We chose a campround a little out farther than last time. It's about an hour into Oklahoma on the Kiamachi River. It took us about 3 hours to get there, but it was mostly really pretty backwoods roads. When we got there, the groundskeeper greeted us on a 4-wheeler. We told him we were looking for a remote spot and he led us to the farthest spot on the property, which was a circular area down a steeply-graded path. The Expedition handled the terrain like a champ and we settled in. The site was surrounded on three sides by a hill and had river access down a steep bank on the other side.
There was also a small path that led down to a muddy sandy private "beach" area that was just big enough for the kids to get their feet wet and "fish" with their new poles. They didn't have hooks on the end, but rather a plastic floater. They were content to throw their lines out and reel them in - over and over and over and over. Because that's the fun part of fishing anyway, right? They don't want to actually wait to catch anything and I wasn't prepared to filet anything they caught anyway.
And it was quiet! It was so quiet. Walter unpacked the truck enough to get the tent set up, a fire going and a few chairs set up. Then I relaxed on our "beach" with the kids and their fishing poles while he threw a couple steaks over the fire. After dinner, we sat down by the river until it got dark. When it started getting a little darker and the frogs started chirping, we went back up the hill, threw another log on the fire, and made s'mores over the still-hot coals. (Because you can't have a campfire withough s'mores!)
When we camped at Turner Falls last year, the first night was really nice, but overall, I had a horrible time. After the whole park filled up and became overcrowded, loud, and bright, we decided that camping on Labor Day was a bad idea. It was seriously like a Cinco de Mayo parade through our camp area for three days. People have no boundaries! They tromped right through where we were sitting to get to the water, and I kept a few of them from taking off with our gear and food! If we ever go back there, it will be in the middle of the week on a non-holiday. But we probably won't go back. This trip, we just kept saying how much better this place was. It was quiet. It was secluded. We never saw another person until we went back up the hill we came down. We felt secure leaving our campsite to go hiking and exploring.
After we convinced the kids to lay down with their glow sticks in the tent and try to fall asleep, Walter and I sat by the fire. We reallly had better intentions to stay up longer, but the truth is we were exhausted. At least I was after packing up the car, driving several hours, and setting up camp. We looked at the full moon and Walter finished his mug-o-beer and we joined the kids.
I have a love affair with my sleeping bag. We got matching ones as a wedding gift and just opened them last year. But they're real heavy duty and warm, which is good because 50 degrees is really too cold for me to sleep otherwise. The crickets and frogs, out in the wilderness, were loud! It was white noise to me and was somewhat soothing. But he had a hard time sleeping through it. Walter came up with this whole dubbed conversation that they must have about how they start and stop croaking. What kept me up more than the frogs was the light of the moon. It was so bright that I woke up several times thinking it was twilight and almost time to wake up. Despite waking up several times, I actually slept great. Walter, on the other hand, not so much. At some point, I realized that both kids had crawled into his sleeping bag with him to keep warm! I invited Chloe into my bag, but woke up again to find her back in with Daddy and Roman.
When the sun finally did start shining early through the trees, Walter started another fire on top of the still-hot ashes from the night before. He got the coffee going in the percolater and we had egg and bacon tortilla wraps for breakfast. One of my favorite parts of camping is the early morning quietness, sipping rustic coffee, and watching the woods come to life. The sun rising over the tall tree tops and the birds coming out to catch the morning bugs by the water. Even the chilly air was pleasant with a hoodie and the fire. We had a lazy morning by the fire and by the river. The kids practiced casting their fishing lines off the high ledge of the river bank. Walter bought a pair of binoculars and we spied eagles and vultures and hawks in the distant treetops on the opposite bank.
After our breakfast had sufficiently settled, we decided to go for a walk and got up toward the main gate. We decided to rent canoes and see what was up the river. The groundskeeper said he even forgot we were even there and towed a couple canoes down to the riverbank for us. The bank was a rocky shallow where people were already panning for gold. Walter and I sat in the back of our canoes, each with a kid in front. We didn't paddle far before getting to a spot where a sandbar island quickened the flow of water against which we both struggled to conquor. Walter muscled through it and waited for me upstream, but the current was too strong. My lifejacket was restrictive and my sweater made me hot as I struggled and I just got more and more frustrated. I managed to land on the bank of the sandbar, got out, and Walter helped me pull the craft over the sand and rocks to a calm place to re-launch. I removed my life vest, shed my jacket, put the vest back on and took a few deep cleansing breaths before we continued.
But after that it was beautiful and serene and peaceful. It was perfectly perfect.
The campground owners had several dogs on the property, most of which were used to the coming and going of traveling campers and lazily surveyed everything from a large patch of grass. A couple of them had followed the groundskeeper down to the river when he brought our canoes down. They liked the chilly water and after we had passed the sandbar, I noticed one of them had followed us. He paddled across the river and was trotting along the bank beside us. When his path got cut off, he jumped in the water, swam around the obstacle, hopped back on shore, and continued to trot along as we paddled upstream. The water grew calmer as we noticed it getting deeper.
