Janis and I took separate summer vacations this year — her teaching schedule didn’t mesh with mine. She went to London to visit her sister Lynn, brother-in-law Richard Barran and their daughter, three-year-old Chloe — and to frequent the city’s renowned theaters.

Moving Day.  (Click on the image to see a larger photo.)

I made mine a camping trip, first to the Oregon Oldtime Fiddlers’ campout, then a trip to Yosemite National Park, which I hadn’t visited since I was a wee lad. I needed a break from civilization and urban life. At least that was the plan.

In my naive way of thinking, I figured that by going the week after Labor Day, the hordes would be gone and I’d have the place pretty much to myself. Wrong. Mind you, it wasn’t bursting at the seams as it was the previous week, but the traffic was still reminiscent of the Big City, and the attractions were overrun with sight seekers.

There was not a campsite to be had in Yosemite Valley, so I had to settle for one higher up in the mountains. It was just as well; I wanted to be as far from the madding crowd as I could get.

Light Show
The first night an unseasonable storm rolled through, giving us nature’s fury: a fierce lightning storm, accompanied by torrential rainfall. But I was snuggly tucked away in my tent. Or so I thought. I enjoyed the light show and thunderous sound effects until I discovered the trusty tent was not so trusty. It was leaking — into my suitcase and dry clothes. That was quickly solved, but the bigger problem was the pond forming in the center of the tent. I had a spare tarp, which I floated on top of the water for damage control. Luckily, we were in dry-out mode by noon the next day.

Hobbled by the Internet
Even though the sun came out, my troubles were not over. The campground was not anywhere near full, but I still needed a reservation. Just in case it did fill up, as it often does on weekends. I was also told I had to move my campsite.

At the reservation office, I was subjected to a lengthy wait, and the line behind me stretched out the door.

“Is there a problem?” I inquired.

“The computer is slow today,” the ranger replied. I sighed. “Just my luck. I came here to get away from the damned things.”

“Well, it’s actually the Internet. Our server is really slow today,” she explained.

I groaned. “The Internet is why I’m here! I figured this would be the last place I’d have to deal with it.”

I complained. Such irony. The very thing I was trying to escape was holding me captive.

Urban Ills Inescapable
I also had hoped to escape urban ills. It was not to be. The first day in camp, some jerk must not have liked the sound of silence and kept honking his horn. Noisy, diesel-powered trucks were pulling 5th-wheels. And a group of 20-somethings had its stereo on full volume playing “I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane ...” over and over and over — and I came close to being an ax-wielding mass murderer. They were saved when a fellow camper convinced them to turn it down.

What’s more, once the campground began filling up, I had no privacy. Yes, Yosemite, with its granite peaks and cliffs — Half Dome, El Capitan, et al. — towering over the valley is a magical place. But when it comes to getting a little peace and quiet, there is, indeed, no place like home and my own backyard.

Bears 1, Campers 0
The closest I got to the notorious Yosemite bears was the silhouette on the sign on the heavy steel food locker in the campsite. I had been hoping to see one — from a safe distance, of course — but never did.

Janis’ cousins, Kirby and Brady Nellis, weren’t so fortunate. During a backpacking trip in July, they had an encounter with bears and the bears won. Disdaining the recommended canisters for storing food (they are cumbersome and add weight to one’s backpack), Kirby opted for the tried-but-no-longer-true method of hanging the food from a tree branch 12 to 15 feet up to put it out of bears’ way.

A couple days into the back country, Kirby and Brady encountered bears. But these were not your average bears. Mama Bear sent little Yogi and Booboo up the tree, where they went out on the limb until it broke and brought the food tumbling down with them. Then they all sat down for a feast of more than just porridge — and they didn’t even have the courtesy to share it.