Tumblings - My Other Blog

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History of SPam Camping--Part 1

(SPam is Sam and Pam spliced together, not the pink mystery meat.)

Sunrise at campground in Island Park, Idaho

I LOVE camping! I love cooking over wood coals or charcoal while camping. Cooking is my universal love language, and outdoor cooking is a fun way to express that love.

Chili simmering on wood coals
Schroon River campout in Warrensburg, NY

Have you noticed? Campout food tastes better. It’s a fact. Maybe it’s the fresh, clear air or the swimming, boating, and hiking making you hungry. Or maybe it’s just that you’re happy to be out in the woods away from all the stresses and demands of life. I don’t know. It just tastes better.

Gluten free corn dogs
Campout on Schroon River in Warrensburg, NY

Where did my love for camping and cooking outdoors come from?

Sam’s brother Dan and his wife and children went camping last weekend, and it was pointed out that Dan didn’t have much experience with camping. The family he grew up in, which is the same family my husband grew up in, didn’t go camping. 

I thought a little more and remembered that the family I grew up in didn’t go camping either. I didn’t get my love for camping from childhood camping trips. So where had it come from?

Then, I remembered. I can picture myself standing near a campfire in the woods with adults and girls my age standing or sitting nearby. I was at Young Women Camp, and I was 14 years old. The church we belong to (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) organizes a weeklong camping experience for girls age twelve to seventeen. Each age level is required to work on certification requirements in camping and survival skills and in testimony building as well. I LOVED Young Women Camp! 

 Hot dog & cheese pies
Schroon River campout
Warrensburg, NY

It was, and is, common for the 15-year-old girls to camp for a night or two away from the main body of campers. This particular year, I was waiting with the rest of the campers and our leaders for these girls to return from their off-site campout.

Fried potato slices
Schroon River campout
Warrensburg, NY

My memory is a little foggy on this point. As I recall, we had had a dutch oven cake cooking contest the evening before. The 15-year-olds had missed out on it, and I thought it would be cool to bake them a cake in celebration of their return and having survived the ‘wilderness’. With encouragement from the adult leaders, I worked at making a cake that could be frosted and wasn’t burnt. When it was cooked, cooled, and frosted, I decorated it with M&Ms. I still remember the feeling of awe and excitement that I had cooked an edible cake over a fire. The surge of “I can do this!” is still palpable today.

Thus began my love for camping and for cooking outdoors.

Elizabeth Engaged

Daughter Elizabeth is engaged to be married on October 8, 2016 in our Mormon temple near Boston, Massachusetts. Liz and Tyson Benard have been exclusive for over a year, and many family members have wondered what was taking so long. But we supported their desire to take their time and move forward when they felt the time was right.

One afternoon during our camp-out in Island Park, ID in July, I was busy preparing for the evening meal and walked behind our pop-up to use the water spigot to rinse my hands. I saw that Sam and Tyson were talking as they worked together to change two of the pop-up tires. As soon as I saw them together, I knew that Tyson was asking for Liz’s hand in marriage. A week later, we got the news that Tyson had proposed.

And the fun begins!

Some mothers-of-the-bride may blanch at the thought of pulling off a wedding and open house in less than two months, but you can’t scare me! Our oldest daughter, Ashley, became engaged at Thanksgiving and was married the day after Christmas.

Now, with Liz living in Provo and me here in New York, most of the planning and strategizing is being done over the phone and with the help of Google Drive. Fortunately Liz has modest plans that all seem doable. It warms my heart that she wants her New York reception to be held BBQ-style in our back yard with hay bales, painted pallets, and white Christmas lights for decoration.

This is not to say that I’m always as cool as an October morning. In fact, I lay awake for two hours last night thinking about details still to be worked out and other things such as the cake and the flowers that Liz and I had not yet discussed. I finally fell back to sleep and was able to catch another two hours after Sam left for work.

I’m capable of ‘hitting the ground running.’ I’ve done it before. But with how busy this summer has been, it’s taking me longer to recover, or maybe I’m reluctant to shrug out of vacation mode and swing back into the fray.

I’m happy and excited for Liz and Tyson. They’ve put time and effort into their relationship and are now ready to celebrate by making eternal commitments to each other. I’m proud of them both.

As I sit here typing at the table in our pop-up, I know I have things left to do today. I’ll finish and post today’s 500 words on my “Happy Empty Nesters” blog. Then I’ll study The Book of Mormon and read a few pages of The Infinite Atonement by Tad R. Callister. After that I’ll start a Google Sheets document and begin entering names of people for Liz to send wedding announcements and invitations to. In 1 ½ hours Sam and Jessica will come back to the campsite from work and the four of us will float in inner tubes down the Schroon River.

