. . . from the archives #24: Oak Trees, Storm Clouds—Colusa County, 1994

(from the May, 1994 mikereport):

Mike leaves Marin early in the morning on his way to the perimeter of the Snow Mountain Wilderness for an overnighter. He is going there not only to have a camping experience—the first of the year—but also simply because he is intrigued by the sound of "Snow Mountain." It reminds him of ancient Chinese poetry, with reclusive Zen monks seeking enlightenment in the mountain fastness.

After Mike sets up camp in the Dixie Glade campground, it starts to rain. Mike is getting kind of hungry, but he realizes that the campstove would never stay lit in the wind-driven rain. So he reads. And sips some ‘88 Rutherford Hill Cabernet Sauvignon that he has thoughtfully brought along. And jogs around the campground. (By now it’s becoming obvious that no one else is about to camp here: the campground is Mike’s.)

Finally, Mike loses patience and, weaving slightly (effects of the ‘88 Cab) positions the campstove directly in front of the tent door. He sits cross-legged inside the tent, gets the stove started—no problem!—and dumps his can of Stokely’s Pork ‘n Beans (and a cut-up Costco frank) into the teflon pan. What an aroma! Stir it till it bubbles and steams, and then . . . mighty fine eatin’!! The night promises to be a troubled one, with gusts of wind shaking the tent and the intermittent sound of rain, but, surprisingly, Mike has an excellent sleep and wakes next morning to an overcast, but dry, sky.

Quick, the instant coffee, and the Van de Camp’s preservative-filled breakfast raisin rolls! What a gourmet experience this trip is turning out to be. After hemming and hawing and studying the sky, Mike decides that a day hike is not totally out of the question. The tent is put away, the camera and equipment are stashed in the new daypack, and Mike sets off on the Deafy Glade trail. (The campground is Dixie Glade, but the trail is Deafy Glade . . . ?)

The trail finally reaches the South Fork of Stone Creek and a ford that would require some wading. Mike elects not to wade, but instead wanders up and down his side of the creek, photographing. On his way back, he startles two deer drinking at a small creek. After reaching the camp site he breaks out a beer, cuts some salami, and changes into driving-back clothing.

During the trip back to Marin the sky is ominously dark, although Mike doesn’t experience that much rain. But the negatives exposed on the way back are (at first glance, anyway) the best of the trip: a line of oaks against the clouds, fences cutting back-and-forth through the grass . . .

Drinking a can of Orange Crush and eating some corn chips Mike finally makes it back home. And thus does another camping trip draw to a close.

Photo: Oak Trees, Storm Clouds—Colusa County, 1994