Grover-Bound

Tuesday, June 29, 2021

4:00 p.m.

Checking my supplies one final time this morning, I determined that I had packed everything I could possibly need. Just for fun, I checked the forecast for the eastern Sierra again, knowing what it would say: hot. So I was quite surprised to see the prediction of a chance of afternoon thunderstorms for both days. I didn’t take it too seriously, its being the dry season and a drought to boot. But since reviews of my new Eureka Copper Canyon tent say it’s great as long as you don’t have foul weather, and because mountain weather can indeed be unpredictable, I grabbed an extra tent and sleeping bag on my way out the door.

I got on the road at 9:00 and reached Grover Hot Springs 4.25 hours later, delayed a bit by a layover in Sacramento, where I pulled the car onto a side street for a tele-appointment with Kaiser. On my arrival at the campground I decided to buy an $8 bundle of firewood even though it was 92°.

My campsite, #75, is perfect. I have to say that it was worth all my futzing with reservations, and I have Eleni to thank for her choosing this one for me. It’s wonderfully spacious, flat and private, perched at the edge of a burbling creek that’s audible from where I’ll sleep. As I grabbed my first load from the car, I felt a drop of some kind of liquid. Sap from an overhead pine? Bird poop? Five minutes later I felt a bunch of them, and looked up to see the thunderheads. Should I try to set up my tent quickly in the light rain, hoping it didn’t get worse, or wait it out in my car? I opted for the former, and got the thing standing, staked and guyed out in pretty good time. But as the thunder rumbled louder and lightning started to flash, I couldn’t for the life of me get the rain fly on. It’s especially difficult because the center of the tent is over seven feet high. Four attempts later, I finally succeeded. A minute or two later, the deluge began.

What I forgot to bring, part one: a bloody raincoat, man. I got stuck inside the tent for an hour because of my lack of foresight. Eventually the rain diminished and I emerged to finish setting up camp. It took ages.

Afterwards I was too tired to do anything but sit by the creek and write this. The purple pen I’d been clever enough to bring exploded all over my hands, shirt and pants. Aren’t I decorative?

What I forgot to bring, part two: an extra pen.

Though there are signs everywhere advising people not to walk through others’ campsites, soon a vocally happy family of eleven (two adults and a nine children in a full complement of sizes, like the von Trapps), paraded through the middle of my hideaway, boom box blasting mournful Mexican love songs. I greeted them warmly, thinking I may yet regret my desirable creekside location. 

7:30 p.m.

It’s been grey and threatening since the earlier storm, dry but with steady rumbling thunder. After dinner I took a brisk hour-long walk through the campground and beyond, by which time the lightning had starting flashing. Back at my site, I recorded this.

Quickly I put away things that water would ruin and made a beeline for my “fair-weather tent” just as the rain went nuts for well over an hour. 

Glad I brought a tarp to lay on the bottom of the tent, because water pooled underneath and got the floor a bit damp. But I stayed dry, emerging after dark only to brush my teeth and make a last run to the bathroom.

What I forgot to bring, part three: batteries for my headlamp, which turned out to be stone dead. Luckily, I have other light sources.