Tomorrow I will hit the ground running.

Schroon River Detour

We’re camping this week on a bend in the Schroon River. In fact, looking across the beach from our campsite it looks like a small, serene pond reflecting the rim of green trees in its still surface. Nothing would make one suspect otherwise.

Although I spent most of my childhood summers swimming, boating, and fishing in Schroon Lake, I have not spent much time in or on the Schroon River. Turns out it’s an old river that bends almost back on itself in places.

Last evening, Sam and I kayaked up-river and explored the shallow waterways where the river is near to becoming a bog. I mentioned to Sam about oxbow lakes, which I had learned in middle school were formed by lazy old rivers that wound back on themselves and formed small ponds or lakes. The one we explored yesterday was forming an island instead of a pond.

Just as some of the most interesting road trips include wandering off the beaten path, detouring off the main flow of the river made for a fun adventure. In order to gain entrance, we had to skootch our kayaks through foot-deep water and push into the mud with our paddles. It wasn’t long and we reached water that wasn’t much deeper but deep enough to glide along.

A tree limb sticking at an angle up through the surface of the water had been felled by a beaver’s sharp front teeth. Sam scared off a large blue heron and later bumped a floating log where a turtle the diameter of a dessert plate sunned himself. The turtle’s companion had long since slipped nervously back into the water, but this one seemed determined to stay as long as possible. “How does a turtle climb up on a log like that?” Sam wondered aloud.

“They have claws,” I said.

“Oh.”

Between the beaver's stick and the tenacious turtle, we’d come to the opposite side of the oxbow and had to portage our kayaks in order to continue. This spot is where we first noticed a vivid red flower poking out among the various grasses and weeds on the riverbank. When I first saw it, I thought because of its brilliant color it must be a piece of colorful garbage. How exciting that it was a beautiful flower in a secluded place. Afterward we noticed the flower a few more times but no more than three in each place. Someday I’ll learn its name.

Up to the point where we went off to explore the oxbow we’d been paddling upstream. This took no extra effort as the current’s flow against us was imperceptible. When we came back from our detour to the main flow of the river, we headed downriver, and the current noticeably assisted our progress.

Once back at the “pond” of river in front of our campsite, we paddled to the opposite side where the previous day Jessica had watched something orange drift with the current until it lodged in wet twigs and grass near the opposite bank. It turned out to be a solid plastic toy boat that had no doubt been a child’s beach toy.

Pit-Crew Efficiency

Sam’s and my drive from New York to Utah was not without problems, but they were minor, and we mostly enjoyed listening to books on CD and just being together.

I must mention that we blew a tire on the pop-up—twice! I was driving both times. These blowouts added to the time a few years ago when my Jeep tire came off at 55 mph and rolled away into the highway median at the beginning of a trip to Texas to visit Ashley. 

One could say I have lousy luck with tires. This time the trauma was lessened by the fact that the blowout happened on the vehicle we were towing. Only the loud popping sound alerted me that something had gone wrong. Fortunately I was in the lane next to the median and was able to pull across the end of a "No U-turn" area, which gave us more distance between us and the vehicles speeding past. After switching in the spare tire, we drove to the nearest town big enough to have an auto repair business that carried replacement tires for a pop-up camper. We were on our way again with a brandy new spare just in case we blew another one.

And we did. 

Here are some factors to keep in mind: The state speed limit in New York is 65 mph. The farther west you go, and the more vast scenery and flat the highways, the higher goes the speed limit, topping out at 80 mph in Wyoming. Then imagine two black tires less than two feet in diameter spinning for all they're worth! Some who read this will know of these things and might say, “That’s not enough to blow a tire. They should have held up to that.” Well, they would be right.

The second car repair business we drove into looked as if it was on the edge of an abandoned town. To get to it we had to cross a railroad track. Fine, light brown dust and gravel covered everything, and the building where we would buy a new tire was the same color as the dust. As Sam went in, I watched a pleasant looking woman walk the perimeter of the parking area. I wondered if she was out for a walk. Then I noticed she was watering flowers in large flowerpots. The contrast was striking! I hadn’t seen the colorful flowers or the smiling woman when we drove in. I was too focused on the unwelcoming blandness of the place.  

As it turned out, not only did we get a new tire, but, largely due to Sam’s social nature, we learned that the amount of air recommended on the side of each tire was the maximum. The nice woman’s husband, who owned the establishment, told Sam that 90 psi was too much air for regular use especially at highway speeds in such hot weather. After that, Sam put 70 psi instead of 90 in the tires, and we didn’t have to change any more blown tires. But we were ready with a new spare just in case. We’d even begun to develop a sort of pit-crew efficiency. If we blew another one, we knew exactly what to do.

