Salt Point

            by Darcey Kurashige-Elliott

 

Morning came quickly. I had made the mistake of opening my eyes when it got light inside the tent. Now I would stay awake, and it was only 6:00 in the morning – the first crack of dawn. I reluctantly pulled myself out of the warm depths of my sleeping bag and into the clear, crisp and cold mountain autumn. The air faintly smelled of the campfires from the night before, and the slight breeze outside was so frigid and thick that my first breath quickly knocked me from a state of disorientation into a state of consciousness. It filled my lungs as if I had inhaled a gallon of ice water. It was at that moment that I knew that I had fully arrived at Salt Point.

 

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Salt Point is a campsite near Monterey. One can reach it only by driving down the scenic Highway 1 for miles and miles. I’d never gone camping before, and my 12-year-old mind was unsure of what lay ahead. Did I really want to go two whole days without a hot shower? Did I really want to sleep on the rough ground? Would I really be able to survive without Bear, my most treasured plushy companion (whom I still slept with, even as a preteen, and didn’t want anybody to know about)?

When my friend Emily asked me to go with her and her family on their camping trip, I was overjoyed and had started to pack my clothes weeks before we were even set to depart. However, I had stood on the porch clinging to my mother, outfitted in my newly purchased camping gear, when the day finally arrived. I had never been so far away from my family before, and I was afraid of what might happen. I think that Mom really didn’t want me to leave, to start the first stages of home abandonment that would eventually end with my leaving for college, but she encouraged me to go nevertheless. As we drove away, Emily comforted me, saying “Don’t worry, we’ll have tons of fun! You won’t even want to go back!”

Emily was a scrawny 13 years old with freckles and shoulder length blond hair, which she always pulled back into a ponytail. She wore jeans that were a little too short, read the Redwall series and listened to classical music (until peer pressure changed her radio station from 102.1 KDFC to Live 105). Emily was slightly awkward and klutzy, the result reminiscent of a stage halfway through puberty. I was a chubby 12-year-old with bad acne and an aversion to meeting new people. We became friends at the beginning of sixth grade as the result of a school project in which we were partners. Emily and I also played on the middle school girls’ basketball team, but neither of us was very good; I played because my sister played and she played because her adolescent crush played on the boys’ team.

            I had woken up about halfway through the trip; we were still on the highway, and Emily and her younger sister Anna were asleep. We followed the road as it twisted and turned across the jagged cliffs. A right hand turn left an open view of the ocean from the car. The sun was setting over the ocean, illuminating the sky in a wonderful mix of bright pink and orange. The water sparkled in the distance, as if it were a sea of diamonds. It was the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen.

We reached Salt Point, as the sun was just about set over the horizon. Constructing our tents under the cover of moonlight, I could barely make out our surroundings. The trees were tall and imposing, and the only traces of human civilization were the distant orange beacons and faint crackles of camping fires. Even though I was already wearing two coats, I was extremely cold. I was shivering my ass off while the family I was staying with acted as if it were a nice sunny day in Berkeley.

            We set up two tents; one was for the kids (consisting of me and my friend Emily), and the other was for her parents and Anna. When they were finished, we tiredly threw our stuff into them, rolled out our sleeping bags, and hopped into them. My sleeping bag was frigid from the cold air, but soon warmed with my body heat. I used one of my sweatshirts as a pillow and rolled onto my side.

            “So, do you know what we’re doing tomorrow?” I asked.

            “I don’t really know,” Emily replied, “but I know Alice is coming tomorrow. She couldn’t make it today.”

            I grinned. Alice was another one of my best friends.

            “That’s great. I didn’t even know she was coming.”

We made mostly small talk after that, and slowly fell asleep, dreaming of the activities we would do the next day.

 

·                           ·                            ·

 

             I quietly unzipped the mesh window of the tent, and looked outside. The place was deserted, and the distant orange beacons of campfires had dulled to barely visible plumes of gray smoke. Deciding to take a walk around, I unzipped the door and placed my feet outside.

