Angels in Camouflage

Camping, opal mining, natural springs, mountains, hiking and hot food cooked over a camp stove – words that dreams are made of connoting relaxation, warmth and well-being. Such were our feelings as we set out last September for a 2 week/3000 mile road trip through southern Washington, Oregon, northern Nevada and the California coast. While our dreams might ultimately be fulfilled, surprises and guests (welcome and unwelcome) were in the offing.

The first few nights were spent in a variety of camping locations, fairly remote and “rustic”, speaking euphemistically. At one of the Forestry campsites that we arrived at very late at night (read that “very dark”), we found an awe-inspiring sign the next morning that cautioned us to beware of the cougars. Since we were, literally, the only people in this enormous campground and we were, again literally, dozens of miles from any habitation, I must admit to being relieved that I had not seen the sign the night before in the quiet darkness but rather during the light of the supposedly safe day. And yet, cougars were not going to be the tool of choice for the Universe to allow us to experience an angelic apparition. No, no, we had a much more exciting, unexpected adventure awaiting us right around the next corner or, should I say, round the next lake.

Having finished a circumnavigation of mystically blue Crater Lake, we decided to head down highway 97 toward a spot on the map that had the ubiquitous little tent sign alleging the presence of a campground. These little road atlas signposts had been relatively “on the spot” and though this one looked like it might include quite a bit of off-road travel, we decided to head for it. We had become very adept at erecting our tent and setting up camp in the dark. Intrepid campers we were.

Down Hwy 97, past a small campground that looked more like a screenshot out of the movie “Deliverance” then a place to sleep and across Crater Lake Highway, we hit Seven Mile Creek and the expansive vastness of the valley through which it runs. Our targeted destination was on the other side of the valley in the sequestered forestlands of the surrounding foothills. Down Nicholson Road we traveled, following signposts and, to the best of our ability, the map. We missed the fact that two roads met at a jog and bore off in the wrong direction until we were quite far through the valley. With nothing left to do but retrace our steps, we found our navigational error, corrected it and continued back across what was by this time feeling like much more than seven miles.

Arriving, finally, at the entrance to the forest, seeing the Forest Service road signs and what was serving as a “welcome” sign, we felt secure that we were on the right path. I imagine that right about now, the angelic realm was putting out a 911 call for our future experiences. We were blissfully unaware, tired and longing for flat, open ground on which to collapse.

Following the Forest Service road numbers was not an issue. They were clearly marked and, according to our ever-present silent guide – our map, we were to head down road 3384 and we would be there even though road 3384 ended and then we would be somewhere that no one felt required numbering. I must admit that this gave me a bit of apprehension, i.e. we are going “no where”. Yet, we followed the road signs studiously, felt our good natures slipping a bit and maintained driving while navigating through over-hanging brush, dirt, trees and semi-regular signposts. After about an hour of this travail (whoops, travel), we had to admit, albeit brusquely, that we did not know where we were. At this point, we would take anything that resembled solid, flat ground. We simply wanted to sleep.

It was just about at this time that we saw a large opening where the road ended. It looked like a quarry of some sort and it was flat, unoccupied and dry. Happy, happier, happiest – we pulled out the tent, blew up the air mattress, threw the blankets down and were asleep in minutes not caring where we were so long as we could finally stop and rest. Pancho, our 90- pound watchdog, took up guard duty in front of the tent and the night slipped away under a myriad of stars filling the Milky Way so distinctly overhead….[Click Here To Continue Reading]