We're home, and I found a nice surprise.

To the anonymous reader who sent me gay porn manga where being the bottom is not automatically equated with being the victim, Thank You! And I must remind myself: when looking through the scanlation groups, SM does not mean "sadomasochism." It means Sailor Moon. Confusing the two can lead to great confusion and disappointment.

P.S. We're back. More tomorrow. We're exhausted, but home safe and sound.

Camping, Day 1

The family went on its annual camping outing. This time, at the girls' request, we went to Baker Lake, up by Mt. Baker. It's a lovely drive and no more than three hours from Seattle. We loaded up the clamshell and strapped it to the roof of the car, packed our gear and headed out.

Camping trick #1: pack dry ice in the bottom of your cooler, then put regular ice on top. The ice will form a protective layer between the dry ice and the foodstuff, and the dry ice will keep the whole colder much, much longer. We didn't need to refresh the ice until Thursday night.

Traffic was terrible through Everett. The straps of the rooftop clamshell made a buzzing sound like angry hornets, but we eventually made it to the campsite. The girls have fantastic fantasy lives; it's all Harry Potter and Golden Compass at the moment. You know you're driving through a different world when the self-proclaimed "finest steak house in town" has a Budweiser neon in the window.

Omaha and I turned off our electronics: iPhone, iPod, cell phone, Palm. Omaha needs to keep her Handspring on because it reminds her when to take her epilepsy medication. I left my laptop at home to collect mail. I wonder what Speakeasy will do since sometime around seven the line will go hot and stay at maximum bandwith for the next 120 hours or so (don't ask).

Home in the woods.

It was misting when we arrived and threatened to rain at any moment. Omaha dug out the foodstuffs while I set up the tent in three minutes flat, rainfly and all. I love modern camping technology. Omaha and I went cadillac on the sleeping pads this year-- no more Coleman inflatable air mattresses that deflate in the middle of the night leaving you on rocks like they did last year. Instead, we bought REI self-inflaters; less than four pounds each, $80 a person, but they're much more robust. They didn't give us any problems at all. Dinner was hot dogs and chips.

I had to pump water from the river. I love my PUR pump; it's too bad they got bought out, although I think the company that bought them makes replacement filters. It took a long time to fill up the water bladder-- so long Kouryou-chan became frightened that I'd fallen in and gotten hurt or something. It was very dark by the time I got back. There's no potable water supply at the campsite, although the one up the road has one (and a tiny general store for the rangers and campers).

The only other couple on the campsite was very friendly. The mosquitos are absolutely murder this year. We went to bed shortly after dinner, and it did rain harder later that night, but the tent kept us mostly dry. The campsite is next to Boulder Creek, which was rushing hard through narrow channels at the bottom of a much wider riverbed. It makes a lovely roaring sound that I think comforts most human beings by some deep instinct. I know I slept well with all that white noise.

Camping, Day Two: Monday

Girls at Sulphide Camp.

After a morning breakfast of Omaha's famous breakfast muffins and coffee, we made chicken salad sandwiches (the trick is to make the salad before you leave) and discovered that the dry ice trick might have worked too well-- some of the milk was partially frozen. We re-arranged the icebox.

We headed up through a light drizzle to Baker Ridge, but the trail was unpassable. The ranger station had had posting warnings that many of the trails had been damaged in last year's floods and this trail had not been maintained in a long time; in fact, it was mostly used by daring climbers for a quicker access to Mt. Baker's eastern flank. At the trailhead, such as it was, we found a burned out bonfire and a note reading "Party Pyro Losers."

The weather was wet and cold, and my body was feeling it. My left wrist hurt something awful, and I suspect I did something to it while loading up the clamshell. My right knee is likewise dubious about any strange torsions. It all seems out to remind me how old I am.

We drove over to the Sulphide Camp trail and did a hike. It was only about four miles round trip, a good warmup for the week to come. Yamaraashi-chan found a root that looked an awful lot like a dead turkey, and that's what we nicknamed it. We finally got tired of her swinging it and told her to pitch it into the river. Kouryou-chan called out "Slug alert!" and "Poop alert!" whenever we passed a slug or evidence of horses on the trails. At one point we came across five slugs crossing the trail. Yamaraashi-chan said, "Look! A slugfest!" The GPS system was only marginally useful; it kept fading in and out

A Dragon!

as the ravine blocked satellite reception. We also spotted this burned stump, twisted and black. In the distance, it was Lovecraftian and frightening, and even getting close didn't make the unease it created go away completely.

After the hike, we went home and had pizza, made by slicing open garlic bread and slathering the insides with cheese and pizza sauce. The girls made it all vanish, then practiced the fine art of roasting marshmallows.

I think the latrines here are what Nietzsche had in mind when he wrote, "Remember: when you peer into the abyss, the abyss also peers into you."