Two, No, Three Goals Collide

Today I decided to get more serious about my writing and make it a priority to write 500 words six days a week. What got me excited about my goal was that I could write about things that are happening in our lives and share them on this blog!

I've been intending to do more with this blog for quite awhile, but I let myself become distracted. Now I have a great reason. I've found greater motivation.

If you're looking for great writing skills, you'll find a lot here that needs editing. This is intentional. As I'm writing my 500 words, I won't be editing and trying to make my words and sentences nearly perfect. This helps me with another of my goals, which is to just write and not always worry about it being perfect! Wow! Big leap for me.

When summer began, I thought I'd be able to get a lot of writing done, but no. Unexpected things started happening which butted up against planned things, and before I stopped to take a breath, August was almost half over!

Lazy River and Buffalo

Sam and I spent the second half of July in Utah and Idaho. We drove out with our pop-up camper in tow to celebrate our daughter Jessica's graduation from Brigham Young University-Idaho. She wasn't interested in going to graduation. She wanted a family campout and to spend time in Yellowstone National Park. Fun!

Our camping trip ended up including Ashley with her husband, David, and their four children (they live in Ogden, Utah); Elizabeth and her now fiance, Tyson; my sister Tami and her granddaughter, Makayla (Tami and her husband, Chris, live in Blackfoot, Idaho); my sister Lois with her husband Jim and four of their five children (they live in northwestern Oregon). We had a wonderful, fun-filled week.

Me trying to stay afloat,
take pictures, and
keep my phone dry

Sam fully enjoying the lazy part of the lazy river

Our much-loved Aunt Donna (my dad's baby sister) camped at a campground down the road from ours and had brought everything we needed to have the whole family float down the Buffalo River on inflatable rafts. The kids splashed around and played as they went along while most of the adults just tried to stay away from the rocks and drift peacefully downriver.

My grandson M did not appreciate the sulfur smell near
Old Faithful

Buffalo, elk, mule deer, ducks, birds, and maybe some antelope were spotted during our visit to Yellowstone. We visited Old Faithful, saw a mud volcano, and drove around a HUGE lake. At the beginning of our visit, not long after entering the park, we saw a couple moose laying in the grass next to a creek. Neither of them had horns, but they did have park ranger nearby with the light flashing on top of his truck. Most people driving by would have looked at the ranger's flashing light and missed the moose.

One of the buffalo we saw

Once we finally got past the lake, we came to a spot where, as they saying goes, the buffalo roam. We first stopped next to one we noticed on the other side of a creek that ran along next to the road. After we got out of the truck, we noticed another one. As we were getting ready to move on, one of them favored us with his version of a dog rolling around in the dirt. It was comical to see such a large animal roll on its back, kicking up a cloud of dust, with its hoofs showing just above the tall yellow grass as it wiggled and squirmed in the dirt.

Well, that's it for this installment. I've typed almost 600 words in threw in some pictures besides.
Until next time! PJB :-)

The Day We Almost Died Hiking Giant Mountain

GIANT Mountain

Mon. 7 Sept 15

Left home @ 5:50 am

It’s supposed to reach 90 degrees Fahrenheit at home today. Seems like a great day to hike a mountain.

Above are the first five lines I wrote in our hike journal during the ninety-minute car ride from Argyle, New York, where my husband, Sam, and I live, to Keene, New York where we would spend the day hiking Giant Mountain. My naïve thought at the time was that the weather would be much cooler where we were headed, especially once we reached 4,626 feet above sea level at Giant’s peak. But there were two things we didn’t know. One was that more experienced hikers than us have died of heat stroke because they hiked on a hot day. The second thing we didn’t know, when added to the first, could have cost us our lives.

At 7:45 on a hazy late-summer morning with the leaves turning yellow, orange, and red all around us, we signed in at the trailhead and began to hike the Ridge Trail.

The Trailhead and Sign-in

We each carried a backpack with items such as a small first aid kit, a compass, spare socks, and bug spray. We had learned that we needed to bring more water when we ran out during our hike of Cascade and Porter Mountains in April. This time we brought ten (16.9 oz.) water bottles. With this much water, along with a variety of dried fruit, protein snacks, and instant energy gels, we felt confident that we were better prepared this time.

Giant Mountain Summit Marker

We’re sitting at the peak, and we’ve consumed about five bottles of water. Water seems to be much more important than food. We’ve decided we need to bring some fresh fruit next time and maybe less dried fruit and fewer granola bars.

