At June Lake last year the group decided they'd like to visit Sequoia National Park next, and Sandy (the wife of one of my cousins' cousins) said she'd find a place. Unfortunately, Sandy and Jeff couldn't make it this year, and neither could anyone else except my two cousins and their wives who started the whole thing -- and Rocket Boy, the twins, and me.
Well, OK, that was too bad, sorry not to see any of the other people who sometimes come, but still, I really like my cousins & their wives, so I was game. The place chosen for this year was called Silver City, in the Mineral King valley, in the southern tip of Sequoia National Park.
In case anyone doesn't make it through this long post, I'd just like to say it right now. Silver City: NOT RECOMMENDED.
OK, so Friday morning we all slept in rather late. I got up before Rocket Boy, and the twins were just making little sounds in their room, so I took advantage of the quiet time to clean the kitchen and do a little trip prep. Around 8:30 I decided I'd better get everyone up, so I went into the twins' room. And this is what I found:
A few hours later, we were finally de-Desitin-ed and packed and ready to go. Silver City and the Mineral King valley are unfortunately kind of hard to get to, especially for us. Mapquest recommended that we drive to Bakersfield and then take Highway 99 -- well, we didn't want to do that. So we drove over Walker Pass to Kernville and had lunch, and then took the most impossibly winding little road I have ever been on, over a mountain and down into the little town of Glennville. Along the way, Baby B apparently got carsick (though I think his morning ingestion of Desitin might have had something to do with it) and threw up all over his blanket, clothes, and carseat. We cleaned up as best we could, and then meandered on to the town of Porterville, where I stopped at a grocery store and bought 7-Up and saltine crackers and Pedialyte and bananas and other things that one might feed a vomiting child. And then we meandered on to the town of Three Rivers, where we picked up Mineral King Road, which is 21 miles of narrow winding torture.
We got to Silver City at 6pm, just in time for a fabulous dinner prepared by my cousins. Which somewhat mollified my fears about the weekend. But only somewhat. Here is the "chalet" we stayed in:
Silver City describes itself on the website as a "boutique resort." Hmm. I need to research the current meaning of "boutique" (and for that matter, the current meaning of "resort"). The website explains that because they are a boutique resort "operating off the power grid" you must bring your own sheets and towels. What they don't explain (among other things) is that the electricity for the "resort" comes from generators, and those generators are off from 10 pm to 12 noon.
Actually, having the electricity go off at 10 pm turned out to be a plus for me. I didn't like the smell of the propane lamp that we turned on after 10, so I just went to bed, and got a fabulous night's sleep. It was not having electricity until noon the next day that was annoying.
Don't get me wrong -- I understand the joys of the rustic life. My parents used to take us camping every summer. We slept in a tent, had a fabulous time. But the "chalet" my cousins rented in Silver City cost $350/night. For $350/night, the power should come on before noon. Also the promised Internet service should work (it never did). Also, you should not be expected to clean the toilet and MOP all the floors. Yes, MOP. Signs posted around the "chalet" listed all the things guests were expected to do before checking out. I didn't memorize the entire list, but it included cleaning the refrigerator, cleaning the toilet, sink, and shower in the bathroom, sweeping and MOPPING all the floors, shaking all the rugs outside....
On Saturday, the first full day of our stay, we took the traditional "Iron Man" hike that my oldest cousin always organizes. Sadly, fewer and fewer of us are really up for this anymore. I'm certainly not. Rocket Boy is, but we have these two-year-old twins... This year we carried the twins in backpacks up the trail until I started to feel sick -- only about a mile in, but we were at 8,000 feet or so, and I am not, to put it mildly, in peak condition. So Rocket Boy, my cousin's wife, and I turned back at that point, returned to the trailhead, took the twins out of the backpacks, and then Rocket Boy went back up the trail to try to find my cousins, while my cousin's wife and I went off to entertain the twins for the rest of the day.
This is the start of the trail to Eagle Lake and Mosquito Lakes:
It really is an incredibly beautiful area. Though as Rocket Boy said, a better place to conceive children than to bring them when they're two. I recommend visiting the Mineral King area -- without young children -- as long as you camp! In a frigging campsite, of which there are many. Just don't stay at that stupid Silver City boutique resort.
