Keigley CAMPaign: Hamilton Branch

After we came up with the idea back in May, our first camping trip was to the lovely Lake Jocassee.

(Seriously picturesque mountain views on this lake.  Truly crowded camping experience because those views are so lovely.)

Somehow Bergen received the luck of the draw and was allowed to choose our next camping destination.

You know he loves birds so when Hawkeye read that Hamilton Branch State Park was well known for its unique bird sightings, his mind was already made up.

The drive down closer to the Georgia state line was a bit farther than the drive across Highway 11.  (And not nearly as scenic.)

But the campsites were far apart and the view of the lake was quite pretty when we pulled up to our little rectangle of assigned earth.

The kids saw water and their brains pretty much turned to mush.

And by “turned to mush” I mean – their brains turned to this thought and this thought only, “Must reach water.  Must reach water.  Must reach water.”

The vehicle doors opened, a sleeping bag probably fell out and the whole herd of them exploded into the grass and broke free for the water’s edge.

Before Kevin and I could even completely join them we heard laughter and screams of some other variety.

The water level was low low low which meant that the edge of the lake was covered in mud mud mud which meant that Piper and Bergen were already knee deep in the muck and a flip flop and a Keen were MIA.

Hello Hamilton Branch.  We have arrived.

Despite that beginning, the weekend was fine.

The weather was good, the water was fun to splash in for the ones – if not entirely appealing to Kevin and I.

It was a pleasant first night.

Day Two.  (And you knew this was coming – right?)  This day was . . . less than stellar.

We left our lake side area in search of a potentially less muddy water entry.  On the other side of the lake we found a sort of dry beachish spot and we set up there for a little while.

Let’s see how I can sum up the next few hours in a sentence or two and spare you the pain of a long story and me the pain of complete recall.

Um.  It’s just this – There was a small island out in the distance.  Kevin advanced to said island with a few of our swimmers.  I wanted to go to that island.  I pushed the two youngest along in a raft/boat/swimming pool float.  I’m not a great swimmer.  We made it to the island.  I did not secure our raft well.  The wind blew it away.  I did not go after it.  Kevin did.  The wind was strong.  The raft was light.  But the raft was the only way the little ones could make it back to shore.  In short, I lacked wisdom and foresight.  Kevin was not pleased with that lacking on my part.  He was even less pleased after swimming veryveryvery far into deep waters to retrieve a raft my lack of wisdom had caused to be set adrift.

When once my darling husband reached the island, the times – they were not so happy.

(I like writing about these trips with a few months between the Then and the Now.  Makes it all pretty funny.  Whereas, in the Then – it was less so.)

Exhausted, we all headed back to camp.

Where the lovely weather turned as our attitudes had – foul.

We’ve slept in tents in the rain before that trip.  We’ve slept in tents in the rain after that trip.

But for some reason (well, you know the reason) the rain just seemed to be too great of an obstacle that Sunday night.

Kevin and I conversed in the secret manner in which parents have developed through necessity and time.

We wanted to go home but we didn’t want to set up a precedent for quitting on an adventure this early into our year-long quest.

We tried to gage the interest levels of our children.

They liked the rain.  They liked the lake.  They liked the campfire.  They liked everything.  They would not want to go home.

So we decided to approach the situation democratically -and with a little bribery.  (Which is democratically, right?)

We presented the options – stay the night in a wet tent or go home where we could sleep in our dry beds, watch a movie together in the living room and stop for ice cream before we reached our house.  (Do you see how those odds were stacking up?  Yeah, this wasn’t our first rodeo.)

We offered every family member a rock and a pine cone.

These items would be used to decide our family’s fate for the evening.

When we asked for you to reveal your hand, a rock would mean stay and a pine cone would mean go home.

And so we took a vote – ready to deal with whatever the group consensus would be.

And, surprisingly and by a thin margin, pine cones took the victory.

We slopped that wet tent into the Suburban and made our merry way home to dry beds, late night movies and ice cream.

I’m not really for quitting – but it was a pretty pleasant way to bail out.