Camping (again)
This blog
is about a recent camping trip and the foibles that occurred despite best
intentions and careful planning that began in early spring. Since the pandemic
seemed to be coming to an end just as the camping season began, the Missus
scheduled an extended camping trip of 10 days with four destinations to welcome
the warmer weather. The trip didn’t work out exactly as planned.
But
first, a bit of background. Some of you may know that I have a long history of
camping beginning while a youngster in Indiana. Since I grew up in the dark
ages when parents only worried about children if they had broken something
important, like a lamp, or an essential bone, I was allowed to camp with
friends at an early age. I remember Snake Island along the Wabash River, and an
unfamiliar pasture field owned by the brother-in-law of a neighbor who had boys
the same age as my brother and me. Each of these trips provide an example of
camping miscalculations since both had an unfortunate happening: The pasture
field camping experience erupted in a knock-down, drag-out fight between my
brother and me while the river campout caused totally unexpected explosions
when we piled river rocks around the campfire and the moisture hidden within
expanded, causing the rocks to break and upset our cooking gear just as dinner
was being prepared.
The
pasture-field fight had a similar outcome. At the beginning it was a minor
happening since my brother and I engaged in disagreements most days and
fisticuffs were needed to settle matters. Unfortunately, this fight began in
the tent that we knocked down during the preliminary wrestling match. Of
course, the fight provoked us into rolling around the ground with no thought
about our food supplies that featured mostly bread, peanut butter, a can or two
of baked beans, and a large bag of potato chips that turned into potato crumbs.
In the end we learned that flattened bread worked passably well for
peanut-butter sandwiches and potato crumbs were just as nutritious as the
undamaged kind. The trip ended well as I recall, and we weren’t attacked by any
of the farmer’s cows.
Those
distant memories had little bearing on this most recent trip, although
sharp-eyed readers may find some parallels since I am the major character in
each of the trips recounted and it seems that I have a frequent run of bad luck
during campouts that I engage in. This latest trip provoked an outcome that had
little to do with my mistakes, but you may wish to judge that for yourself after
I recite the details, assuming that you are still awake.
Part of
the reason for our latest camping trip was the chance to entertain and enjoy
the company of our granddaughters, aged 14 and 16. The trip required some advanced
planning since Michigan campgrounds have become extremely popular what with the
pandemic limiting other forms of entertainment. Since our granddaughters would
be with us, we scheduled visits to campgrounds where swimming was featured, and
bicycle trails were abundant.
The first
problem to strike was the intervention of life. One girl was scratched from our
guest list when she was offered a sought-after job that required her
orientation just as our trip was about to begin. The second girl had a sudden
medical problem – her ankle was injured during a soccer match and the doctor’s
office scheduled a needed examination also at the scheduled trip. There was no
cure for either absence. The Missus and I decided to entertain ourselves without
the granddaughters by camping in our 5th wheel immediately following
a weekend square dance that was held at a mid-Michigan campground. Other than a
sore ankle, the dancing was a hoot after a pandemic-induced year-long absence.
Surprisingly, we remembered most of the steps and enjoyed the company of other
dancers, including a couple who accompanied us to Bay City, Michigan where we
had the next set of reservations for camping. Bay City State Park features both
swimming and bicycling along with superb viewing of their natural areas that
are dominated by the Tobico Marsh, a wetland that provides a haven for birds of
all sizes, colors, and descriptions as they feast on the fish and insects drawn
by the wetlands. (Let me know if you want to see any of the several hundred
pictures that the Missus captured).
I may
have overdone the bicycling part on the first day. After the ride, I waded in
the cool water of the Saginaw Bay (named after the long-ago Sauk Indians who
reigned over the area), assuming that the cool water would offer palliative
care for an overtaxed ankle. It didn’t. Maybe that was because on the following
day we went for a longer bicycle ride on the area’s rails to trails path that
extends from the park to the city. It was a nice ride through native areas
alive with colorful wild flowers and I enjoyed it so much that I felt obliged
to call a Bay City official concerning overflowing garbage bins at a pocket
park along the trail that provoked a sharp contrast to the beauty of wild
areas. He promised to fix the problem.
From Bay
City we went to our next camping reservation at Tawas Point, the place where
the land has grown to form a long isthmus into the bay from the winds and
countless waves. Although this natural process has continued, in recent years
the Tawas Point shoreline has been buffeted by the increasing water levels
associated with climate change and the melting of sea ice. The park was full of
campers and we enjoyed the park’s natural areas. Watching our fellow campers
with their families and many dogs reminded us that camping is a family affair.
The changes to the beaches and the rip-rap placed along the shore to stem
further damage seemed to have no effect on the park’s popularity.
Tawas
City and East Tawas have made a giant step forward in sponsoring a new bike
trail that has been highly acclaimed by enthusiasts since it is part of the
Iron Belle trail that will ultimately run from Detroit’s Belle Isle to the
Upper Peninsula’s Iron Mountain, becoming the longest bicycle trail in the
nation when it is completed. Of course, we had to test our endurance by a ride
on the trail. That evening I had to try the lake wading process again in hopes
of reducing the size of the now oversized ankle that was again swollen and warm
to the touch. We left the Tawas Point Park after a short, two-day stay.
I am
typing this blog at our last campground, Pontiac Lake State Recreation Area,
while awaiting a visit from our granddaughter(s). I hopeful that we’ll all be
too busy visiting to ride our bikes so that my ankle can recover a bit and I
can hide my now-limited biking endurance. Granddaughters don’t need to know everything
about their grandparents.
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