Luxury Yurt Camping at Mount Madonna

It's an unwritten rule that if you vacation in California, you must go to the beach.  It just seems like the right thing to do.

I had been on vacation in California for five weeks and still hadn't seen the ocean.  It was time.  My summer hostess (sister-in-law) decided she'd like to take a beach trip somewhere new and more beach-y than her usual spot in the Coastal Redwoods near Crescent city.  After agonizing (mostly on my part) over the logistics and the cost, we opted to take an excursion to Santa Cruz because she had never been.  In an amazing bit of sleuthing, she managed to secure us a yurt at the Mount Madonna county campground, mid-way between Santa Cruz and Monterey.  It was the perfect solution to save money and do a bit more camping without having to drive her monstrous dually pick-up and the travel trailer.  We packed the Honda Pilot to the gills with food, sleeping bags, blankets, beach paraphernalia, clothes, things to keep the kids busy in the car, and ourselves.  This was to be our final big overnight adventure of the summer and we planned to make the most of it!

Hope we got everything.

Halfway to Santa Cruz, as we entered the metropolis of the San Francisco Bay area, my sister-in-law took us on a detour. Somehow, in all that freeway and city mess, she recognized that she was in the vicinity of the world Jelly Belly headquarters.  Within minutes we pulled into the parking lot and told the kids to get out and behold where we were.  Smiles slowly creeped up their faces.  This was a new experience for my son and I.  We all walked into the massive building, which was decked out in bright jelly bean colors, and we got into line for a tour of the factory.  For a Sunday, the place was surprisingly packed with tourists, but we eventually received our mandatory Jelly Belly paper hats and joined a tour group.  We spent the next hour being led through the silent factory (machines don't run on the weekends), watching shorts films about the history of the jelly bean, Ronald Reagan's favorite flavor, and the development of Jelly Belly's rise to candy fame.  I won't say too much because I don't want to spoil it for you.  As tours go, it won't win any awards, but they did give out free samples.

Detour!  A tasty way to stretch our legs.

Jelly bean art.  Really.

Jelly Belly centers awaiting their candy shell.

Finished beans drying.

Ice cream shop flavors.

At the end of the tour, we descended on the gift shop and selected our take-away treats for the road.  I'll be honest that the options were a bit overwhelming.  Our final choices included chocolate covered fruit flavors, a kids pack with mystery flavors, a bag of 'belly flops' (irregular beans of all flavors), and a jelly bean game called Beanboozled.  The game makes you spin an arrow on a colored dial.  Then you eat a single bean of your selected color, but there's a catch: each color may be one of two different flavors.  One flavor is yummy and the other is decidedly not.  You don't know which one you've got until your chew.  It's like Russian Roulette for your tastebuds.  Some of the not-so-yummy flavors include skunk, earwax, soap, and earthworm.  The stakes are high if you're squeamish.  Will you get coconut or babywipes?  As the tour explained, Jelly Belly has teams of researchers who work diligently to correctly mimic the tastes of each of their flavors, using natural ingredients whenever possible.  I can only assume that their philosophy extends to these 'beanboozled' varieties, right?  I'll just let that thought simmer for a bit.

Jelly bean overstimulation?

There are seriously a lot of choices.

What would you need to get paid to become a taste-tester for these?

 For a fun challenge, each of us went to the sample bar and selected at least one nasty flavored bean to try.  I really think mine was the nastiest.  While I've never eaten a real centipede, the bean that claims to be flavored like one unveiled at least three layers of pungent grossness that melted in my mouth like rancid meat and turned my breath to something horrible.  Next to that wretchedness, toothpaste flavor would have been welcomed.

This is the look of a dog food flavored jelly bean.

Yellow: Chili Mango (so-so).  White: Birthday Cake (yum).  Orange: Centipede (totally nasty).

A couple hours after leaving the jelly bean factory, we were winding through coastal redwoods toward our campground at Mount Madonna.  It was situated at the top of Hecker Pass, with San Jose to the East and Watsonville and the Ocean to the West.  I admit to feeling some trepidation as we pulled into the campground and searched for the yurt we would be calling home for the next four nights.  I have slept in a yurt a couple times before and knew they could be quite nice, but it all depended on their level of upkeep. This was a first for my sister-in-law, but she was optimistic. Quite frankly, I was a bit worried that we'd be sleeping in a filthy, spider-infested hovel, but I hoped for the best.  I'm grateful to say that my worries were for nothing.  Our 24-ft super-sized yurt sat at the far end of a delightful neighborhood of clean, well-maintained, taupe-colored yurts with private wrap-around decks.  The inside of ours had three bunk beds with regular (vinyl-covered) mattresses and a full-sized picnic table with benches.  I breathed a sigh of relief at its near-spotlessness.  It was better than I could have hoped for.