            I was suddenly met with a sharp pain in my right foot. As I hobbled around, hopping on my left foot, it too developed a painful sensation. I yelped and fell, thankfully, on the floor of my tent. When I looked around, I realized that I had been amazingly stupid. When we set up our tent, we moved all of the rocks out of the way of the floor in order to sleep on flat ground. This, unfortunately, meant that all the pebbles that we had moved were right outside our tent. And, being the camping rookie that I was, I had unwittingly forgotten to put on my shoes before I walked out.

            I turned around to find Emily laughing hysterically. The episode, along with many imitations of my cry, would haunt me for the rest of the trip.

            After we had straightened up the tent (and I had thrown all of the pebbles into the brush surrounding the campsite), Emily and I decided to search for the nearest restroom. After much confusion, including walking on the wrong trails, asking the wrong people, and waking the entire camp up, we found it.

            Campsite bathrooms aren’t exactly the cleanest bathrooms around, and this one was no exception. The smell of excrement was powerful, and the rickety structure made of rotten wood looked as if it would fall at any minute. The absence of toilet paper, soap, and locking doors disgusted us even more. We made a vow at that moment that we would enter the bathroom as little as possible. When it was absolutely necessary, we made a game of holding our breaths the entire time, so that we would be left gasping for air while running out of the bathroom door, and we would confuse the women waiting in line for the facilities.

             Emily and I walked around the entire camp in about 30 minutes, making sure to follow the paths, which we knew would circle around the entire camp. While we walked, we gazed at the massive redwoods that surrounded us on every side and seemed to grow to the heavens.

            “How old do you think they are?” Emily asked me.

            “Probably over a hundred years old. I heard redwoods can live longer than people can!” my naive 12-year-old mind replied.

We picked up the miniature pinecones that fell from the trees and stuffed them in our pockets. They would be suitable for an assault on Anna later.

            When we returned to our campsite, we were greeted with pancakes and bacon for breakfast, prepared by Emily’s mom with a skillet and a portable gas grill. I grabbed some paper plates and plastic forks in order to set the large splintered wooden picnic bench a couple of yards from our campsite. The bench already had a red plastic tablecloth attached to it with a staple gun. It was a bit of semi-civilized life at home in a wild environment.

            Emily and I inhaled our breakfasts, mopping up every bit of maple syrup with our oversized pancakes, and made sure to throw everything into the animal-safe garbage can “So that the raccoons won’t get to it,” Emily’s mother said.

            Soon after we finished breakfast, a red sedan driving by our campsite greeted us. The car stopped, and out hopped Alice and her parents, who were carrying her sleeping bag and her other luggage. “My parents aren’t staying,” were the first words she said. “They’re going to Carmel for the weekend. So I’m coming home with you guys.”

            Alice was about as old as me, but she looked much younger. She was Emily’s only friend when they came to my middle school together. Alice could make you sympathize with her in many different ways; her smile could light up anyone’s day and her pouty lips made you feel sorry for her in an instant. Like me, she was afraid of people she didn’t know; I remember an instance where she cried in class because she didn’t want to read her book report in front of everybody. Alice would listen to a vast collection of unknown indie band CD’s on her Walkman until a teacher took it away; once she got it back, the cycle would start all over again. She didn’t exactly fit into our school, much like Emily and me, and I think that’s why we were drawn together.

            We got Alice settled into our tent, and then talked about what we would do during the rest of the day. I started to get restless and threw my collected pinecones on the ground, while Emily lay on her sleeping bag and Alice unpacked.

            “So, did you guys do anything interesting this morning?” Alice asked.

            “Yeah, actually the most hilarious thing happened!” Emily said, and then she proceeded to tell Alice about my little incident. I, in turn, tried to deny it and turned an intense shade of red.

            Emily’s mom saved me, however, by sticking her head into the tent. “We’re going to go on a hike, so if you’d like to come along, you better get ready!” We hurried to change into suitable clothing and slathered ourselves with sunscreen. Afterwards, we headed outside for our hike.

