Big Sur Camping

Day 1, July 15th, 2005

The last time I went camping, which also was my first time, was so far ago no more than a few pieces of disjointed memory lingers. Gaspe, a car ferry, a roaring bonfire, the cold damp light of dawn. So this was, by all reckoning, a new experience: a weekend of camping along the beautiful coast of Big Sur.

Preparations were no less than hectic. I opted to handle food which I firmly believe now was by far the larger of the three tasks (the other 2 being equipment and location). When Gabe and Steph rang up our bell at the appointed hour, I had barely finished prepping the grub, leaving my personal packing and showering to be done in 5 minutes.

And it turned out food was the most well prepared part of the trip, not tooting my own horn or nothing :p. Gabe's location planning left much to chance and improvisation; even the directions were curiously supplied by sinyee. After a sentimental linger around Steph's old highschool town, Monterey, we spent a few hours twisting around the ghostly gray road of hwy 1. The air was frigid, the going slow, and hopes dimming after passing one full camp after another. At one turn our lights caught a group of weary hikers, setting up tents by the road at a dirt pullover, obviously turned away from camp Kirk Creek, our first choice. Why do we, and these others, give up the comfort of a weekend to brace the elements and live like primitives? Well I suppose the answer is part of the quest.

We turned up the narrow, bumpy hairpins of the dirt track known as Necimental Fergusson. The fog made a turn for the heavier, smothering our headlights into whimpering flickers. Kudos to gabe who gave his all on that treacherous stretch. When we finally surfaced above the fogline, fingers of mountain stood stolid and dark against a bright half moon, the white sea of mist glowed quietly below us, calm and nonchalant. However, as serene as the views were, I was too engrossed in my car sickness to give more than a few glances.

10:30, we rolled into the wooded grounds of Camp Necimental. In a matter of 15 minutes, we had the tents up and beddings down, soon lulled to sleep by the cool night breezes.


Day 2

Streams of clean morning sun, cool air, and the crackle of a fire. That's what I woke up to. Actually, I was woken by gabe and sinyee talking about putting breakfast on the fire. It was amazing how free I felt from the simple act of peeing in the open, watching the dappled sun turn each drop into sparkles. Washing my face in the sharp cold creek while perched on slippery rocks proved equally invigorating.

Breakfast was sizzling in the pan by the time I returned to our fire. We gorged on a hearty meal of sausage, bacon, toast, melons and berries and a very yummy Okinawa sweet potato. Camping? I say nay nay.. picnic!!

Gabe and sinyee left to inquire about more isolated camp spots while Steph and I lazed away time with a hammock and a book. I could feel the day's heat rise around us, presently still held at bay by the trees and water. Two of our camp neighbors were engaged in a sonic battle; #4 exacting revenge upon #5 for arriving camp late and drunk, singing and making a great ruckus until the wee hours of the morning. I had hardly noticed #5's arrival last night but apparently it kept Gabe up all night. I can't say their loud music and the air of hostility didn't disrupt the tranquility I was seeking.

Upon our scouts' return, we packed up camp and went in search of more isolation and adventure. I'd love to say we "marched" out but in reality it was a grinding 5 miles (8km) of car ride down a track that makes the N. Fergusson feel like a 4 lane highway. Our spirits were kept high with glimpses of gleaming green hills and valleys wrapped by white-shrouded coastline.

Cresting a tree-less plateau, we were greeted by an awesome panorama of greens and golds tumbling down the side of the mountain into the pacific ocean, still smothered with its summer blanket. Gaunt figures of tree trunks pierced the landscape in bone white and charcoal black, pointing their gnarly fingers skyward at the cause of their demise. The sun smoldered fiercely.






Just down a short way we parked and made lunch by a grove of shady trees, determined to return to the bluff at night. The salmon/cream-cheese sandwich kept their freshness well, enlivened by sprits from a lemon. But the bag of salad greens didn't survive the trip. Chips and salsa plus various drinks were laid upon the crude table.

No, not that much time has passed since breakfast. One thing I found out was how slow the hours pass when one's suddenly dropped out of the clutches of manmade distractions into the lap of mother nature. We lunched long, we scrambled the rocks beside the picnic table, we read, we napped, but then it was barely afternoon. Mostly, and I shall not dwell on this subject much, we toiled under the oppression of the insects.

