Our view
One thing Utah has that Oklahoma didn’t is that the middle of nowhere is closer to anywhere. Back in Oklahoma, good backpacking was a three-hour drive away from Tulsa, whether to the Ouachitas to the south or the Wichitas to the west. Here, Katie and I loaded up the kids and drove 45 minutes north to the remote reaches of the High Uintas.
Camping as a kid with my parents is one of my earliest childhood memories. I wanted to pass that on to my kids, minus the parts with poison ivy.
It was a last-minute car camping trip. I cashed in some vacation in the middle of the week, we threw some food in the cooler and our camping gear in the trunk of the Focus. A Focus isn’t exactly a wilderness-exploring vehicle, nor is it renowned for its cargo capacity. A few bags rode into the forest on Katie’s lap, while the dog was squeezed between me and Katie, farting th whole way.
The dog forgot how to car
We camped at Browne (pronounced “brownie”) Lake. We had the entire National Forest campground to ourselves. With school back in, the families down in the Uintah Basin had ended their vacation days.
For Blondie, 3, and the Anarchist, 20 months, it was not their first camping trip. But it was the first of the year. The good thing about being the only campers there was that we did not have to be so anxious about where the kids were playing — they could go out and play wherever they wanted. And play they did. We drove up 2000 feet and north 50 miles so they could dig in the dirt all day.
To try and get some relaxation in, we took a walk down to the lake.
Here’s the thing about the Anarchist: She has no fear. Here’s the other thing: Don’t let her out of your grip near a lake. I don’t know if she thought she was the Messiah or something, but she walked right out into the lake. Apparently our shouts and yelping were amusing to her, and she then ran to the middle, laughing all the way. She made it up to her thighs before I could grab her and bring her back in. It was a fun half-mile walk back with soaked socks and shoes from the ice-cold lake water.
After The Anarchist’s unscheduled swim.
She knows what she did.
A hot fire and gooey smores shared with the kids, not to mention a few PBRs for the grownups, made the night a good one. My feet even regained feeling. The girls went to bed and I sat out by the fire pit, watching the stars try to pierce the clouds.
S’mores.
The next morning we started what was supposed to be an easy 2-mile dayhike up the mountain to the Ute Mountain Lookout Tower. It was easy, except for when you’re going at the pace of the world’s most curious 2-year-old. I vowed never to tell her to “hurry up” when she’s exploring outside, but eventually, we realized we’d spent 30 minutes and only covered a quarter of a mile. Lightning storms would be coming in after noon.
Finally we got to the tower. By sheer coincidence, there was a crew from Historicorps there, scouting out the tower for planned renovation. I met, unplanned, a guy I talked to on the phone from Denver in the middle of the Ashley National Forest. It was a real Dr. Livingstone / Stanley moment.
Our picnic spot
After a quick picnic, we booked it downhill.
It went much faster and we made it back to camp just as the rain hit. We had traded in being cooped up in our little 1000-square-foot house with the kids and dog to being cooped up in a 60-square-foot tent with our kids and dog. While waiting out the rain, Blondie learned how to use my Camelbak and the Anarchist made a spear out of Katie’s hiking stick. Had she found a conch shell, she would have been the ruler of us all. The dog spent her time farting. For as much mesh as that tent has, it is remarkably air-tight.
Anarchy!
The evening came to a close with a lightning and rainbow display against the sunset-lit clouds.
Sunset, storms, rainbow
The next morning we woke to snow on the high elevations. We had camped through the end of summer in one of the most beautiful places on earth. And I’ll definitely be signing the Anarchist up for swim lessons.
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