Camping: Ode to Summer

One of my favorite things about summer in the PNW is the camping. I did not grow up camping, unless hanging out in my dad's Vietnam army tent in the back yard until after the fireflies went out counts. My dad grew up in Colorado and California, and he always told great stories about camping with friends. So I can only explain my lack of camping experience to either my mother's aversion or southern climate. Maybe a little of both.

Other than one experience in southwest Virginia and one in Tennessee, I've only ever camped in the PNW. I'd take the latter over the former at most opportunities. I'm sure if I had more opportunities in Appalachia, coming on fall, I would have found more favorable experiences. Even living in Charlotte and Atlanta, it would have taken hours long car trip to get to the cool, rhododendron shades of the Smokies.

Choose your gear wisely

Here in Portland, camping spots are abundant, close, and at the same time, remote. I have to admit, my first camping experience was a bit of a disaster. Not having found a job yet, Fred Meyer was my point of sale rather than REI or Columbia. Standing in the sporting goods aisle, I opted for a 2 man tent and a junior sleeping bag. I was the size of some kids, right? It had cool colors and was $20 cheaper than the most inexpensive adult version. I figured I was set. Fast forward to that evening, when my friend, who was sharing my tent, pumped up her Therm-a-rest, pulled out her headlamp, and unrolled her super snazzy sleeping bag. I was still unconcerned. Fast forward to a few hours later, pitch black, and drizzling. I got into my bag, felt all the unevenness of the ground below me and zipped up. It came up to my chest. The "two man tent" was really meant for two small children, and our head and feet bumped up against the walls. There was nothing to do but laugh, albeit I had a very cold, wet and miserable night. It was late August.

When nature calls at night, it's best to have a headlamp

After that induction into PNW camping, I invested in a good bag, a blow-up sleeping mat, and a headlamp. Those items are necessities in my mind, and I can wait to make any other big camping purchases.

Silence of a Rushing River

Just an hour or two outside of Portland, there are innumerable camping spots, and further afield brings such a variety of scenery, it's hard to choose. Just this weekend, we followed the Clackamas River up towards the southeast side of Mt. Hood and found a spot on Hideaway Lake. Previous excursions include the Salmon River near Welches, along Yachats River on the coast, McKenzie River in the Sisters Wilderness, Timothy Lake near Mt. Hood, and two small lakes in south central Washington. I have to admit, the rushing rivers are my favorite, as I find the quiet, stillness of lakes unnerving. I've even worn earplugs to muffle the sound of silence. I am in the minority of my group of friends, but I feel in a state of timelessness next to the constantly moving river. There's a Zen quality about it for me.

My friends and I car camp, which means we can bring all the luxuries of home to a little spot in the wilderness. Carefully packed coolers and choice victuals and libations are easily carried in. I haven't graduated to the "hiking in" version of camping just yet.

There can be mosquitoes, but nothing that a little bug spray can't fix. It's simply not comparable to being out in the woods in the south.

A confirmed pyromaniac, I love being the fire starter and fire tender. I grew up dispensing of Hurricane Hugo debris via endless fires in South Carolina, but these were usually built in the depths of winter to stay warm or in the swarm of summer to keep the bugs away. Spanish moss makes volumes of smoke without a lot of heat. Here, in summer, the forest dries out a bit, leaving huge logs for endless burns. The smoke lends itself to kabobs for dinner and toast for breakfast. It gets chilly at night, and so many problems need to be solved. The campfire is the only solution.

Friends with kayaks

If your camping crew can get out early enough on Friday, you can have almost 3 days of exploring the wilderness from camp site home base. I enjoy playing in mountain streams and admiring the smoothness of stones and driftwood. I like to get out and go for a nearby hike that would otherwise be too far away for a day trip. If my friends brought kayaks, that's always a bonus too.

My two favorite hours on a camping trip are those  that bookend the time spent inside the tent. At night, once the headlamps are shut off, leaning back and looking up at that infinite and star scattered sky humbles me every time. Without humidity and the lack of light pollution, the starry dome is truly awesome. If we could look up at that every night, we could free ourselves from the insipidity of our modern life. Occasionally we are blessed with a shooting star, and we can almost perceive the slow cadence of the turning earth. Almost. The sounds of the wild soon mesmerize and lull us, and we must turn to bed. But I look forward to waking, unzipping the flap, awakening the embers of last night's fire, and brewing a cup of coffee. Sometimes alone, usually with an earlier riser, this hour is one of my most cherished. Except for utilitarian purposes, we talk little, still lost in the stardust of our dreams and the melody of the wild.

You can't see this in your backyard.