It's hard to fully express my affection for California's natural places. It helps that the Golden State's weather--be it sunny or rainy or stormy, always complements the particular locale. I am lucky to experience a few of these special places. To me, California will always be full of sunshine and endless blue skies.
Recently, I went to Henry W Coe State Park for a quick camp-and-hike weekend. It was also the first time I got to sleep in a camper van--the type with beds, a stove, a sink and a fridge. It helped that my friend kept his fridge fully-stocked with filet mignon, eggs, bacon, pasta sauce, wine and all sorts of good stuff. Plus a few cans of Guiness thrown in for St. Patrick's Day. Europeans certainly know how to camp in style.
Even though the park was just an hour away from the heart of Silicon Valley, there were surprisingly few people when we arrived on Fri evening. An astonishing two out of twenty campsites in the headquarters campground were occupied. We took our time to pick out a good spot, carefully taking note of the amount of flat ground for the tent and the gradient of the driveway for the camper van. Apparently gas-powered appliances in RVs and campers must be level enough to function properly. Yes, I learnt a couple of things about campers this time. Running water came from a faucet right next to the van, and two thankfully clean and stenchless pit toilets stood 10 steps away. The cleansing chemicals in pit toilets are improving by the day. A couple of years ago I would have avoided any campsites within a 100 steps or downwind of toilets.
The fire rings in the campground kind of sucked because they were too deep and the metal grills were built much too high for any reasonable charcoal or wood fire to generate enough heat to cook. But after many experiments, we finally placed sheets of aluminum foil directly on top of the smoldering charcoal and sauteed the steaks on top of it. Seasoned liberally with garlic powder and doused in premium Tuscany olive oil, the meat sizzled nicely. Aluminum poisoning be darned--everyone needs some essential metals. At least the baked potatoes were simple--just wrap in foil and throw onto the glowing charcoal. They turned out nicely. I developed newfound respect for baked potato with sour cream.
After some medium-rare seared filet mignon, we plopped down into camp chairs and settled into an age-old ritual of staring in fascination at the fire. I like playing with fire, arranging logs and watching them burn, turning them over to ensure an even distribution of flames, stirring new life from a sleepy fire, enjoying the soothing heat emanating from the burning logs. Pyromania aside, I imagined what it could have been like thousands of years ago, when fire was the only source of light at night and when humans gathered around fires to cook, to keep warm, to keep one another company. The few things that hadn't changed much since then were probably the night sky and its constellations.
The stars were out in their full majesty, complete with one streaking meteor, the occasional plane and even a lonely satellite. At a corner of the campground, we could see a soft glow in the sky from the lights of nearby Gilroy.
Walking around the campground, I marveled at the peaceful quiet of the night and the soothing darkness, far away from the stress and labours of urban life. There were a few blankets of light in the campground--an incandescent glow from a ranger's house, a faint glow from our neighbour's fire, a stark circle of white light from a halogen lamp high up on a barn wall.
On my way to the restroom, I walked past the barn. Just before its region of light at the far end, a picnic area strewed with rows of tables laid in pitch darkness, eerie in the way that places which were crowded in the day left echoes of their occupants and activities at night. Having but one path past the picnic tables before, I hastened my steps, briefly noticing what appeared to be over-sized moths fluttering around the barn lamp.
Waaaiit a minute, the flying things weren't moths--they were BATS! Amazing! Yes, they were bats! I had never seen them so close up, zooming around at high speed, passing within centimeters of me yet able to maneuver around me with ease. It was hard to make out their telltale shape because they were just too fast. In the silence of the night, they were soundlessly circling the lamp, wheeling expertly in pursuit of moths drawn to the light. I stood in their midst in fascination, yet again marveling at the wonders of nature. Due to some strange optical property, as soon as I stepped into the light, the bats disappeared; I could see the bats only when I returned to the shadows. It was really something.
Some of the denizens weren't so "natural". At one point, sitting by the fire my friend suddenly felt something panting right by his leg. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed something furry approach the trash bag. The raccoons, corrupted by easy access to campers' leftovers and trash, were out in full force. With primordial shouts and hisses, we leapt at them and drove them away, but they only retreated nonchalantly just beyond reach, staring back belligerently as if we were the intruders. (Actually, come to think of it, we WERE the intruders)
