Let me just say right now that this camping trip was actually several weeks ago. The trauma has finally borne catharsis. Let me also say that this post is a collaborative effort. My lovely wife, whose hobbies include shoe shopping, Internet surfing and writing complaint letters, has contributed quite a bit to this post. I know what you're thinking. It couldn't have been that bad. Well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions and house-tents.
I've had a huge 3-room tent since I was in college, and have been on many camping trips with it. I've been itching to put it to use since my last camping trip with Colin. Last year, since it was too hot for camping, I got the bug and convinced D to let us purchase fishing gear for the kids. Of course, in addition to the pink princess fishing pole and chair, there was a pink princess tent we came across at one point that D insisted she just had to have to match the set. One weekend evening, while we were out on the front porch having a drink, she decided she'd like to try to go camping, to do something new and adventurous. She's been rather down recently and has been looking for ways to kick-start a turning point for the better. So, we put out the APB on Facebook for tag-alongs: of course Didi was down. Unfortunately, her kiddo wouldn't be with her that weekend and her fiance would be out of town, so she put out the APB to her friends, too.
We made a plan for fishing. We checked the weather. It was slated to be gorgeous, in the 80's - a little warm, but not entirely unbearable with clear, cool nights perfect for stargazing. Didi had a favorite spot she wanted to snag at Pace Bend Park. We packed up on a Friday night and headed out Saturday mid-morning. I had said I wanted to be out of the house early, but realistically knew I probably couldn't drag my family out of the house until noon. I was surprised we got out well before then. There was a chance D would have to do a party in San Marcos on the way up, so she packed up her B.O.D. just in case. It turned out the hostess wanted to reschedule, so we were able to take our time picking up last-minute provisions in New Braunfels.
When we arrived at the camp site, I watched the look on my wife's face change from tepidly excited ("I know there's no wifi, but you're sure there's cell phone service?") to horrified. We ambled through knee-high burrs and past a very large anthill. There were no ants as we passed, so we hopefully assumed it was abandoned. We got our gear out and pitched our tents. The stickers were high enough and sharp enough to make this a real issue. While the floors of the tents were made to be tough, our favorite spot had somehow turned into Jurassic Park, where there are razors growing off the sticker plants instead of actual grass. Our children arrived in flip-flops but in my haste to ensure everything was packed to prevent D from backing out last-minute due to stress, I had overlooked that Colin's shoes were more like foot puppets with a hole so big in the bottom of one it kept out neither moisture, bugs, nor burrs. Apparently he uses them as brakes for his scooter... My wife was not a happy camper at this point, but as someone suggested beer and fishing: she was up for that.
Unfortunately, the drought of the past year had not been kind to Lake Travis. The spot we fished in last time we were here had dried up, grown over with grass. We decided to pack up into Didi's truck (the girls in the cab and Colin and I in the back with the gear - which Colin LOVED) and headed about a quarter mile up the road to last year's fishing spot. It was all dry. And rocky. There was a steep cliff where a lake shore had once been. OK, back in the truck!
Now, my wife is the kind of person that hates regrets. As such, she tends to follow traffic laws and basic safety rules pretty closely, because she would hate to be like the "stupid people" she rants about that get hurt because they fail to put on a seat belt or follow the rules of the road. She has this great fear about herself or anyone in our family being Darwined off. She's also been known to get a little dramatic about things at times. Well, Didi knew of another place we could try fishing, which involved doing a little canyon crawling in her pickup due to the dried-up lake. Between the less than easy-going ride through the dried out lakebed and Clara happily bopping on Didi's bongo drums, which we learned shortly after had a black widow spider living inside of them that Didi can't seem to coax out, I was sure my wife was about to go ballistic on one of her best friends and force us all to walk back to the camp site if it weren't for all the nature.
We arrived at the hopeful fishing spot, complete with a rocky edge. D, of course, worried that the children would fall off a rock and into the water. She nearly fell herself when she saw the size of the jumping spiders bouncing around the rocks. But they were harmless and left us alone while we cast some lines in the water. I taught Colin how to bait a hook with night crawlers and we guided Clara on proper casting. Colin decided to hop down a few rocks and get his feet in the water, about scared his mother half to death. We didn't catch anything, but the kids had a good time. Between all the wind, the boats further out and the fishing tournament earlier in the day, the fish were plenty spooked. So the girls piled back in the truck while I taught Colin how to hang on to a truck bed while going over mini canyons.
