A Little Solitude
03 August 2017 | Bear Valley Campground, Sierraville, CA
Beautiful
We are having a fabulous summer at Lake Tahoe. The skies are blue and the temperatures range between 55 and 85. Surrounded by evergreen trees, squirrels, chipmunks, and black bears are our constant companions. We go kayaking, paddle boarding, bicycling, hiking, motorcycling, Jeep trailing, and night sky gazing. Our rent is free and our utilities are free as well.
So, what's the catch? We are living and working in a hotel. Yes, it is a campground, but guests come and go on a daily basis. They check in, get settled, then go out to play in their vacation paradise. They come back in the evening, eat dinner, sit around the campfire, and then go to sleep. The routine repeats itself for two to seven days, and then they are gone, only to be replaced by the next incoming guests. Some stay for only one night. Others stay for two weeks. We have happy campers and we have unhappy campers. We have church groups who have rented out the entire loop with over 600 campers. And we have overnighters who sleep in the beds of their pickup trucks. As hosts, we tour 175 sites, three times per day. Service with a smile and a wave of a hand, we check occupancy, sell firewood, provide information, remind kids to wear helmets, listen to complaints and accolades, issue notices of non-compliance, and take reports of bear sightings. The hours are okay, about six hours per day, three days on, three off. We meet wonderful people from all places. We hear their stories and they hear ours. We have been invited into campsites to share food and camaraderie. Our co-hosts, park aides, and rangers have been very friendly and compatible.
After two months of smoky campfires, screaming children, rumbling exhausts, droning generators, clanging dumpster lids, foreign tongues, church group singing, car alarms, and Lake Tahoe traffic and population, we were ready for a break. We purchased our first RV over three years ago, more out of necessity than desire, as we knew our plans would require such. Having always been tent campers, that was as traumatic as when we switched from a sailboat to a diesel trawler. But we missed tent camping greatly, and after more than three years of stewing about it, we decided that it would be okay to depart from the "mothership" occasionally. So we went out last week and increased the stock value of Coleman by purchasing a new tent, sleeping bags, cooler, and air bed. Packing the Jeep with our new treasures, plus our older Coleman stove, and our Coleman chairs (our Coleman lantern fell from its hanger last week and broke), we set out to find a little solitude.
And find it we did! Less than an hour's drive away, we found Bear Valley Campground, in Tahoe National Forest. With only ten campsites, it has water, toilets, tables, and best of all, it's free! Six miles from the main road, there is no traffic noise. As we arrived on a Sunday, there were only two other camps here, and they were gone before dark. We have the place to ourselves. No internet, cellular, or power. We left the music at home. We have books to read, birds to listen to, and colored pencils and paper. No smoky fires, no voices, no traffic. It was almost difficult the first night, but I believe we are unwinding now. Guiness is pleased with her 80ft run line, which allows her to chase squirrels over a greater area.
Today, we drove the OHV Loop, which we thought would be only 7 miles, but after 6 hours of rocky trails and steep hill climbs and descents, we had covered 12 1/2 miles, and were pretty tired, so we took an exit spur. Unlike the endless switchbacks that had led us up the mountain, it was more like an escape chute, as it took us almost straight downhill, through narrow, rutted gullies. The Jeep took it well, with a few minor scratches and plenty of mud, though one tire now has a nick in the sidewall.
Back in our camp recuperating from the jostling and bouncing, we are watching the sun, glass of wine in hand, as it gently sets into the western ridge line. There is still no one else in the campground, which seems odd for the last day of July. But that is fine with us. We have not seen another vehicle since just before dawn. I guess that is solitude.
It is our second morning. Coffee is made, followed by cereal and milk. Guiness is chasing a rubber ball around as the birds watch and sing their praises of the new day. Standing in a far corner of our site dedicated to teeth brushing, one cannot help but marvel at the vista laid out before us. Stands of new growth from a 1994 fire cover the valley, as it curves up gently in the distance to meet the rugged mountain ridge. The azure sky is punctuated by small cloud formations. A lone bicyclist has stopped in our campground for a short respite. I suppose we'll allow him to stay awhile. After all, this is OUR campground.
Another Jeep trail took us to the North shore of Stampede Lake. There, we had another great picnic lunch, as we sat by the water's edge, listening to the distant ski boats as they towed their wakeboarders around on the calm surface. Guiness had free reign, chasing bugs and butterflies about, and cooling off by lying in the moist soil. How is that we lived in Northern California for twenty years, traveled to Lake Tahoe to ski, drove back and forth to Reno so many times, and yet we did not know about this place? Our theory has been that the universe works on an on-demand policy. The places we've been to in our travels don't exist in real time. Rather, they appear when we arrive. They are ours for the time, but when we go, they go. Books, pictures, movies are but images of places and things that exist only for the moment. It's kind of like the Holodeck on the Starship Enterprise.
Back at our camp, it is now night. The glow on the horizon is rapidly diminishing, and the first star has appeared. The half-moon is bright, causing shadows to be cast On the ground. Candles on the table, the bear box, and the fireplace punctuate the darkness. It is extremely quiet. No camping neighbors for a third night. No voices. No music. No cars. No children. That's solitude...