Hard to get much more idyllic than this.

Our spacious 10-person yurt was the perfect affordable accommodation.

Morning mist hung in the Redwood canopy.

Mount Madonna is a haven for people and animals alike.

We loved our fantastic yurt village.

We made ourselves at home, visited the equally clean and amenable bathrooms and showers nearby (with real flush toilets and sinks), and started prepping for dinner.  Another first on this trip revolved around our food.  In all the extensive camping my sister-in-law has done, she never ate MRE-style freeze-dried camping meals.  She decided she wanted to give it a go, mostly because she liked the idea of not having dishes to clean.  So, we loaded up on meal packs like Mac 'n Cheese, Curry and Vegetables, and Blueberry Cheesecake from the Sportsmen's Warehouse back in Redding.  Her first choice that night in the yurt was Mountain House Chicken and Rice loaded into flour tortillas.  Mine was Turkey Tetrazini with rice chips on the side.  We supplemented with fresh fruits and veggies brought from home and it felt like a feast!  We even had Starbuck's Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate as an added treat.  Speaking from experience, though, avoid the egg breakfasts.  They just aren't the same as the real thing. The only caveat to the brilliance of this food plan was the amount of water that had to be boiled to reconstitute our meals, plus more for tea and hot cocoa.  The trusty Coleman propane stove and teapot arrangement did its job, but required up to a half hour to get the water boiling, especially if there was breeze.  For anyone wanting to take this route, I suggest investing in a JetBoil, which will heat your water in just a couple minutes.

Sounds good...but they don't all taste good.

The temperature at that elevation, sheltered by the redwoods, was at least 20 degrees cooler than in Redding.  By the time dusk settled, we were wearing all the layers we had and were snuggling into our beds for extra warmth.  Even with two blankets and a comforter on me, my feet refused to get warm.  Fearing a cold and sleepless night, I invited my hot-blooded son to share the full-sized mattress with me if he promised to try and keep his knees and elbows to himself.  His extra sleeping bag layer and fully-functioning circulatory system kept us toasty all night.  We all drifted to sleep in the pitch darkness of our perfectly faux-rustic accommodations with full bellies, peace of mind, and joyful anticipation for our trip to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk the next day.

I love the Sierras!

While on a solo road trip years ago, I came across the small mining towns of Grass Valley and Nevada City nestled amongst the tall pine trees in the northern Sierra-Nevada Mountain range.  I was enchanted the minute I turned my car onto the narrow downtown streets lined with historic brick facades and Victorian-style homes.  I had never seen such quaint commercial streets outside of Disneyland.  The towns sprung up in the late 1800’s around rich gold deposits and they flourished.  Gold extraction was prematurely halted in the mid 1900’s because of detrimental effects on local rivers, but the towns maintained their appeal for people escaping the heat and crowds of the Central Valley.  To this day, they draw tourists and weekend-vacationers seeking their small town charms.

This week we sought out Grass Valley and Nevada City for the cooler temperatures and a slightly more civilized kind of adventure.  We pulled my sister-in-law’s camp trailer to the Nevada City Campgrounds and established a comfy and affordable home base.  For those looking for a more authentic visit, try one of the many bed & breakfast lodgings in the amazing historic homes near either downtown.  I can personally vouch for the Elam Biggs B&B in Grass Valley where the homemade family-style breakfast will tide you over until dinner!

What we failed to consider was just how narrow the downtown roads were and how wide was our pick-up.  After a slow white-knuckle pass through each historic downtown, we located public parking lots as close to the freeway exits as possible and walked from there.  There were no shortages of interesting shops and eateries to explore.  In Nevada City, hand-dipped ice cream cones kept the kids motivated to continue shopping along the hilly streets and helped beat the heat.  I indulged in a deliciously melty chocolate and fresh strawberry crepe at a street-side vendor called Calla Lily Crepes.  Some of our other favorite shops included The Earth Store, Nevada City Chocolate Shoppe, The Grey Goose, Mountain Pastimes Fun & Games, Harmony Bookstore, and J.J. Jackson’s.  At Mountain Pastimes, we were treated to a song on a hand-made oversized music box called an Orchestrian, which used digitally mechanized full-sized instruments to play over 60 different songs. On Saturday morning, we visited the impressive grower’s markets in both Grass Valley and downtown Nevada City where I purchased local plums, figs, baked-goods, and strawberry-infused Balsamic Vinegar.  At the end of our first day, we found ourselves wishing we had more time and a lot more money to better explore those small towns and all they had to offer.

