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elfsOmaha, Raen and I went camping as we do almost every year. This year, we managed to score a very nice weekday spot at Horseshoe Cove, a little recreation site along Baker Lake with a swimming hole.
We drove out Monday and returned Friday. THere weren't that many adventures in the middle: nobody caught anything deathly and nobody was set on fire.
Our neighbors on both sides were women. The campsite to the south had two women in their late 30s to mid 40s, one of whom had a lovely English accent. At one point, Raen and I were listening to her explain to her companion what she knew of what had happened in Charlottesville, but she kept referring to it as "Charlottestown." She was also much more, um, polite about Donald Trump than I would have imagined. It was delightful to listen to, though. I tried to imagine explaining what I knew of Brexit, and I'd like to think I'd be about as accurate, but I doubt I could be quite so reserved about Sith Empress May and her straw-haired foreignjester secretary.
Like the twosome to the north, they had bottles of wine on the table and big non-fiction books to read. I don't think those to the south were particularly intimate, but the ones to the north definitely were.
On our last day, we had two incidents: the first was when we opened up the back of the car to pack things away, we left it open and decided to go down to the swimming hole. When we got back, chipmunks had broken into one of the food bags and stolen all the breakfast bars. We found wrappers and one gnawed bar on the ground, but we never did find the other two.
After leaving the campground behind, we tried to drive up to Anderson Lake Trail, which we'd done in 2007. After a week of encountering very few people on the trails or mountain roads, we were passed by no fewer than six vehicles coming down the mountain. This was on a very narrow, rutted and graveled road! Three vehicles were pickups in a convoy, one had dogs in the back.
A little later, about two-thirds of the way up the mountain, we encountered a lost dog wearing a collar bearing the name "Shelby" and a phone number. She was tired, and whining, and desperately thirsty. We tried to contact the number on the collar, and then the local park service, and after waiting about half an hour made sandwiches. Omaha briefly put hers down and Shelby snarfed it up in one bit. That dog was hungry, too. But she was very sweet, and well-behaved, and very goofy. Your standard black Labrador.
After some hemming and hawing, we put Shelby in the back seat with Raen and headed back down. Just before we got to the first trailhead at Baker Lake, two pickups come roaring up. The dude in the first pickup said, "Hey, have you seen a dog?"
"Named Shelby?"
"Yeah!" We stopped and let Shelby out, and she ran to the second pickup while four big guys bearing NAVY sweaters came out. The driver gave me a huge hug, and the other driver started crying and saying, "Thank you, thank you. I didn't want to have to explain to my seven year old that I'd lost her dog!"
We bailed on the hike. That was enough adventure for one day. Sad but true: As we left the Baker Lake & Dam region, we spotted Shelby's owner, pulled over on the side of the road, getting a citation.
For a week we'd eaten stuff that could be cooked on a propane stove. We'd eaten much less than usual, and we'd eaten very well. There were few snacks on the trail, and desserts weren't the calorie-laden bombs they are here in civilization. So of course the first thing we did when we got back was stop at a steak house where I had the prime rib and the wedge salad with bleu cheese, and by the time we got home my stomach was saying, "Why do you do these things to me‽"
But we had a great time, and it was very relaxing.
We drove out Monday and returned Friday. THere weren't that many adventures in the middle: nobody caught anything deathly and nobody was set on fire.
Our neighbors on both sides were women. The campsite to the south had two women in their late 30s to mid 40s, one of whom had a lovely English accent. At one point, Raen and I were listening to her explain to her companion what she knew of what had happened in Charlottesville, but she kept referring to it as "Charlottestown." She was also much more, um, polite about Donald Trump than I would have imagined. It was delightful to listen to, though. I tried to imagine explaining what I knew of Brexit, and I'd like to think I'd be about as accurate, but I doubt I could be quite so reserved about Sith Empress May and her straw-haired foreign
Like the twosome to the north, they had bottles of wine on the table and big non-fiction books to read. I don't think those to the south were particularly intimate, but the ones to the north definitely were.
On our last day, we had two incidents: the first was when we opened up the back of the car to pack things away, we left it open and decided to go down to the swimming hole. When we got back, chipmunks had broken into one of the food bags and stolen all the breakfast bars. We found wrappers and one gnawed bar on the ground, but we never did find the other two.
After leaving the campground behind, we tried to drive up to Anderson Lake Trail, which we'd done in 2007. After a week of encountering very few people on the trails or mountain roads, we were passed by no fewer than six vehicles coming down the mountain. This was on a very narrow, rutted and graveled road! Three vehicles were pickups in a convoy, one had dogs in the back.
A little later, about two-thirds of the way up the mountain, we encountered a lost dog wearing a collar bearing the name "Shelby" and a phone number. She was tired, and whining, and desperately thirsty. We tried to contact the number on the collar, and then the local park service, and after waiting about half an hour made sandwiches. Omaha briefly put hers down and Shelby snarfed it up in one bit. That dog was hungry, too. But she was very sweet, and well-behaved, and very goofy. Your standard black Labrador.
After some hemming and hawing, we put Shelby in the back seat with Raen and headed back down. Just before we got to the first trailhead at Baker Lake, two pickups come roaring up. The dude in the first pickup said, "Hey, have you seen a dog?"
"Named Shelby?"
"Yeah!" We stopped and let Shelby out, and she ran to the second pickup while four big guys bearing NAVY sweaters came out. The driver gave me a huge hug, and the other driver started crying and saying, "Thank you, thank you. I didn't want to have to explain to my seven year old that I'd lost her dog!"
We bailed on the hike. That was enough adventure for one day. Sad but true: As we left the Baker Lake & Dam region, we spotted Shelby's owner, pulled over on the side of the road, getting a citation.
For a week we'd eaten stuff that could be cooked on a propane stove. We'd eaten much less than usual, and we'd eaten very well. There were few snacks on the trail, and desserts weren't the calorie-laden bombs they are here in civilization. So of course the first thing we did when we got back was stop at a steak house where I had the prime rib and the wedge salad with bleu cheese, and by the time we got home my stomach was saying, "Why do you do these things to me‽"
But we had a great time, and it was very relaxing.
