learned from the natives already here and found a way to prosper when they let their imaginations run with new possibilities.

So here I sit in an air-conditioned office with a sometimes view of the mountains and think about camping. It's been too long, but perhaps (obviously) I've also gotten a little soft.

I like the smell of the mountain air and the crispness of an autumn or late spring morning. I like the closeness of a mummy sleeping bag and the pull to remain in it as long as possible. I don't like that the call of nature forces me out of the tent at dawn. I like bacon cooking over a camp stove along with eggs and Tom's potatoes. I don't like having to clean up in a small wash basin with water so cold it hurts your hands. I like watching sunshine fight its way through the trees to warm the morning ground. I don't like it when it rains and forces us into the tent or nearby motel. I'm glad for baseball caps, because I don't like bed head. I love the glimpse of deer/coyote/bear along the meadow, but hate it when there isn't a turnout to take a picture. I like hikes along streams and waterfalls, but hate altitude induced headaches. I like quiet afternoons when the breeze rustles through the pine needles and dislike those who don't. I like the preparation of steaks or burgers on the grill and I love smores or more than smores over a campfire. I like sitting around the fire warming your feet as the sky darkens, but I don't like it when the smoke chooses me as the one to envelop. And did I mention that I like to climb into a warm, cozy sleeping bag as the night stars begin their show?

I'm sure those of the 1800's would find me spoiled and pampered what with nylon and Gore-tex fabrics rather than canvas or flannel, with piped water to the campsite rather than buckets carried from the stream, to arrival by car rather than horse or foot, and to cooking by propane rather than hand-chopped wood. But, at least, they didn't share their meadow with hundreds of their closest "friends".

I think it's time to start planning an autumnal outing!!