Chimney Creek, Part 2

Here I am, back for the rest of the story of our first family camping trip.

Breakfast was a simple meal, because we had decided in advance that we didn't want to make another fire. So I had a single-serve container of Cheerios for each of us (Honey-Nut for boos), and to go with them, a container of Rice Milk (doesn't have to be refrigerated), blueberries, and grocery store mini muffins. Rocket Boy and I missed having a strong cup of tea, so I think next time we'll have a morning fire. But this was OK.

I remember camping trips when I was a kid, and morning was always a stressful time. I'm not a morning person anyway, so everything that seemed charming the night before was just unpleasant come morning: those "smelly bathrooms," getting dressed in a tent, it's always cold and there's always a bug where there shouldn't be a bug, sitting at a scratchy picnic table worrying that a spider might be crawling on your leg, and on and on.

But on this trip I felt fine in the morning. I was pleased to have survived the night, I wasn't worried about the simple breakfast, those smelly bathrooms are always less scary in the daytime, and I knew we would be going home soon. I think I may even have felt a flicker of relaxation, which I hardly thought was possible around my children.

After breakfast we took a short hike up above our campsite, just exploring the area a little more. We saw both cactus and wildflowers -- even a flowering cactus!

After a bit, I went back to the campsite and Baby B followed me, while Baby A stayed with Daddy. As I sat at the picnic table, I noticed a very large yellow butterfly fluttering around. Then it perched on a tree, probably to warm up in the sun. "Do you see that butterfly?" I asked Baby B. He did, and soon Baby A came back and he saw it too. I took a picture of it with my zoom lens:

Couldn't identify it until we got home (MUST bring bird, butterfly, flower, tree, and other such identification books next time!), but when I was able to look it up, I discovered that it was a lovely Western Tiger Swallowtail.

All the time we were messing around our campsite, we kept looking down to see what was happening at the campsite below us, where the Pacific Crest Trail people were. (We didn't speak to them, but that was obviously where they'd come from -- for one thing, they didn't have a car.) They were very quiet, as people are supposed to be in the wilderness, and in contrast to our two EXTREMELY LOUD little boos. They didn't make a fire -- my understanding is that ultralight backpackers often don't.  Another PCT-er appeared from nowhere and was chatting with them ("How was your hike yesterday?" etc.).

I was so jealous. Ever since I first heard about the three long-distance trails in the U.S. (the PCT, the Appalachian Trail, and the Continental Divide Trail) I have wanted to do them -- one, two, or all three. It takes 4-6 months to do one of these trails -- and that's if you're in good shape, unlike me, and have all the right equipment, time, stamina, mental energy, etc. I could no more do one of these trails than I could fly to the moon using my arms as wings. But it's still a dream -- not a bucket list item, because that implies that I think I could actually do it -- just a dream.

Then it was time to clean up, pack up, and move on out, and once again Rocket Boy had to do most of the work (though I did pack up small items and roll sleeping bags, etc.). In a few years Baby A is going to be a huge help to him -- he would so love to do everything Daddy does -- but he's just not strong enough, big enough, or careful enough to be of much assistance yet. So Rocket Boy worked and worked, but it all got done. Here's the campsite with nothing left of the tents but one crummy, made-in-China ground cloth, and Baby A, wishing he could help fold it up.

So off we drove back to Ridgecrest -- I think it must have been around 10 am or so. The sky, which had been a very pretty blue the day before, was brown and smoggy looking. Out here that means one of two things: dust from the Owens Valley (but it hadn't been windy) or a fire. When we got home we learned about the George Fire that had started the day before in Sequoia National Forest, and I think that's what the brown air was from.

The road was pretty deserted, and it's pretty rocky, so we took it slow, always watching for wildlife. Then suddenly up ahead there was a big stick in the road -- except it wasn't a stick. "It's a snake!" I said, and then "it must be dead."

"It's not dead," Rocket Boy said, stopping the car and going out to have a look. And then I saw the snake raise its head. Sure enough, it wasn't dead. It was, however, in the middle of the road (sunning itself, waking up after the chilly night), and the next car that came along would run it over and break its spine. Thus we had to get it out of the road. But how to do that?

Rocket Boy found a couple of actual sticks (as opposed to snakes) by the road, but they weren't very long. "It's a rattlesnake," he said, coming back to the car for a moment, "but I don't see the rattle."

A rattlesnake without a rattle? But even without a rattle, it was rattling. Also, as Rocket Boy said, it hissed so much it sounded like a vacuum cleaner. Carefully, Rocket Boy waved his short sticks at it, and threw handfuls of pine needles at it. The snake reared up and tried to strike. Dancing away, RB threw more needles and one of the sticks at it. Slowly, reluctantly, the snake moved off the road.

When we got home I looked up "rattle-less rattlesnakes" on the web and found out that the snake wasn't a rattlesnake at all, it was a gopher snake (I thought the head didn't look right). Apparently gopher snakes try to imitate rattlers and are often killed for their trouble. We, of course, had been trying to SAVE the snake, regardless of its nature, but anyway, it's nice to know that Rocket Boy wasn't in any danger.

When we finally got home it was only about 11:30, but we were all so tired it might just as well have been 11:30 pm. After carrying in some of the stuff, Rocket Boy announced that he was going to take a shower, and the boys decided to go in with him. That's when we discovered that Baby A had a tick, firmly adhered to his right upper back.

Ticks, I know, should be removed As Soon As Possible, so I went running for the tweezers. But Baby A associates tweezers with splinter removal, so he ran away from me, "No! No!" We decided that he could have his shower first, and maybe the tick would be easier to get out when it was wet. (Not sure that was the right decision, but anyway...) When Baby A came out of the shower he'd calmed down a bit, and I was able to get the entire tick out with the first grab of the tweezers. It wasn't engorged with blood yet, but it was still alive (!) and wiggling, so I immediately flushed it down the toilet.

Later I read online that I should have saved the darn thing for identification and even testing, to see if it was carrying any horrible diseases. Next time, next time. From the photos on the web I have decided that it was a male Western Black Legged Tick, which is bad, because they carry Lyme Disease, but the fact that it wasn't engorged yet is good, because they usually inject their bad diseases at the end of a meal. Anyway, we rubbed the wound with alcohol and put a bandaid on it, and we'll watch it -- and Baby A -- for signs of problems. Sigh.

What a camping trip! Rocket Boy and I agree -- despite everything, it was a lot of fun and we are definitely going to do it again. Soon!