Come morning I crawled out of the tent at 7:30 and started breakfast while Ember slept two hours more.
One of my fundamental requirements for car-camping is that there be abundant sustenance, from hearty, healthy meals to a variety of junky snacks. So as usual, I was well prepared and had even printed out a meal plan so I wouldn’t forget what was in all those paper grocery bags in the back of my car. Thus, our day began with fresh strawberries, eggs, bacon and orange juice, followed by some potato chips.
I have to say that despite the many joys of camping, one aspect I don’t like is washing dishes. It’s a huge pain. I’ve established a reliable method, but it’s time-consuming and not fun. I suds everything up in the dishpan, pour scalding water from the teapot over every single plate, pot, pan, cup and utensil one-by-one while trying not to burn myself, and then carefully lay it all out to dry. Invariably, newly clean things plummet onto the muddy ground and have to be done over. What I don’t understand is how I manage to create so much mess from a single, simple meal.
Oh, and I also hate brushing and flossing my teeth outside.
Anyway, dishes finally sparkling, I consulted the hiking app on my phone, where I’d downloaded a variety of trail possibilities in the vicinity. Most entailed a 45-minute drive from Richardson Grove, which Em understandably wasn’t eager to endure after yesterday’s schlepp. So I found another option about half that distance away. After loading our backpacks with essentials, we made our way north on 101 to the south entrance of the aptly named Avenue of the Giants where the Stephens Grove loop begins, in Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Less than a mile long and flat, it winds through some honkin’ beasts.
We were fortunate to encounter nary a soul throughout the stroll.
Some of the trees develop the strangest-looking growths. I found one to be a bit inappropriate for younger audiences. (Yes, I know: actually, it’s my mind, not the tree, that’s inappropriate.)
We returned to the car and wound our way a bit further north, reaching a turnoff to a day-use area that boasted river access. We really wanted to have some water play so we headed in. The unstaffed entrance booth sported a sign telling us we owed $7 if we wanted to proceed further. We took a gamble. I paid up and off toward the river we went. Blech. Shallow and goopy. We were out of there and back on the road within five minutes, disappointed, and poorer.
Continuing even further north, we located the trailhead for the mile-plus Gould Grove loop, after some difficulty. There we discovered yet more gy-matic redwoods.
I hadn’t been aware until Ember noticed it that I’ve been saying, “Wow, look how big that tree is!” over and over again, I imagine to the point of being annoying. So I made her a promise: from here on out, every time I repeat it, I’ll give her a nickel as my penalty. I guess I’m a cheapskate, because since then I’ve kept silent, holding my awe to myself.
Gould Grove’s trees sport silly designs as well.
There was a little spur trail toward yet another section of the Eel River so we traipsed in that direction, hope in our hearts. Alas, we were saddened to find it, too, so clogged with glop that we didn’t bother to approach further.
Back in the car, we turned toward “home,” stopping briefly at Site 80 at the Hidden Springs Campground where Molly and Josh camped a few weeks ago and where I snapped a selfie that is too hideous to post here.
And finally we aimed ourselves down toward Richardson Grove, with just a brief layover in Garberville (which Em dubbed “Garbageville”) for gas. In spite of the vast quantities of junk food I’ve brought for our face-stuffing pleasure, she was specifically craving a cake-pop from Starbucks. I learned that the nearest one was in Eureka, an hour north. Nope.
We were safely ensconced at our site by mid-afternoon. There, a text somehow managed to find its way through to my phone (which is usually turned off because of the lack of Internet). Molly had located us on her GPS. Here we are from above:
Though we’ve been active all day, Em was eager for even more walks. I like to keep busy as well, so we followed not one, not two, but three additional paths through the park’s redwoods: sections of the Interpretive Trail, the Discovery Trail and the Woodland Trail. She is a fun little hiking companion.
Settled once again at Site 22, Ember allowed as she was a bit bored. Because she had been hesitant about going on this adventure in the first place, and since she has recently been prone to homesickness for the first time in her life, I was eager to keep her occupied and her mind off her anxieties. I went to dig through the car in search of a game for us to play, and stumbled upon something I’d forgotten I’d brought: a Minecraft Lego set. She’s a wizard at the art of assembling these things, her delicate and coordinated little fingers deftly maneuvering minuscule tiles into place according to diagrams far too complex for my comprehension or patience.
Come evening we built another campfire and—at last—sat still, mesmerized by the flames and the “little orangey dots” that sparked up. I was happy to be spending time outdoors with my little person, and felt virtuous and proud about providing her with a new and wholesome nature opportunity. I do so enjoy camping. It became apparent, however, that she may be a bit less of a fan. “All we ever do is walk and eat and sleep,” she noted. It’s true. It’s my idea of perfection. But it’s not hers. What would she rather be doing, I wondered aloud? “Watching shows. Jumping rope. Jumping on the trampoline. Jumping rope while I’m jumping on the trampoline. Playing with Pepper [cat] and Yuba [dog].” Indeed, there’s a dearth of these things here.
I do understand her not settling comfortably into this experience, though she had enjoyed our last camping trip two years ago. With the past year-and-a-half of Covid, she’s been sheltered in her isolated world with only her immediate family, not able to go to school or play with friends or shop in stores. It’s a dangerous world out there, especially among Chico’s large and rabid anti-vaxxer, anti-masker population. As a result, she’s gotten accustomed to life in that domestic bubble. It’s what she knows now. Our trip is out of her comfort zone.
Before bed we discussed options for tomorrow, the final full day of our trip. Ember is pretty much done with giant trees, so I perused a map for other places to visit. There are two beaches a little over an hour from here: one north, one south. Yet more driving is not desirable, but it’s necessary if we’re to explore new terrain. We’ll decide tomorrow.
We were tent-bound earlier than last night. There, we chatted merrily for an hour and a half. She endured more of my childhood tales as well as my recollections of silly things her mother and her aunt had said when they were little:
Three-year-old Eleni, proud of her Greek heritage on her father’s side, announced: “You don’t make Greek like *I* does!”
Three-year-old Molly, on encountering a barking pup: “Doggie barfin’ all oop.”
“I like talking to you,” Ember told me. The feeling is mutual. She was curious to know what was my favorite place I’ve ever been. An impossible question to answer, but first to mind was Semuc-Champey in Guatemala.
She crawled into my sleeping bag for a while, emerged, bounced, tossed glow-sticks into the air. Next, we read a couple chapters of Abel’s Island, and eventually turned off the lights, lulled to sleep by the rush of cars and trucks on nearby Highway 101.
I love your writing!