State Map and The Open Road

By Amy Baranski

Ponderosa Pine. Photo by Bob Redmond. 

Diving into a cold lake, drying off in the sun, camping by the river on a bed of pine needles, stoking a campfire into the night, watching the stars flicker and the occasional unidentified flying object sail across the sky--these are what summer nights in the Northwest are made of!

With no plan, no place to sleep, stomachs full of Bavarian sausage, and gas still in the tank we pointed the minivan toward Chelan.

Lake Chelan is deep with memories--it's a lake my sister once jumped into from a 50 foot cliff off the banks of Refrigerator Harbor. It's a lake we sailed on almost every summer to reach Holden Village, an old mining town in the heart of the Cascades. By the time we visited, the mine had  been acquired by Wes Prieb and donated to the Lutheran Bible Institute, and the village was restored and converted into a retreat center.

I remember as a child thinking how beautiful Washington State is and knowing that I'd live here someday.

The dust was incredible on the Eightmile trail. It caked every piece of exposed skin, and somehow managed to cover Melissa's feet, making it's way through her wool socks and new hiking boots. Jumping in the lake was the perfect rinse. We joined the families lounging by the beautifully blue water, and cooled down. The sun was moving closer to the horizon but we weren't satisfied with any camping options in Chelan, so we headed to Winthrop--where we thought we could find a free spot along the river.

Last summer Bob and I spent a beautiful weekend camping in Winthrop with our pals Jessie and Aaron. It's a place I've been wanting to go back to ever since.

Winthrop. Photo by Bob Redmond.

When we reached Twisp we saw a campground sign. It didn't say how many miles to the camp so we drove about 12. We turned around thinking we had passed it. There was a site at mile 16 and one at the end of the road. Oh well. We picked up some bottles of wine from the convenient store and headed into Winthrop.

Winthrop is an adorable town. A bit touristy yest, but in an Eastern Washington kind of way. I'd like to live there. Melissa and Jamie were smitten.

We checked out Pearrgyin Lake, which looked like a fun campground, but again too full with the sorts of campers that bring televisions into the woods. Not that I wouldn't camp there. I would TOTALLY camp there, and yes, with my television.

Fortunately up the road we found a campsite that seemed similar to the one Bob and I stayed at last year. Around sundown the next day we'd find out it was the same one.

Once our tents were pitched we built a fire cracked open the wine and talked into the night--you know those kinds of meandering fire pit talks.

In the morning Jamie dipped into the river. I think Melissa and I followed suit. We warmed ourselves up with instant coffee and packed a few things decided to head out for a nearby day hike. Just because our backpacking trip turned out to be only one day didn't mean we'd given up on the hiking portion of the month!

To be continued....

The Backpacking Chronicles: 2

posted by Melissa
There's Nothing That the Road Cannot Heal
(Lyric taken from Conor Oberst's song Moab)

Hiking down.

We hiked five miles out of the Eightmile Lake area, and yes, it was a hike.  Jamie seemed to think it didn't count as a hike.  Why?  Because it was downhill?  Last I checked, whether going uphill or down, if you are out in the wilderness (bear country backwoods wilderness) and you are walking, it is technically termed a hike.  Anyone else care to argue this point?

As I stated in the previous edition of "The Backpacking Chronicles" , the joy had begun to flood back into my sissy ass soul.  By the time we were in the car, driving down around steep cliffs at every curve on the gravel road to get a sausage in Leavenworth, I was thinking that the exposure therapy had really had a lasting effect.  I was not as afraid as I used to be.  Was I looking forward to another hike?  No.  All I am saying is that the drive was not as scary.

We came upon another big decision in the road.  Where should we go from here?  Camp outside of Leavenworth?  But the mosquitos.  Drive up into the Methow Valley?  Seemed far enough that the dream of no mosquitos could exist.  We all opted for the drive and  I love a good road trip.  The wind blowing, the music playing, the sun and a smile all over my face.

We quickly drove from land filled with pine trees and craggy mountain peaks, to a land that was softer and dry, with brown rolling hills.  Maybe it is because we live in such a damp place, but that dry air felt so good.  The arid land comforted my weary heart.  Or maybe it is simply that we were driving away from the mountain.

The pier we jumped off of, Lake Chelan.

We stopped along the drive at Lake Chelan.  It was nearing 4:30pm and we all knew we had to make a choice of where we were going to sleep that night.  I tried as hard as I could to telepathically send messages of sleeping at a hotel to the rest of the crew.  Apparently nobody got the memo.  Our choices boiled down to an overcrowded state park camp site, with our option being site 109.  We drove around, and it didn't exist.  It soon became the title to a horror film in which campsite 109 swallows people up into their worst nightmare.

This not seeming like a good option, we chose to drive on.  As our charmed trip would have it, we came upon a city park where we could swim for free.  Ahhhh.  Lake Chelan.  We all felt reborn in it's clear and refreshing water.  Happliy, we drove on, knowing another good decision was made.

I tried my supernatural mind powers again as we neared Twisp.  I really, really wanted to sleep in a hotel in Twisp.  No such luck.  Again we drove and drove, searching for a campsite that was supposed to be down some road in the middle of nowhere.  We never found it.  Campsite 109 jokes and comments filled the minivan.

Winthrop, WA 

We set our sites on Winthrop.  Bob knew of a campsite outside of town that was free, and he had been there, so it truly did exist.  It wasn't much further up the road, and I relieved myself of the grueling mind games that weren't working.  Yes, we were going to camp outside again, in the tiny tent.  Fine.

Plus, we got to drive through Winthrop.  "Holy F*#king Cute!" I exclaimed, as I drove through the town at about 5 miles per hour.  Can I get an HFC!  Damn that place is cute.  I didn't care that I had to sleep in a tent, I was going to be outside of this f*#king cuteness, and that made everything OK.  It also meant that perhaps tomorrow I was going to get to eat at a restaurant in this cuteness and walk around and dream about living there.

Campsite, not 109.

Yes, a road trip can heal a lot of things.  You drive away from your pain, and again like birth, the further away you get, the less traumatic the memory becomes.  You start thinking of the wildflowers you somehow collected in your memory, when at the time, you didn't think you cared to notice them.  You remember the feeling of being finished, and the sense of accomplishment, finding out that you had it in you to do something you didn't think you ever could.

We set up camp along the Methow River, ate our freeze-dried packets of food, and sat around the campfire already reminiscing on the fond memories we were creating on this trip.  There were a few mosquitos, but nothing like Lake Caroline.  There were just enough to remind us of how lucky we were to be here, and not there.

"Washed under the blacktop, gone beneath my wheels
There's nothing that the road cannot heal."
-Conor Oberst.

Peace,
Melissa