Photographer Drew Perine and I have backpacked together over some of Washington’s most scenic terrain the past six years, and we thought it was about time we introduced this activity to our sons.
So, on a warm afternoon, my 9-year-old son, Alex, and Drew’s 16-year-old son, Zach, headed off on what was supposed to be a four-day, 17-mile trip on the coast from Cape Alava north to the Point of Arches.
The plan was for the kids to be dazzled by the mystic sight of sea stacks veiled in fog and the sound of bellowing sea lions. It would reinforce one of life’s most important lessons: There are often rewards for those who do hard things. And, certainly, the boys would fall in love with an activity we could do together the rest of our lives.
That’s not exactly how things went.
We forgot that first backpacking trips have a mind of their own.
Heavy backpacks are uncomfortable, freeze-dried food is an acquired taste and pesky but relatively harmless wildlife can leave those with vivid imaginations shaking in their sleeping bags.
In the end, we abbreviated our hike to a 7-mile, one-night out-and-back trip to Cape Alava, then we headed south for some car camping and a day hike on Rialto Beach.
It might not have been the way we planned it, but at least the kids were able to learn one of the coolest things about backpacking. Even when seemingly everything goes wrong, the trips are always memorable.
NATURE’S NINJAS
Ranger Pablo McLoud warned us about the raccoons at Cape Alava.
“These aren’t your ordinary raccoons,” said McLoud ominously, peering intently over the top of his glasses. “These are mutant, Ninja-freak, Steven Spielberg-type raccoons. They totally associate campsites with food. And they like all the major food groups – Hostess, Frito Lay, Heinz. We’ve had people watch all their stuff march into the woods in the paws of raccoons.”
“Uh-huh, yeah sure, we got it,” we said, not really paying close attention, certain we’d heard it all before. I was more intrigued by Pablo’s nice tan and the colored beads of his necklace.
Well, the first rule of backpacking is never ignore anything the ranger tells you. It’s like laughing off a curse laid down by the gypsy with the giant wart on her nose. You will live to regret it.
They descended upon us as soon as dusk darkened into night. Pairs of eyes glowed in the woods just past our campsite. Periodically we would hear the padding of little paws or a rustling around the sealed bear canisters where our food was stashed.
It was tolerable for awhile. Then the vicious, strangulated snarling started. It sounded like tomcats fighting over a female in heat. Our sons were immediately freaked out.
“Go away,” said Craig, slapping the side of his tent.
“Skraaakreeeeeshckawickakaresheeedaaak,” replied the raccoons.
My son, bug-eyed, and clearly unnerved, said, “All right, that’s it, we’re outta here.”
“Zach, we can’t leave,” I said. “It’s pitch dark. The boardwalks we used to get down here are soaking wet and we’ll injure ourselves getting out.”
“Well, we’ll die if we stay here.”
“You’re being overdramatic.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Do you really think if the raccoons attacked I would let them win?”
“You wouldn’t have a choice. They would rip your face off.”
And so it went until the raccoons’ caterwauling subsided. We got to sleep around 1 a.m. and woke up the next morning with faces intact.
– Drew Perine
MALE BONDING
Great knots of giant trees bleached white by the sea and sun lay strewn along the length of Rialto Beach. The boys scampered across the dinosaur bones of a Douglas fir, its roots jutting upward over the beach. They hung on the end and watched the waves unfurl beneath them in ribbons of foam.
Craig and I joined them. It was irresistible. There are certain activities in life that will unite males of any age. Throwing rocks, farting, playing on piles of logs – none of these will ever fall into the generation gap.
– Drew Perine
THE EVIL TYRANT
Here I am whittling a piece of wood into a mushroom. Some may ask why I would risk bruising my delicate fingers to turn a large brick of western red cedar into a mushroom I will eventually toss back into the woods?
Well, the answer is simple: I have nothing better to do.
