Daunted by the 100+ degree forecast for the weekend at home, what better way to escape the heat than to head to the mountains to have ourselves a proper camping weekend. A somewhat overdue camping weekend, as we realized we hadn’t used the tent in over a year. Kings Canyon and Sequoia won the lottery, with more options for last minute camping, slightly less likely to be a zoo than Yosemite, and apparently, we hadn’t been to Kings Canyon, so a chance to tick off another National Park.
With all the rain and snow we had over the winter and spring in California, the rivers were super impressive. Not a trickle in sight, the waterfalls harnessed the snow melt and transformed it into rolling, angry white water, hurling it over the cliffs in a deafening roar, the icy water thundering down the gorges like a rabid animal, enraged and foaming. This meant two of my favorite things combined into one hike: river crossings and mosquitos. Actually, the river crossings were more of the stream variety and quite tame. Not so the mossies.
So along with the rivers and waterfalls of Disney proportions, came the mosquitoes. In force. I was drawn with empathy to a small child – a girl of maybe four or five, arms flailing wildly in the air, tears streaming down her pretty face, as she sobbed “the flies are attacking me”. “Well I’m really sorry honey” soothed Dad, “but that’s just Nature. That’s what it’s like outside”. The verdict from the young girl? A desperate plea: “I want to go to The Inside”. I knew how she felt! Especially when they have pre-programmed honing devices set for pretty little girls and older defenseless girls who hadn’t thought sufficiently ahead to put insect repellent on. As Darren pointed out, he had his own protection by walking next to me, the mossies swooning over my sweet Pearson blood. Needless to say, I spent the entire rest of the weekend doused in mossie spray – I would have bathed in the stuff if I could. The only realistic camping alternative to The Inside.
The hot weather meant no woolly hat needed at night for a change! But a balmy evening doesn’t mean no call for a campfire. It’s just not proper camping without a campfire. There was no shortage of wood – it was a free for all orgy of fallen branches, twigs for kindling, and logs. And in addition to a traditional fire, we treated ourselves to a Campfire of the tipple variety.