The hike turned into a mild disaster because Rocket Boy never found my cousins, so didn't come back to the "chalet" with them. The twins and I drove back to the trailhead to wait for him, but he never showed. Then my cousin drove back and finally found him. He figured he hiked at least 10 miles, much of it scrambling over rocks. He's skinny, but he's not in good shape anymore either, because we live in Ridgecrest and just get sick all the time. So Saturday night found us turning off the electricity at 9:30 pm -- we were so tired.
Sunday I awoke with a deep sense of unease. I wanted to get out of there so badly, I could taste it. But I couldn't leave -- we had to stay and help mop the floors on Monday before checking out. Oh! I've forgotten half the story! The water! Or rather, the lack thereof. The day we arrived, Friday, it had rained heavily (or maybe it was the night before). Friday night we noticed that the water in the toilet bowl was very dark. It got darker and darker and we began to be worried about the safety of the water in the shower and sink, all of which was getting darker. Saturday the toilet stopped working altogether -- it wasn't stopped up, it just had no water. We had to take a soup pot into the bathroom and fill it with water from the sink to flush the toilet. There was also no longer any hot water.
It was finally explained to us that the toilet water came from the creek, which was full of mud from the rains -- because the Forest Service had done a controlled burn on land above the "resort" earlier in the year. (Of course, as my cousin noted, if the Forest Service hadn't done the controlled burn, perhaps the whole resort would have burned down in a forest fire.) Eventually the creek water system got completely clogged up with debris, which is why the toilet stopped working. (It did eventually start working again.) The sink water was treated well water, so it was safe.
Anyway, on Sunday we decided to return to the area near the trailhead, but on the other side of the creek, and have a picnic. The boos wore their backpack leashes and hiked along with the rest of us, if a bit slowly. The walk was enlivened by the presence of numerous marmots -- almost one to every large rock. Very tame -- I know, TOO tame, too used to people -- but still it was fun for the boos, who referred to them as "ammal" (animal).
And then disaster struck. We were walking back across a narrow streamlet, to have our picnic on the other side. I picked up Baby B to ferry him across. My foot caught on a branch. I went down like a ton of bricks -- no way to break my fall -- and Baby B, in my arms, landed face first on the rocky shore of the stream, followed by fat old me, and then my heavy backpack (full of food, water, diapers, wipes, extra shoes, extra clothes, camera, novel, you name it).
I thought I'd killed him. Everyone else gathered around, mopped up the blood, assessed the damage. I dragged myself to my feet. Someone took off my backpack. Rocket Boy ran back to the car and got the first aid kit, cleaned and bandaged the cut. Baby B cried and cried. I didn't cry but I was wailing inside.
The only visible damage to Baby B was one really nasty cut in the middle of his forehead, where he'd obviously landed on a rock. After a quick, subdued lunch we went down the hill to the ranger station, where they strongly recommended we take him to a doctor. So we went back to the "chalet" and packed up our stuff (which took an hour) and then drove 2 hours to the Visalia walk-in clinic, where a doctor super-glued Baby B's nasty cut back together. She said he was very brave.
We spent the night at a Comfort Inn in Visalia. (For $75, breakfast included, no mopping required.) This morning we drove home on Highway 99, which honestly wasn't that bad, and then took 178 through Bakersfield to Lake Isabella and then on to Ridgecrest. We were home by 1:30 and Rocket Boy actually went to work. (It was 112 degrees and our A/C is broken again -- who could blame him?) The babies and I unpacked and went to the grocery store.
I keep thinking about how my cousins had to clean the whole stupid "chalet" without our help. The mopping. The disgusting muddy toilet. Granted, with the twins around we wouldn't have been much help, but Rocket Boy is a good mopper. Also, I was kind of looking forward to scrubbing that horrible toilet. Nope, no chance. They must have done it all.
Baby B is fine, but I think we're going to stay home for a while. Last night at the hotel in Visalia I could not get him to calm down and go to sleep. He didn't sleep well any night of the trip, but last night was the worst. "No Baba," he would say sadly. "That's right, Aunt Barbara is at her house," I would say. "Now go to sleep." "Baba hou. No Nonny," Baby B would continue. "That's right, Aunt Nancy is at her house," I would say. "Nonny hou. No Matt," Baby B went on, utterly desolate. Then he pointed to the orange patches on my stuffed penguin (who he calls Ah-ah). "Ah-ah owie," he said. "Does Ah-ah have an owie?" I asked. "You have an owie, a bad owie. I'm so sorry."
I'm so glad we're home. And I'm never ever ever going to the Silver City boutique resort EVER AGAIN.
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