Coastal Camping

Adventuring on our last camping trip before Wyatt and I both leave house this fall was a chimerical-like experience. Part of me didn’t believe this day would ever come. Believing instead that my life would continue in a constant loop of seasons, where I never substantially aged, never substantially changed, remaining content and small. And while I’d say I’m still pretty content and small, all of the major changes looming on the horizon put a damper on my mental state leading into this trip. Nervous that our final full family camping trip before the coming rite of passage wouldn’t live up to the amazing trips it proceeded, and the already jarring transition from the plane of existence I find myself stumbling along during regular life, and the separate reality voyages away from home seem to exist on, I entered the trip on already wobbly legs.

However, the moment I was able to stretch my shaky limbs and breathe in the freshest air I’ve ever inhaled, (supplemented by both plankton and a wide assortment of greenery) I immediately felt at home. This homely feeling helped reassure me that I’ll be okay at college because at least I’d have the forest just past my doorstep. 

The theme of oddness continued on the very first night when Wyatt beckoned me over to see a very lost, and very cute fledgling gray jay. Living up to his species’ legacy, he carried out many multi-step attempts at robbing our camp of any the tasty morsels he could scavenge, much to my dismay. I scolded him for eating people food, trying to offer him bird alternatives instead, which for the most part he denied. We later discovered the Audubon Society had a branch close by, able to help our adrift friend and offer him a place to sleep other than the bush he had spent the previous night in near my tent. For a few hours however, he was our family friend, never straying far from the warm fire and even warmer people. 

With great luck we secured very friendly and very musically talented neighbors. A group of three people sat around the campfire as the sun set, all with song books, harmonizing to melodies I vaguely recognized, but still filled me with peace. At our own fire, we would hum along quietly with tunes we recognized, and let their voices serenade our conversations with one’s we didn’t. 

The morning of our first full day began slowly, rising from my tent long after the sun had risen and staring in amazement at the greenery around me. Forests like this always remind me why green is my favorite color.

Once everyone was awake we began our drive through the winding roads that meander along the coastal side, keeping our eyes fixed on the ocean, scouring for whale spouts. The day before, Dad and Wyatt had spotted a pod just off the shore, and we were all hoping to be greeted by them again. Once in town we wandered through shops filled with rocks and crystals, books and humerus greeting cards, and I tried salt water taffy for the first time! 

We took our lunch to the day-use area at a campsite my dad and I have camped at a handful of times before. We found a wide assortment of things near the water; kite fliers, a rotting bird with a necklace tangled in her feathers, shells and rocks, and eventually, a little cove out of the wind where we could rest. One of my favorite feelings in the world is that of warm sand. Maybe I’m drawn to it because its softness lulls me into a catatonic state, or maybe the history of the sand fascinates me more. All rocks on the earth today will eventually become sand or magma, becoming separated into a seemingly infinite amount of parts, and becoming seemingly impossible to separate from my scalp. 

It was in this sand that Wyatt and I attempted headstands (which may have been a poor choice considering sand’s affinity for my head), and discovered that while I can get up in the air for a few seconds before tumbling over, Wyatt is actually quite skilled at becoming reverse-verticale. 

That night, worn out from the physicality of the day and exhausted socially, I returned to my tent. Equally itchy and filthy as I was happy.

I have hope that before the summer comes to an end there will be more camping opportunities. Wyatt returns to Colorado on the 10th of this month, leaving only my parents and I to continue exploring the wilderness together. Maybe my dad and I will continue our summerly tradition of backpacking together, and maybe all of us will be able to escape the smoke and heat adventuring to a lake or river in the mountains. Regardless, I’m thankful for the time I’ve been able to spend with my family this summer, and I’m excited for any new opportunities that may present themselves.