#queercamping

[simply-aloof]

[leeharrington]

Max @maxwellthepuppydog Ziggy and Ev @whatevnen exploring the riverside… I’m so glad there was somewhere to wash them all after we camped :) #QueerCamping #SalidaColorado #ArkansasRiver https://www.instagram.com/p/CSe-tFxLWET/?utm_medium=tumblr

[leeharrington]

Our camping space was fantastic, with Ev @whatevnen breaking out their pop-up camper and the 4 of us finding our rhythm. It was so beautiful. Max & Ziggy enjoyed it a lot, barking at boats and exploring the world. #QueerCamping #SalidaColirado https://www.instagram.com/p/CSe95SKLaz_/?utm_medium=tumblr

[leeharrington]

Just back from 4 days camping along the Arkansas River outside of Salida, Colorado. On our last full day @whatevnen took to the river for some fly fishing while I sat in hot pants on the shore and filled out my post cards to Patreon supporters. Yes, when the card says I’m writing you from the riverbank, I mean it. #TransFishing #ArkansasRiver #QueerCamping #SalidaColorado https://www.instagram.com/p/CSe7_fsrlNf/?utm_medium=tumblr

[otterftm]

#queercamping #riversedge #relaxed #glamping #endofsummer #gay (at The River's Edge)

[tbuckadventure]

HWY101 Day 3: Redwoods rnd 1

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I woke up at 615 after a pretty steady night’s sleep, not warm exactly but not cold enough to wake me up grumpy. I could hear waves and see dark blurry tree shapes through the sleep-breath fog of the back windows. I convinced myself (or was convinced by my full bladder) to deal with the chill and climb out. I used the pit toilet, got dressed for a beach run, and set out south on the shoreline. 

There’s a sandy cove down the beach from camp made by surrounding sand cliffs that look like bronze rock but leave enough sand residue on hands and butt and shoes to give themselves away as compact versions of what they’re encompassing. I did a little yoga, used the sand wall for handstand support after shooing the excited sand flees, then climbed a few feet up to a flat spot and closed my eyes. 

As I tried to shut it all down I couldn’t and found myself in conversation with myself about trusting myself, about how THEN I can let all the wacky creativity flow out of me and not GAF! I also thought “I could live on the beach in summer forever” and “there is a hair tickling my face” and “THAT IS SO MUCH WATER.” When I opened my eyes I saw the boat shapes to which the lights belonged last night. 

I climbed down and walked back to camp, startling hella seagulls on the way. They left behind some pretty cool feathers so I gathered a bundle and added it to the misc collection of found road trip items developing in my glovebox. 

I was back on the road by 10 and made an improv stop at a “Farm & Outdoor” store in Coos Bay where everyone had an almost southern, kind of stereotypically “farmer” accent (maybe in the job description). I bought a $20 camp stove with the assistance of an employee who, unprovoked, told me exactly which colors combine to make the teal shade of my hair. He mends vinyl on the side, he said. I can match any color by eye, he said, just like that. 

Beyond Coos Bay I moved slowly through coastal town after weird coastal town en route to the beginning of the Cali redwoods. Each of these little towns manages somehow to sustain at least 3 “Gift Shops,” though occasionally the 3rd has gone under, shuttered up with FOR SALE sign posted, an indication that unlike the other towns this one was not thriving, was struggling, had seen better days, may need a new strategy. 

At Port Orford I improv followed a suspicious indication toward an ocean view (the words OCEAN VIEW and a big arrow were painted in massive font on the asphalt of a hill that veered right off of 101) and got out of my car to take in what proved my suspicion unwarranted and was in fact a particularly magnificent Ocean View. 

A man, an old man with white hair, my only company at The View, was standing half behind his car door looking out as I turned back to leave.

“No whales today,” he said.

“No?”

“No, I’ve been here for two hours watching for them. I’m here every day, I know how to spot ‘em, they’re usually here but not yet today. I meet people from all over the world and show ‘em the whales, they’re there but the people don’t see, they don’t know what to look for, how to look.”

“Yeah.”

“I tell ya, I’m here every day. It’s all I’ve got. I used to load up my bike and go down the coast and ride around, yeah, but I’ve got two bad arms. I fell off a ladder yesterday. But really it doesn’t stop me. You know, it’s about desire, about wanting to. Wanting to see or to use your body. I’m a vet, I’m disabled, but I tell ya, I can sit down and stand up without using my hands. I blow everyone away with that one. Yeah, you know I did yoga for a while with the ladies and that really changed things.”

He talked more about his adventures, his yoga, his communion with these beasts of the sea. About how he’s with the whales because he can’t connect with most people, people who he says are busy making their own problems. We parted with a fist bump (“Name’s Robert.”) and a few suggestions for my travels-on. I told him maybe I’d be back and he said yeah, come back and tell me how the trees changed your life.

After a few more stops, including a hike break along the Coastal Trail by the Natural Bridges, I got to the Redwoods National Forest info center in Crescent City, CA around 3:30 where a guy age 23-tops who was very awkward and maybe trying his flirtin’ game talked me out of taking the hour+ drive out to the Big Flat campground as planned and instead suggested Flint Ridge, a hike-in CG on the coast a little ways south. 

I didn’t fully understand the logic and scope of “The Redwoods” and that south meant more trees for a very long time, so I felt compelled not to miss out on the Jedediah State Forest I’d passed on my way to Crescent City. I said “maybe I’ll be back” and went to check it out. I pulled up to the ranger hut at the forest’s main campground where a girl (also mayyyybe 21) didn’t seem to know much and where a campsite was $35 (the Cali standard, turns out. No thank you). 

I didn’t feel good about this option and resolved around 4:50 pm to attempt the hike-in site, which meant catching the flirty guy before they closed up at 5. I drove very fast around giant trees while intermittently looking at my watch and cursing to no one, and pulled up just as they locked the door/unlocked it when they saw me. I was let in to “Hey! Just in time!” The guy looked happy to see me but was playing it cool as he wrote up the back country pass and rattled off the BC camping rules—only gather firewood within some distance that I already forgot, use the bear box, don’t leave fancy stuff in your car. 

All set and kind of nervous, sun well into setting, I turned south on 101. Eventually the free visitor center map guided me off an exit and down a road that eventually turned dirt and upward climbing. After what felt like 30 but was probably more like 6 minutes I came to a small lot on a high bluff with 1 car for company. 

I started to try to shift from sleeping-in-car mode to all-i-need-is-backpack mode, which proved disorganized and difficult and led to a dramatic case of overpacking. As I worked at it another car pulled up, unexpected since the Visitor Center guy had told me I’d only have camping company of 1. He had come from south and had just run a half marathon through the Avenue of the Giants, the whole avenue having been shut down for the race. He was on his way north back home to Eugene and had taken Monday off to camp and hike the RWs. He offered to share his firewood and I offered to use it to roast him a foil-wrapped sweet potato and thus we were happenstance camping buds. 

We hiked the quarter mile up to camp and chose our sites, his near the entrance among some trees and mine up a ways amongst more trees and with a tree-streaked view of the Pacific whose crashing waves were audible even from this high. 

I thought Wow sound travels/Those are some big ass waves. We shared a fire, some Ranier, some food, and talked until well past my usual 930 camping bedtime, finally parting for respective camp beds around 1130. Now, as I lie here, the waves seem even louder in the midnight silence of these coastal woods.