Our family had a couple of heavy canvas tents, plenty of rope, fishing gear and tools. We must have hauled food because my dad didn't own a gun so we didn't hunt for food like the pioneers. We did have some of those big, really heavy metal coolers so, yeah, we must have hauled food.
The roads aren't what they are now and either were the cars. When you went on a road trip, you always hauled plenty of water in a big canvas bag. We sure used a lot of things made of canvas. The bag was hooked to the front of the car filled with water in case the radiator overheated. The roads were just, mainly, simple highways. A trip to Yosemite (Reds Meadows and Tuolome Meadows) usually took several days. Thank goodness, or not, there was no such thing as seat belts because that meant you could crawl into a space somewhere, anywhere, and fall asleep to pass the time. In our station wagon, five kids could usually ride quite comfortably; on the floor, with the hump as a pillow, on the seat or even just in the back, except for my brother, Michael. He always sat in the middle of the front seat between my mom and dad with his chin on the dash. I think, mainly, it was to keep my dad awake. I'll have to ask Michael someday.
One of our most memorable trips to Yosemite National Park (California) was when I was probably around 10 or 12 years old. It took several days to get there and on the first night we camped at one of the Mammoth Lakes. If I recall, it was Muir Lake. Nighttime came quickly after setting up camp and I can remember how cold it was going to be that night. I knew my dad would take care of us and he did. He heated rocks over the fire and buried them in the ground under the tent. Honestly, I don't know if those tents had bottoms or not but I do know that we were warm for the night. It wasn't our luck the next day!
It was still June and the Mammoth lakes had not yet achieved optimal temperature for bathing or swimming. It didn't matter to my dad because I quite clearly remember him making us swim in that freezing water. Maybe it was our bath for the day. I wish he would have remembered the rock trick to warm up the water!
We did a lot of camping so I'm sure that my mind has forgotten the many different places we stayed relative to the stories I remember so I think I'll just tell what made our trips most memorable.
I remember a large, meandering river where we would let the bar of Ivory soap float down the river and catch it before it got away. As a child, I recall the river seemed so big and fast but looking back at it, I doubt my mom or dad would have put us in any danger.
I remember a footbridge, leading out of our campsite, that went over a small stream. Every morning we would try to catch the fish that live there; don't think we ever did.
I remember my dad, in the middle of the night, thinking that my mom was hogging his space and pushing him around in the tent, only to awaken the next day to bear tracks around the tent and a metal cooler ripped open. He was more mad that the bear had stolen our batch of homemade, Nana Mary tortillas. He followed the trail of tortillas up a hill and salvaged what he could. Lucky for the bear that my dad didn't catch up with it.
I remember my mom doing laundry in a big metal tub and a thing that looked like a big metal plunger. If I could find one of those contraptions today I would buy it in a heartbeat. The way it was put together made the water agitate like a machine. Cool!
I remember the old man who set up camp and stayed for the whole summer. His name was Mr. Chisholm and I think he was related to John Chisholm the pioneer trailblazer. He had it all! Stacks of wood to last the summer. A stove, a cot and this big, square tent setup. We spent hours listening to him tell stories. We would eat with him often. Our friendship with him didn't end just because our camping trip did. We visited him a couple of times in Los Angeles where he lived.
I remember lots of hikes! Looking back on it, I think the hikes were my moms way of getting rid of us so she could take a nap. We always took our fishing gear. I recall one time my younger sister, Judy, asking if she could carry the tackle box, then the fishing pole, then asking my dad to carry her! We also had a secret call of sorts. It was made with the hands in a cupping shape and blowing into them sounding, if you got it right, like a hoot owl. It was the way we had of not getting too far ahead or behind my dad and getting lost.
Fishing was always the greatest with my dad. Even after I started having my own kids, fishing was an enjoyable thing; especially for Mike and my dad. Fishing on a camping trip was the icing on the cake. We loved to fish! And we found a wonderful fishing trick. Follow the truck with the planter fish in it from the hatchery! And if you ran out of bait, cut open the recently caught fish and take out the undigested cheese. If you didn't have cheese, no problem. Use bread and moosh it into a dough ball! I laugh at the myriads of fishing tricks that stores try to sell you to catch the big one! Cheese and dough balls; it doesn't get any better than that.
I know that there's no way to remember all that we did and experienced but this I do know. Our parents must have loved us a lot to do what they did to give us wonderful memories of our childhood. Our lives weren't filled with fancy trips to amusement parks or glitzy vacations but we wouldn't have traded those summer days for anything. I guess that's why camping is such a big deal for me. I want my kids to remember the trips we've taken. I want the grand kids to remember the trips we've taken. Memories are the only things we get to take with us after all's said and done!
1 comment:
Well, I for one am along for the ride. :) This was fun to read. I especially liked the bit about heated rocks in the ground under the tent--very clever. Thank you for sharing your memories.
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