Two days ago, I was dragged away from my three true loves: my television, my Xbox and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. I was kidnapped by an evil tyrant with known aliases, but I’ll refer to him as “Dad.”
He smuggled me away in the wee hours of the morning (9 a.m.), drove six hours to this trail at Lake Ozette and insisted I carry a backpack that weighed as much as a small child down slippery boardwalk steps to a beach at Cape Alava.
After spending the night without a campfire and almost being mauled by rabid raccoons, I tried to escape the next day by calling my mother. I found her response less than satisfying: “Just stick it out, you’ll be fine,” she said.
Exactly what I didn’t want to hear. Isn’t a mother supposed to be warm and comforting and come to my rescue?
Tonight when I attempt to get some sleep laying on rocks (my dad gave me a foam pad and hogged the air mattress), my motivation for survival will be returning home to a large bowl of Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby and the semi-finals of “America’s Got Talent.”
– Zach Perine
STROGANOFF HEAVEN
If all freeze-dried food was as good as beef stroganoff I would go backpacking almost every day, but most of it is gross.
I thought beef stroganoff was going to be one of the worst meals I had in a long time. My dad made it by pouring boiling water into a bag. When he gave me some it looked like somebody puked in my cup.
But it tasted like heaven.
I think the raccoons that were trying to steal our food would have liked the beef stroganoff if they knew how to boil water.
The beef stroganoff wasn’t as good as eating at a restaurant but it was like something my mom would make. My mom is a good cook but my dad says he is better.
I also liked turkey jerky and GORP.
My dad says GORP means Good Old Raisins and Peanuts. I think raisins are good but I don’t like nuts. So I just ate the raisins and M&M’s and it was much better. I wonder why there isn’t an ‘M’ in GORP?
The food I didn’t like was the rice and beans and Cherry Blast. My dad and Mr. Drew made these by pouring water into bags too, so I thought it was going to be as good as the beef stroganoff.
But the rice and beans just tasted like somebody put a bunch of stuff together and said “Hey, let’s eat this.”
I was excited about the Cherry Blast because it was a dessert. Zach said it tasted like “warm cough syrup.” If that means it’s gross, then I agree. I had one bite and gave the rest to my dad. My dad will eat anything.
I want to go backpacking again because it was fun playing with Zach and my dad, but mostly Zach. But next time we are only eating beef stroganoff.
– Alex Hill
SINGED EGO
The only thing that went up in flames on the first night of our trip was my pride.
As we set up camp at Cape Alava, I went to work starting a fire so we could cook dinner.
No problem. When I was a kid, my dad used to challenge me to start campfires with one match and no paper. I was ready to show off this skill for my son, Alex.
All I needed was wood, but as I combed the beach I could only find large, soaked logs.
My ego was about to take major hit right in front of my son.
I thought I got lucky when I stumbled across an old beach fire and found one half-burnt piece of wood. But as I picked up the still smoldering log, I noticed it was still a little moist. That’s when I remembered how ranger Pablo McLoud tells backpackers to put out fires: “Just gather around for a group pee.”
Ouch.
But I was desperate, so I turned my nose and hauled the pee log back to camp.
As I struggled, Alex and Zach quickly lost interest and headed off to play on the beach. And it did not go unnoticed by any of us that a group of teenagers who beat us to the few scraps of dry wood had a large fire crackling in the neighboring camp.
After almost an hour, the sun going down and the boys clearly hungry, Drew went to give them a status report: “Obviously, we’re having a little trouble.”
“Maybe you should go ask those teenagers,” Zach said. “They don’t seem to be having any problems.”
Ouch.
I broke out my camp stove and cooked some freeze-dried meals, hoping the corn-on-the-cob and the chicken mango sausage would save until the second night. As I slid the four ears of corn into Alex’s pack the next morning he gave me an inquisitive look.
“Why do I have to carry the corn again,” he said. “You’re the one who couldn’t start a fire.”
Ouch.
– Craig Hill
