Camping at Catherine Creek
I’d been and maybe even camped here years ago. Catherine Creek was a favorite spot for brother-in-law Jack and wife Debbie. In preparation for two days of camping every inch of their Jeep stuffed with camping equipment, baby accoutrements, fishing gear, dogs and accompanying dog supplies. I confess to a secret amusement and no small sense of superiority, I could fit all my camping gear and husband and dog into a two-seater car with a minimal trunk.
My station wagon this trip was filled with camping gear (no baby equipment), a teeny space for Molly’s dog bed squished on top a box of supplies, barely enough room for her to stand without hitting her head on the ceiling. Good thing she’s old and doesn’t want to stand up that much and in any event has very short legs. The air circulation in the car was disturbed, the down side of this arrangement. Molly’s dog-breath kept fouling my air space until I figured out how to blow the air conditioned air up onto the ceiling and send that smell into the back of the car (I think that’s where it went, maybe Jim got it). Eck.
My memories of Catherine Creek as a remote forested camping ground were correct except the road has crept closer to the camp ground in the ensuing years. We had a couple of spots to choose from, and we’re talking Saturday night, Mining Days in Baker City, no hotels with a vacancy. We followed a spectacular lightening storm leaving Baker, a light rain fell as we put up the tent. Jim dealt with outside chores and I filled the air mattress with the electric pump, made the bed with fitted sheets (any wonder the car is stuffed?). In my five minutes of dog tending, Jim climbed into bed and was asleep. I was keyed up from the day. It was pleasant to kick back with rain-freshened air, Molly snoring on left, Jim snoring on right, the very occasional car driving by.
Time to ponder the day and life in general. Like how smart are flannel sheets on a 95 degree night when one is in the throes of menopause? Wonder if there’s enough room in the car to stuff in a percale set? I was weighing the differences when I heard a car approaching, fast, horn honking the length of the campground.
Change of thought process: I reflect on kids out here in rural America whose most creative source of fun at night is speeding by the local campground and honking car horns to disturb the sleep of hapless campers. Kapow, Kapow, Kapow, Kapow.
I reflect on rural kids having nothing better to do than toss fireworks at the local campground in the wee hours. Jim woke up at this point and informed me that was automatic weapons fire.
Hmmm. Gonna be a restless night at Catherine Creek.
My station wagon this trip was filled with camping gear (no baby equipment), a teeny space for Molly’s dog bed squished on top a box of supplies, barely enough room for her to stand without hitting her head on the ceiling. Good thing she’s old and doesn’t want to stand up that much and in any event has very short legs. The air circulation in the car was disturbed, the down side of this arrangement. Molly’s dog-breath kept fouling my air space until I figured out how to blow the air conditioned air up onto the ceiling and send that smell into the back of the car (I think that’s where it went, maybe Jim got it). Eck.
My memories of Catherine Creek as a remote forested camping ground were correct except the road has crept closer to the camp ground in the ensuing years. We had a couple of spots to choose from, and we’re talking Saturday night, Mining Days in Baker City, no hotels with a vacancy. We followed a spectacular lightening storm leaving Baker, a light rain fell as we put up the tent. Jim dealt with outside chores and I filled the air mattress with the electric pump, made the bed with fitted sheets (any wonder the car is stuffed?). In my five minutes of dog tending, Jim climbed into bed and was asleep. I was keyed up from the day. It was pleasant to kick back with rain-freshened air, Molly snoring on left, Jim snoring on right, the very occasional car driving by.
Time to ponder the day and life in general. Like how smart are flannel sheets on a 95 degree night when one is in the throes of menopause? Wonder if there’s enough room in the car to stuff in a percale set? I was weighing the differences when I heard a car approaching, fast, horn honking the length of the campground.
Change of thought process: I reflect on kids out here in rural America whose most creative source of fun at night is speeding by the local campground and honking car horns to disturb the sleep of hapless campers. Kapow, Kapow, Kapow, Kapow.
I reflect on rural kids having nothing better to do than toss fireworks at the local campground in the wee hours. Jim woke up at this point and informed me that was automatic weapons fire.
Hmmm. Gonna be a restless night at Catherine Creek.
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