Pam writing in hike journal

The view is beautiful up here. We see tree-covered mountains all around us. The whipping breeze chills our sweat-covered bodies. The elevation was a challenge, especially while climbing and trying to breathe at the same time. I have to admit being up this high is a little frightening. The bottom is a long way down.

Fellow hikers resting and taking in the view

The hike down the mountain became our greatest challenge of the day. Despite the cool breezes at the peak, the descent was hot, much hotter than the climb to the peak. We learned that when the hot sun beats down on long stretches of bare rock, the rock reflects the sun’s rays back up. We felt like two pot roasts in an oven.  

Bare rock with several cairns

Up to this point, we were proud of ourselves for bringing 10 bottles of water. We had frozen some, and the ice water was sublimely refreshing! What we hadn’t factored in was that this was a longer hike and, more importantly, we were going to sweat more due the unseasonably hot weather. The hot sun on the rocks and the longer descent combined to make our five remaining bottles of water barely adequate.

But there was another piece to this puzzle that we didn't understand until two days later when I shared our experience on the mountain with Todd Smith, our fitness trainer. His first question was, “How much did you drink the day before?” I explained that Sunday, the day before our hike, had been a religious fast day. On the first Sunday of each month, Sam and I go without food and drink for two meals and donate to those in need the money we would have spent to buy the food for those meals. We hadn’t had anything to drink until Sunday evening. When we began our hike on Monday, we were already below normal levels of hydration.

The rock where we rested

Part way down the mountain, we left the trail and walked several feet into the trees to sit at the base of a huge boulder where Sam had taken my picture during our ascent that morning. We were almost out of water, and we were both starting to feel weak. Neither of us wanted to eat anything dry, so we chewed several fruit gels to boost our energy. Our fellow hikers passed on the trail as they headed down the mountain. One woman asked if we were okay, and we said we were...but we weren’t.

I suffered more from heat exhaustion and dehydration than from anything else. It was a horrible, helpless feeling. At one point, I started to cry. My legs and body ached so much I didn't want to move. My big toes hurt from being repeatedly jammed into the front of my boots as I struggled downhill. Since I didn't have the strength to lift my foot more than an inch off the ground with each step, I became concerned that I would catch my foot on something and fall. At certain points on the trail that would have sent me tumbling down over the rocks. I noticed that I was light-headed and slightly delirious. I talked to Sam about giant bottles of water, ice cold glasses of orange juice, and Stewart's chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream.

Meanwhile, Sam struggled along behind me in much the same condition. He was bothered more by his inadequate hiking boots. His big toes jammed painfully into the front of his boots with every step. He stopped and re-tightened his laces to see if that would keep his toes back further, but it did little to relieve the pain.

Walking slowly along, leaning heavily on our hiking poles, it struck me that we looked like two senior citizens shuffling along with the help of our walkers.

With a little more than half a mile still to go to the trail-head, we came to a body of water called the Washbowl. Sam helped me sit down on a fallen tree near the water’s edge. He took out our water filtration water bottle--which had saved us from becoming dehydrated on our previous hike--and filled it with pond water. We shared three bottles full, while I prayed to God that the water wouldn’t make us sick.

The Washbowl

We both felt better and started down again with lifted spirits and a little more energy. But it wasn’t long before we slowed again. The final seven-tenths of a mile from the Washbowl to the trail-head seemed to take forever. With painful, geriatric steps, we kept moving through several switchbacks and patch after patch of boulders that we had to climb down and around. It was starting to get dark, and we hadn't brought a flashlight. We needed to be out of the woods before sunset.

Once we reached level ground, we knew we were close. Sam, who was several yards behind me, called out, “Tell me when you see the sign-in box!” It wasn’t long before I spotted it up ahead among the trees. It was a beautiful sight! We were both relieved to be almost to our Jeep.

Once at the Jeep, we guzzled warm water from the large water bottle we’d left there and quickly removed our boots and socks. We drove straight to the nearest Stewart’s Shoppe and bought an extra-large bottle of cold water, a similar sized bottle of Gatorade, a small bottle of pink lemonade for Sam, and a small bottle of orange juice for me. When we got closer to home, we stopped at another Stewart’s for ice cream to celebrate making it out alive.

That night we were both amazed at how much better we felt after drinking all the liquids we bought. In fact, at 9:30 pm, as we were getting ready for bed, we commented to each other that we felt pretty good except for a few sore muscles and several sore toes. Neither of us had to pee in the night nor did we suffer any ill effects the next day.

We give credit to God for our healthy bodies and for getting us through our six-hour ordeal descending Giant Mountain.