No Reservations — The Wee Wanderer

When we got married in August 2011, Travis and I eternally marked our calendars for the annual Big Camping Trip / Wedding Anniversary Celebration. On that inaugural summer nine years ago, I had been too busy planning the wedding to think about anything else. (Boutonnieres, you guys? Really?) So, for our actual honeymoon, we never got beyond selecting the general vicinity of our destination: “Canada.” The morning after our wedding, we packed our bags (“What’s the weather like in Canada?” “No idea.”), put the leftover wine in the backseat, and headed north. Neither of us had passports, you guys. (Yes, they let us in. That was then.) I made reservations while we waited at the border crossing. I forgot my bathing suit and had to rent one from Canada Parks. (Yes, they do that. Yes, I have a picture. No, it is not in this blog post.) After months of planning the excruciating details of the wedding, it felt amazingly liberating to drive away without an itinerary.

But over the years, the Big Camping Trip has become a much more orchestrated event. In fact, planning it has become something I look forward to almost as much as the trip itself. January is an exciting month, filled with late-night (read: 8-9pm) recon sessions on the couch with my laptop, wine glass in hand, scoping out my top-choice sites at the most coveted campgrounds. Then, when the booking window opens at the crack of dawn exactly 6 months prior to the start of our trip, I Make Reservations. And voila: the Big Camping Trip is sealed.

So, on February 2nd, 2020 – what we can all now affectionately refer to as the Beforetimes – I set my alarm for 5 a.m., and booked Site #28 (partial shade, appropriate proximity to the bathroom, away from the highway, etc.) at Burlington Campground in Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Now all that was left to do was wait.

Or so I thought. Now that we’ve made it to month 8 of the shit show that is 2020, how many of you have thought back on the seeming normalcy of February? Exactly one month before schools started closing here in Washington, I was marking my future territory, trying to decide whether my chosen campsite was too close to the communal water spigot. I mean, I actually spent precious minutes of my life wondering whether the spigot would make the site feel less private? And did the potential lack of privacy outweigh the benefit of not having to tote our own water very far every day? This was an actual typical dilemma back in the innocent month of February, when plans were a thing, and physical space was something we could negotiate.

Needless to say, by early August, the Redwoods trip had lost its appeal. Although there had been a period of excitement in July when our campground reopened and I realized the trip was still feasible, the idea of travelling to one of the most popular destinations on the West Coast, only to don a mask all day long in the Great Outdoors, while also doing the social distance shuffle with thousands of other tourists, seemed contradictory to our desires.

So, 4 days before we left town, I cancelled our reservations. And now this question arose: Had five months of COVID taught me to Go With The Flow? Could I summon the person who had, nine years earlier, left the country with a car full of wine, The Rough Guide to Canada and a road map? How would free-spirited Sarah fare against the Sarah who, a mere two years ago, stubbornly forged ahead with a plan to spend the week at Crater Lake, despite the fact that half of the park was on fire; the lake was essentially invisible due to smoke; and our entire campground was coated in several inches of dust? (That was a fun trip. Nothing like a vacation that brings you to tears on a daily basis.)

The views of Crater Lake were spectacular in the summer of ‘18

Knowing I couldn’t have a full-fledged plan, I knew I needed at least a few basics:

First, I needed a destination: Somewhere far enough away to feel like a trip, but close enough to drive. Somewhere scenic, but not popular. Easy trails, but great views. Water access. Lots of camping options. And no grizzly bears. . . Not too much to ask, right? Idaho’s Bitterroots and Sawtooths had been on my mind for years now, but I always ended up being tempted by the glamor of a National Park for our Big Camping Trip. (Yep, you read that right. I just spent 10 days without flush toilets. I now consider the National Parks to be glamourous.) A few minutes of speed-Googling proved that the Sawtooths would fit my non-plan perfectly. Destination: Check!

Second, I needed a road map. Laugh all you want, but I want me a piece of paper with lines on it when I drive away from home. You can have fun with your Google Apple Earth Maps, but I like to see a picture of where I’m going on one big sheet of paper that isn’t going to run out of batteries or talk to me, thank you very much. A few minutes of rummaging around in my glove compartment produced, among other things, the maps of Washington, Oregon, and Idaho that I needed. Check!

Third, I needed a trail guide. Much gratitude to Amazon Prime, for catering to our last-minute decision. The Menauls can trace a history of our relationship in National Geographic trail maps and guidebooks. We can now add the Sawtooth National Recreation Area to our collection. Check!

Finally, I needed food. COVID constraints and the fact that we’d be driving through eastern Oregon, which was currently on lock-down, meant that we couldn’t rely on restaurants on the road; we needed to bring ten days’ worth of food with us. Meal-planning was one component of this trip that was actually more orchestrated than usual, and I enjoyed it immensely. Check!

The basics were covered, but as our departure date drew nearer, I got anxious. A few hiccups in the non-plan surfaced: The weather would be close to 100 all week. There was only one campground with flush-toilets in the Sawtooths. (Spoiler alert: we did not find an available site there. Go figure.) Levi declared he intended to “stay home and play.” And also, you guys? Some things that used to feel exhilarating now just feel scary. It’s just plain scary to not have a plan.

I will save you most of the details about how the trip turned out to be fantastic. But here are a few Menaul Family take-aways: Cooking supper in a hotel parking lot is totally legitimate; Wimmelbooks are a gift from the road-trip gods; vault toilets are a thing, and showers might not be; you won’t get the campsite you wanted, but you might score an even better one; when a three-year-old tells you he wants to “stay home and play,” he means it; Kraft Mac n Cheese, we will love you forever; and a special shout out to bacon!

This is what happens when you don’t reserve a site online. . .

He told us he wanted to “stay home and play.” He wasn’t kidding around!

By the end of the trip, after ten days of vacation, we were all ready to come home. We were dirty, sunburned, and exhausted. I always feel accomplished after the Big Camping Trip, because “vacationing” with my crew is never what you would consider relaxing (see Crater Lake reference in Paragraph 6). But this year, I felt like I deserved a freaking medal. Instead, I cracked open a beer and started the very familiar process of unpacking, which, after nine years, I can do with my eyes closed. No planning required.