            The weather had become a lot nicer, and the temperature had risen to a comfortable 70 degrees. There was a gentle breeze swaying the trees back and forth, just enough for one to feel comfortable but not enough so that one would need a jacket. Emily’s mom had brought one of their coolers, so I assumed that we would be eating lunch somewhere. I had no idea of where we were going, nor did I know when we would get there. As we walked, we talked about school and music and whatnot, mainly watching the surrounding areas for signs of life. Whenever we saw movement in the bushes, it usually ended up being a bird; occasionally, we would catch sight of a burrowing rodent the split second before he ducked back underground.

            After about 30 minutes our talking ceased and it became excruciatingly awkward. The only thing heard was our footsteps and our heavy breathing. I think that we had just run out of things to say. The excitement of the hike was beginning to wear off; my feet ached, my eyes hurt from the constant sun, and I was thirsty. I’m sure everyone else felt the same way, but didn’t say anything.

            Right at the time that I was about to complain, we stumbled upon an open field. This was an odd sight, because we had been walking through dense forest for almost an hour. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The opening was completely full of tall golden grass, and it looked as if as if the sun radiated from that exact spot on the earth - I had to shield my eyes from the first moment that I saw it. And right in the middle of the field was a lone buck. The buck was the biggest I had ever seen. His antlers stretched out in every direction, and they must’ve been a good six feet across. The buck stared right at us with his large black eyes, and his coat was a light shade of brown.

            Our caravan started to wade through the tall grass; the adults told us to roll out pant legs down and watch for ticks. The buck didn’t move until we were about 20 feet away from him; then he ran into the wilderness. We all felt mystified, as it what had just happened was a supernatural experience. But, like all good campers, we ventured on, excitedly awaiting what came next.

            There was no sight of any more trees in front of us, and the clearing seemed to go on and on. Soon we could make out the sight of the Pacific Ocean in front of us. We had reached our final destination, the beach.

            The beach wasn’t a sandy beach; rather, it was a steep cliff leading into a rock-laden clearing in the water. Nevertheless, we were excited. The adults and Anna set up a picnic, while the rest of us went to explore. Down below was a massive amount of rocks acting as a “beach”, and one could hop from one to another to get from one side to the other. On the left was a huge rock wall, and on the right was a jut into the ocean. We decided to explore the rock wall. As we hopped over, we saw a lone cypress tree with a tire swing hanging from it. The tree looked extremely old and had turned a shade of grayish-brownish. We wondered how the tree had gotten there in the first place, because the strong tide would have dragged it away, but it was still standing, barely holding on to life.

            Maneuvering among the rocks, we were able to find a generous amount of shells and pebbles. Alice managed to find 3 pieces of abalone shell, and she gave one piece to Emily and one piece to me, saying, “This is how we’ll remember this trip. We all have matching shells; this means we’re friends forever.”

            Friends may come and go, but abalone shells are forever. I still have mine.

            After a couple of hours, we hiked back to the campsite. It was nearly dark, and we had spent as much time as possible soaking in the view, the gusting wind, and the smell of seawater. We barely made it back in time, and that was after hiking vigorously. Emily’s dad made a fire and we sat around it, sitting in those comfy camp chairs that you can sink into, huddled up in blankets that we had to ration out.

            Around the campfire, we spoke of hopes and dreams for the future, we discussed classmates that we liked and disliked. We went around in a circle and talked about each person – what was good, what was bad. Long after the adults retired to their tent, we were still chatting. I haven’t had a conversation as great as that one since. We snuck into the tent later than we should have, and hopped into our sleeping bags while trying to get as much rest as possible.

            The next day I was once again woken by the blinding sunshine and frigid morning. Sighing, I put on another sweatshirt and started to roll up my sleeping bag. Waking up early wasn’t so bad.

            Soon after, we were on the road again. As we drove, I felt a sudden emptiness as I fondly thought of our fun times. I knew that my family would be waiting at home, wondering how my trip had gone – what would I tell them? I had had a wonderful time hanging out with my best friends and taking in the wilderness. It was one of the best times of my life – an almost perfect experience.

I leaned against the van window and tried to get some sleep, dreaming of the ocean, the sunset, and the frigid air that was our camping trip at Salt Point.