Camping on the White River

While I was brushing my teeth at 6:30 a.m., three-year old Ian snuck into the bathroom with his backpack strapped on and said, "Me go camping, Daddy."

"I have to go to work first, Ian. We'll go after lunch."

Ian

As I'm walking out the front door 15 minutes later, seven-year old Edward bounds down the stairs with his backpack strapped on and said, "Is it time to go Dad?" I am tempted to say something stupid about them not ever listening to me, but I stop before foolishly extinguishing their excitement to spend time with me, and remind him that we'll go in a few hours. I still believe in preparing the night before, even if it gives them a false impression that we are leaving sooner rather than later.

The drive into and through the trees and hills surrounding Mt. Hood took about 90 minutes. Ian dreamed of throwing rocks in the river while Aaron and Edward played Pokemon with their friend Josh (who, along with his Dad, rode with us). We were one of the first groups to arrive, so I eagerly backed the mini-van in to a prime spot on a slight bluff overlooking the island of fun on the White River. The boys and I had agreed that we would set up our camp before exploring, but they nonetheless dragged their feet and feigned interest--the draw of the mysterious island and new, older boys to play with was just too strong. But with the help of one of the distinguished early-arrivers, we set up our two tents and staked claims for where we would be sleeping (the boys got the big tent, while I reserved the smaller tent for my sanctuary.

Edward

The island of mystery quickly gained a monopoly on the boys' interest--and not just my three critters. As every new camper arrived, they quickly gravitated towards our campsite, took the primitive path down to the riverbank, and found something to do with the gang. Ian had no trouble climbing the path from the island to our campsite, but he pleaded for help every time he wanted to go down to the island. Coupled with his sudden dislike and fear of ants (although, the ants there were much larger than those we find in the city), my patience for his seemingly endless requests soon waned.

Aaron

Our church was sponsoring the campout, and I thought they did good at:

• Picking a site that was close enough to Portland but several miles off the beaten path, so we enjoyed an intimate look at the Oregon wilderness
• Providing both dinner and breakfast that all of my kids happily ate--and lots of it (someone had to make up for the lack of people)

However, they could have done better at:

• Preparing an evening fireside that didn't involve so much technology. They had hauled a huge speaker/amplifier, a digital projector, a huge screen, and a generator that the truckers blasting through on highway 26 could have heard. The worst part, which I should have spoken out on, was that they placed the generator as far away from our camp as possible, which was pretty close to where others not in our group had set up their camp--talk about being nice neighbors (no wonder the Mormons were driven out of all the other places they ever staked a claim too).
• Providing details about the activity more than just a few days in advance.

Old Man

We had to leave early Saturday morning (9:00 a.m.), so we had just enough time to sleep in, take our camp down, and eat breakfast. I was reluctant to leave so early while the air was warm and the skies were blue, but the boys had been invited to a birthday party where the Reptile Man was making an appearance--and you don't say no to the Reptile Man. Ian and Edward both slept on the ride home--they really are pretty good travelers. I lead such a white-collar life these days, taking a shower sometimes seems pointless, but after accumulating several layers of dirt, I finally felt like I had earned that shower.

Edward said the food was the most memorable part, while Aaron said his was exploring the river (while shaking his head at his brother for the sometimes strange answers he gives).