Eventually, we couldn't touch the bottom with our paddles anymore. The dog was still there along side us. We paused here and there to take in the view and the sky and the breeze and the quietness. The water got deeper and the dog was still there. He jumped in at one point and doggie-paddled along the bank for quite a way, as there was really no access to get back on dry land. I thought, "This dumb dog is going to drown trying to keep up with us." So, I turned around and led the dog back to a place where he could get on land. I shoved the nose of the boat up on the shore and let him jump in the front of my canoe with Chloe.
Of course, the dog was sopping wet and did a big burly shake and sprayed us with muddy water, but Chloe thought that was hilarious. She loved on him and talked to him the whole rest of the way.
After a while, she said, "Mommy, I thought of a name for the dog, " as if she thought we were going to keep him.
"What's that, sweetie?" I replied.
"Pretty Puppy, " she said. I smiled, because I was pretty sure that Pretty Puppy was a boy. I laughed a little and then she continued, "But I know what Daddy would name him."
"What would Daddy name him?" I asked.
"Doggie Go Home."
I laughed so hard! So, for the rest of the ride, Doggie Go Home sat with Chloe observing the shoreline. He was actually a really good dog. At one point, he started to growl at something on the shore. I don't know if it was an animal or a stranger, but he definitely wanted to warn us of something suspicious, so I quickened my pace a little.
We made it easily back through the swift current at the sandbar and pulled up on shore. Doggie Go Home hopped out of the canoe and waited for us as we shed our vests and pulled the boats up farther in the sand. Doggie Go Home actually followed us all the way back along the hike to our campsite. I put out some fresh water for him, but he preferred to drink the water down at the river. Walter fed him some of the beef jerkey he was snacking on and I knew this dog would never leave us now.
I kicked back in the hammock and watched the eagles soaring overhead. They hypnotically circled in a thermal right above me. I pointed them out to Roman. "Look, buddy, at the birds straight up there," I said, pointing. But, of course, in typical boyish Roman fashion, he took note and commented, "They gonna poop on us."
Walter decided to take the kids on an "adventure" which was actually code for looking for kindling for the fire. Doggie Go Home curled up on the ground by my feet and we dozed for several minutes. Suddenly, Doggie Go Gome jumped up and started growling at something on the top of the hill. Walter and the kids appeared into sight and he sat down whe he realized they were friendly. Good dog. I gave him the last of my white cheddar popcorn. After lunch, we decided to go out for another canoe ride and Doggie Go Home followed us as we walked. Some new campers were moving in to one of the cabins we passed on the trail. He went to go sniff them and say hi, but never caught back up with us. "Why does that make me a little sad? Why am I sad that someone else's dog left us?" I said.
On the second ride out, I didn't even try to tackle the current by the sandbar; I just pulled up to the sand and dragged the canoe to the other side. This time, we switched passengers and I had Roman with me. The kids brought their fishing poles and when we got as far upstream as we were going to go, we leisurely let the canoes float back downstream. The kids cast their fishing poles. Walter took off his shoes, put his feet up, and leaned back in his canoe with his paddle across his lap. The sun had warmed things up quite a bit by that point and I followed suit.
As we floated downstream, I pointed out to Roman some of the sights that Chloe and I had spotted that morning. There was a huge tree trunk with no limbs that had bunches of holes borne into it by woodpeckers or some other kind of birds. You could see large ones and small ones and very colorful ones flying in and out of the various crevices. Another large log had found its way to the bottom of the river and was barely visible through the depth of the water. The kids agreed that it was a dead alligator and not a log.
After we returned to shore again, we wandered around the rocky banks in the ankle-deep water. The kids were curious about the people panning for gold. Chloe kept picking up large pebbles asking if it was gold.
After dinner that night, we asked Roman what his favorite part of camping was. He said, "Poking the fire and fishing." Chloe took a while to warm up to the idea of camping, though. At some point, a HUGE hornet was attracted to our purple gatorade. I could understand her anxiety, but really, that was THE ONLY bug we saw the whole time. It was still too early for the other critters to be out of hibernation. And she had a hard time squatting by a tree, so we had to make several long walks to the port-a-potty with her. And everyone we passed who asked if she was having a good time, she made sure to tell them she didn't like all the bugs (which there were none and she got some funny looks). But by the end of the trip, she was whining that she didn't want to leave. Walter's favorite part of camping is eating steak on the fire and drinking beer out of his big wooden mug. My favorite is s'mores and campfire coffee. And it's not like we can't do that at home, but being out in the woods just somehow makes it better.
At some point when we were relaxing by the water, Walter said, "You know why I love you?"
"Why," I asked.
"Because you're the camping nazi," he replied.
"Whaat!!?"
"Well, you know, most girls might agree to go camping with their husbands and play along like they were having a fun time. None of them actually orchestrate the trip," he elaborated. "None of them can claim it was their idea and then execute it."
I guess that is kind of true, I thought. All he had to do was help with the heavy lifting and cook steak. I guess I am the camping nazi.
So, a few years ago, Walter and some coworkers somehow got on this kick obsession with Bigfoot. They somehow found out that there have been lots of sightings in Oklahoma and wanted to plan a sasquach hunting trip. And every time we drive through the Arbuckles on our way to Kansas, Walter always makes mention of it. So naturally, when we saw this sign hanging at the campground common area, we couldn't drive away without snapping a photo.
I had my camera going the whole time. Click below to see the whole slideshow.
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