We did it! We finally went camping! Despite many misgivings about cooking over an open flame and our collective ruggedness, we opted for camping lite at a cabin at Stub Stewart, Oregon’s newest State Park. We had two days of wilderness wondering, in an E-Z a comfy cabin complete with electricity.

We packed up a bunch of stuff during the week, but as departure day came we realized we didn’t have sleeping bags, so off to the store we went. We also got an emergency whistle/compass/mirror/match holder thingy, some propane for the camp stove and lantern Hova’s co-worker insisted on loaning us, and some Otto’s wieners and Franz buns. We took some firewood and too much fruit and set off, arriving at the park around 5:30.

The park is very clean, the buildings are shiny and new, and the Registration Station still smelled like paint (not low VOC!). We checked in and drove to Mountain Dale Cabin Village, a parking lot (no bioswale!) surrounding an island restroom/shower building. Radiating from the parking lot along asphalt trails were sweet little cabins, each about ten feet apart. Our cabin neighbors to the south sourly returned our hellos, and we punched our code in to release the key from the lock box.

Hova and I were determined to make this a nice experience for Georgia, so we cheerfully unpacked and Hova started a fire. Georgia spent time pumping water at the spigot right outside our cabin, cleaning fruit and getting muddy. The little boy next door yelled at her — he was not allowed to touch the spigot. Since we had forgotten the Otto’s hot dogs, I cooked menu #2, quesadillas and sautéed shrimp (sadly, not ocean-safe). It was pretty good! We munched fruit and made s’mores, cleaned up, dumped the dish water in the designated sink drain a few cabins down, and took a short hike to see the sunset, which was beautiful even though our vantage point overlooked another parking lot, bathroom, and a lot of construction.

Back at the cabin we got ready for bed. Since there was electricity we were able to take Georgia’s lullaby CD, which is essential for a good night’s sleep. But the CD player wouldn’t work, and it was really hot because as I was drifting off I suddenly had a terrific fear that bears would climb in the windows for the fruit that was sitting out on the table, so I had to shut the windows. No one slept very well. I kept wishing I had my laptop so I could get up and write this blog about camping!

In the morning, I cooked eggs and bacon on the camp stove (thanks, Craig), and we went for a hike. It was nice to get into the woods, former lumber land that had gone back to nature. We hiked the Barberchair Trail to Matchcutter’s Lane to the Swing Donkey Trail heading back to the Boomscooter Trail. But on the swing Donkey Trail we noticed scat. Sometimes faced with reality, my mind cuts out: zzzzt! I couldn’t let myself think “bear” so I tsked tsked that someone would let their dog poop on the trail. A little farther down the trail we poked around some more scat to see berries and a little fur. Zzzzt! went my brain. And then right in the trail were two small trees that had been uprooted. With slashes all down the trunk, from several obviously very sharp claws. There was no denying it, a bear had been there, and recently. Probably a bear that was fairly nearby, waiting for us to leave so it could go about its bear business. Maybe more than one bear! I didn’t want to scare Georgia, but I was panicked. Hova moved us along the trail, and I forced myself to breathe and focus on the foxgloves and ferns and chipmunks we could hear scolding us… or the bear! My sense of direction is really good, but when we came to the trail marker I couldn’t figure out which way led to Boomscooter Trail. I was so frazzled with bear thoughts, trying to remember everything I learned the hundreds of times I’ve read about safety in bear country. Finally I took a second to breathe and focus and got us going the right way. Hova kept us distracted with flora and fauna, and we got back to the cabin.

It was getting hot; the campsite hosts told us it was supposed to be 100 degrees in Portland. We knew Georgia wasn’t going to go for more trail hiking, especially since you’re not supposed to pick anything up, even sticks! And the pond we passed wasn’t for swimming. And there was nothing to explore around the cabin. Nature was like a TV to watch but not interact with. And I get it, too many people picking up sticks could do a lot of damage, but it’s not very exciting or inspiring. We were faced with a hot day in the cabin playing Slap Jack, so we decided to go to the beach. An hour later it was a perfect day at Cannon Beach, and we found Zenner’s hot dogs to take back to the cabin.

Wow, was it hot.

I gambled, “Hey, what do you think if we eat our hot dogs and s’mores, and then pack up and head back home to sleep in our own beds?”

I knew Hova would agree, but I didn’t want to mar Georgia’s first camping trip by wimping out.

“I’ll pack Rascal!” she said. Rascal is her favorite stuffed pal. She was fine with it.

Maybe we aren’t made for the great outdoors, or maybe these outdoors weren’t so great. It was an OK first experience, and we’ll camp again, but maybe a place that has less of a developed feel. And maybe someplace with fewer bears!

Photo credit: Jeremy McWilliams