Back at the camp site, the fire ants had decided to go foraging. I have to admit, these were the biggest damned fire ants I'd ever seen. Nearly the length of dimes. In addition to the fire ants, the campground was full of these giant green and red crickets crawling all over everything, and flying around. They would have made good bait, if we could have found good fishing. It's at this point D had to go to the bathroom. I pointed out the one across the road. OK, maybe bathroom isn't the best term for it. More like dual-well outhouse. When she was young, she encountered one of these at a campsite while in the Girl Scouts. She was unable to allow herself to do any business on that trip and the next morning, while washing her metal collapsible dishes with bottled water, she reached critical mass in front of all the other 9 yr old girls while wearing blue spandex bike shorts ("Hey, it was 1989!" -D) and subsequently was brought to tears and wet socks. She quit the Girl Scouts the next day and tried to avoid any emotional attachments to any of the other girls that were there that day. She has not been camping without a camper or cabin since.
Don't worry, the story was used with permission... :P
So, seeing a hole in the ground with a plastic toilet seat sitting precariously on top with maggots and flies visibly at the bottom, in an open room with no stall door and that unmistakable "outhouse in the Texas heat" smell, she immediately walked back and demanded I take her back to civilization to find plumbing.
We ended up at an H-E-B several miles up the road. She searched unsuccessfully for a training potty for her to use instead of the outhouse. We did, however, get to sample some wine from this H-E-B and get a few extra stacks of firewood. I promised her I would drive her back to the truck stop outside the park entrance the next time she had to go. She did later use a toilet tree after we'd had too much to drink. Clara had no problem doing this, but my wife found incredibly difficult, especially after having a few. Eventually I found out in the middle of the night she was able to use the demon outhouse because she'd fallen and injured her rear end on some stickers and couldn't see the bugs at the bottom in the total darkness.
Finally, we decided to make the best of it. While D used her phone to check the weather and let us know it was slated to be fair and perfect for stargazing, I built a fire and cooked us up some hot dogs at sunset. Didi's friends started to show up with even more beer. Oh, the beer. We had a pretty decent time eating, making S'mores and telling stories and relaxing, listening to various tunes and keeping our feet off the ground to keep the giant fire ants from cutting them off at the ankles and carrying them off.
As night fell, we got a bit creative with the music and the lanterns - raver style under the supermoon! I haven't danced like that in ages and was exhausted. As we started to get the kids ready for bed we realized the burrs poked holes in the tents and some of the giant bugs had managed to get inside the tents. I was very hesitant to tell my wife, who has an overall fear of a bug in any orifice. I think her parents let her watch Wrath of Kahn at a very early age...
It wasn't long before moths the size of small birds descended on the camp, walking sticks the size of, well, walking sticks crawled on the table, and some sort of giant unfortunate something landed on my wife's forehead. She frantically smacked it, managing to hit it only on the down stroke, sending the poor beast in to her shirt. D jumped out of her chair screaming, and ripped her shirt Hulk style. It took a while and many beers to calm her down after that.
After a while, Colin says, "It looks like it's going to rain." It was indeed a bit more than partly cloudy, and the wind had picked up. "It's not going to rain," my wife scolded, showing him the current weather report on her phone, "Look! 0% chance of precipitation." It's at that point the raindrops started to fall. We huddled under the gazebo as the sprinkle turned into a downpour. Attempting to relieve it of pressure, I would occasionally lift the center of the tarp, causing water to drain off the side. At one point, I'm not sure who exactly did it (it could have been me, possibly Colin), someone did this while D was sitting a bit too close to the edge, sending a waterfall down her back.
By this time, we realized that the tents were not only full of bugs but also full of water. I'd find out the next morning that the burrs had torn holes in the side and bottom of the tent. Colin had forgotten to attach the rain guard to his and was getting rained on. While his sister slept in the van, he decided at first to try to make the best of it in his tent under a tarp as a blanket, later deciding to retreat to the relative dryness of the van. A tired, wet, cranky, and traumatized D also sought refuge from the storm in the van, leaning back the front seat. I stayed up a bit more, but was relatively worn out after all the adventure and it wasn't long before I retired to the van myself in the pouring rain and thunder. One big happy family sleeping in a van down by the river.
We emerged from the van to a still-drizzling morning, a whole new set of giant bugs, but the same familiar crickets. At least the ants were gone. My tent was in shambles, support poles snapped and canopy torn beyond repair and full of water and insects - destroyed by the rain and wind. The wind had taken out the tarp. Everything was soaked. Sadly, I put it out of its misery in a nearby dumpster, along with a few other things that would only mold. Those things we felt we could get sufficiently dry were packed in the van before making a trip to the truck stop for restrooms and gas station donuts, coffee and chocolate milk.
Once at home, we washed the clothes and set out things to dry, finding more than a few stowaway creepy crawlies. I could tell each time one was discovered from my wife's screaming. Ants had managed to get in the van as well as tons of mud. It smelled like musty Jurassic vacation failure. Actually, it still does. I need to vacuum it out and re-set the Stow & Go seats. Finally, we were able to enjoy the best thing about camping: the long, hot shower, after which we settled in for a nice, long nap in clean sheets once the pillows had tumbled in the dryer for a while.
Never let it be said our family trips are boring. At least we can laugh about it now, but it might be some time before we do that again...