Flies, big flies, small flies, itsy bitsy tiny flies, winged black nightmares, bees, and more insects I cannot name, buzzed around us from dawn to dusk. The insect repellent felt cool in the day's heat, and it did no more than that. Steph was circling the camp going mad at about an hour in. I couldn't even nap wrapped in my hammock, for the scream of their buzzing sent itches to my bones. Sinyee perfected a pine cone smoking technique that kept the bugs away, as long as you basked in the swirls of the smoke. Gabe was never without a head of insect even then. Coupled with the boredom, the afternoon wore on without an end.

Ok it wasn't as bad as the picture I am conjuring. But we were bug-wimps.





That was when I agreed to go hiking with g and syl at the height of the heat. I know not the smartest activity to embark on in a 40-degrees near-desert with a rare patch of shade, making a back-loaded trip down a steep incline. Well, at least I brought an umbrella, I felt quite invincible.

We descended steeply down a "dead end" trail determined to bottom it out. Actually it was just g who was determined. Thirty minutes later (or so) we gave up hopes of seeing anything remotely interesting and headed back up. In the sweltering blaze of midafternoon, with rarely a breeze from the sea that lay so close, the uphill climb felt as gruesome as an army death march. My calves burned with acid as it propelled me through the thick hot air. Part way through we broke ranks and left g to his own pace. When we crested the last switchback, I could've kissed the umbrella I was so smart to have brought.






We idled around some more until it was finally an acceptable time to start dinner. Actually, there was one noteworthy thing that I did in between, which involved finding a secluded spot to start, and using leaves to cover evidence to end. I shall spare the details. Curious enough I was the only one who had to do that the entire weekend.. hmmm...

Anyway.. dinner.. oh that was the main event for me.. the glorious sizzle of steak on the grill, of haricots in the pan, of butter melting and wine reducing. The lack of equipment and space and condiments made it all the more exciting, more primitive, visceral.

The eating part of dinner was interrupted at sunset. We ran up to the plateau for the front seat view. Stripes of clouds lined the horizon like profiles of great and terrible ancient cities, domes, towers, crenellations, the whole deal. The round globe of fire sank ceremoniously into the fluffy ocean fog; all around us, purple, gold and crimson. We posed and snapped, we lined up honeymoon shots, then we just stood, mouths agape, entranced by the moment.










We built another fire up on the plateau before bedtime, syl hunkered down and swallowed 4 or 5 s'mores. She is seriously wasting her talent. The night air was surprising warm and I had much trouble falling asleep. As enchanting as the moonlit stroll was, and better even the moonlit peeing was, next time I'll learn to setup the tent *after* the ground cools off, and not putting it downwind from the fire.

Sometime in the night, we all woke up. The exact hour was unknown, only that it was blessed and magical, for the glaring half moon has set, and the night sky brimmed with dots of silver bright and dim. There I stood in undies, my eyes gummy with sleep, neck cranked stiffly upwards, returning the twinkles of a hundred billion smiles. The milky way painted itself hazily across the black canvas of night, that canvas so perfectly pierced in no particular pattern that was thusly pleasing to the eyes. I was mesmerized, shrunken to the stature of a child, filled with wonder. I didn't know the names of any constellation, but no matter.. making them up was much more fun. Lounge chairs.. that shall go on the packing list next time...


Day 3


Then.. dawn returned. That stupendous beauty of mere hours ago has bloated itself to a monstrosity, harsh and stewingly hot, suffocating. Its burning lances stabbed horizontally, rendering the protection of our trees futile. Water supply was low, and our throats ached from the night of desert dryness. Even firing up breakfast couldn't swing the mood around. We were quick to pack up and head back.

Joyously we wound our way down the mountain, the trepidation of the journey up naught but a faint memory. For the first time I welcomed the fogs of summer sea, cool and moist to ease our weary. Enroute we stopped at Julia Pfeiffer to gaze at a little beach alcove of paradise, and sample (ok more like gorge upon) the fine foods and finer terrace at Nepenthe's cafe. The verdant outdoor decor's put even the magnificent view to shame.









Arriving home after many a car snooze I was feeling exhausted, and sore from two nights of hard ground sleep. But I know after a curative nap, all that I would remember are the sun and the moon and the stars, the knowledge of how to do it better next time, and that smell which wafted out of my (brand new) backpack when I unpacked.. that smell of pine cone smoked bacon and steak over a bed of coal and corn and sweet potato, that smell of escape and wonderment.