Nevada City Grower's Market.

Yum!

Some funny goods at The Grey Goose.

The Orchestrian at Mountain Pastimes in Nevada City.

However, we easily found an antidote to all our ravenous window-shopping by visiting Bridgeport State Park on the Yuba River.  We wiled away a hot and sunny Friday afternoon wading in the calm water under the historic single-span covered bridge.  It is the longest bridge of its kind still in existence.  The shoreline was thankfully uncrowded and the water refreshingly clear.  I slipped into a state of nature-y bliss on that serene river and easily felt the oneness of everything flowing right through me.  The kids panned for gold with their hands, turned over rocks to find bullfrog tadpoles, and hopped across the river atop rounded granite boulders.  The shade of the bridge provided perfect respite from the sun and we lazily browsed on our picnic lunch through the afternoon.  I found myself contemplating how wonderful it would be to pass a childhood in that place. I watched kids leaping off boulders into deep pools amd playing in the shallows with their families.  At least, I consoled myself, my son was getting this experience now.  Live in the now and don’t worry about before or after, I told myself.  And I felt at peace.

 

The historic covered bridge at Bridgeport State Park is the longest of its kind.

Finding my bliss.

What a lucky child.

Our final adventure in the foothills resulted from pure luck.  While shopping on Friday, we noticed a flyer for the Nevada City Adult Soapbox Races for Saturday afternoon.  Even though we had planned to attend a free Music in the Mountains concert event that day at the fairgrounds, we decided our kids would probably prefer the less formal races instead.  My sister-in-law insisted that we secure a parking spot for our one-ton dually at least 2 hours ahead of the event, which was a really good idea since the parking lot near the freeway was almost full when we arrived.  After some more last minute shopping, we schlepped our picnic lunch and a couple lawn chairs up the steep road to Pioneer Park.  The temperature was nearing 90 by the time we found a spot in the shade along the closed-off road used as the racetrack.  People lined the sidewalks on both sides of the street and it seemed like the whole town of Nevada City had turned out for the event.  The atmosphere was festive and friendly with groups of all ages cheering on their favorite racer.  Sets of two or three soapbox cars started at the top of a ¼ mile sloped stretch of road and used only gravity to propel them toward the finish line.  Some cars were built for speed and others for aesthetics.  One of the most popular cars depicted a human-sized Mr. Potato Head sitting in a Radio Flyer wagon.  One of the fastest cars was little more than a missile casing on shopping-cart sized wheels with only the driver’s head sticking out the top.  Each one had a unique design, some were sponsored, and the fastest of them topped 40 mph!  Most importantly, the participants clearly had fun with their creations – and so did we. 

The steering mechanism (and the whole car) is made of recycled parts on this one.

Flower power!

Leaving Nevada County was bittersweet because it surprised us with so much entertainment and beauty and we wished for more time to explore it further.  But approaching Redding again on I-5 provided its own sweet reward.  The golden rolling ranches glowed beneath a darkening afternoon sky deckled by sharply pointed mountain ranges on three sides.  A building storm system shadowed the end of the valley, deepening all the colors and veiling each layered peak in lighter shades of grey.  The view was expansive and impressive.  It reminded me of Alaska and made me feel like I was coming home.

Finding Oneness in the Woods

Pursue not the outer entanglements,

Dwell not in the inner void;

Be serene in the oneness of things,

And dualism vanishes by itself.

From “On Trust in the Heart”

By Seng-t’san (d. 606)

I borrowed this quote from the front pages of a novel titled The Horse Whisperer, written by Nicholas Evans, because it spoke so perfectly to one of my major challenges in life.  That is, my struggle to find lasting contentment in sameness and routine.  I found the novel while trailer camping in McCloud this week with my sister-in-law and her family.  It was on the corner of the camp-host site in a box marked ‘trade one, take one, borrow one.’  From the moment I opened the cover and read the quote about making dualism disappear, I was intrigued.

The trip to McCloud was our first camping expedition of the summer and it was fraught with challenges from the start.  We began to wonder if Murphy and his law of mayhem were trying to tell us to just stay home.  But we were determined and so we persevered.  Even after purchasing four new trailer tires to replace cracked ones, we arrived at our campsite to find that the trailer batteries were dead.  We shrugged our shoulders and made do.  Despite the setbacks, our glorified tent camping turned out to be luxurious and enjoyable.

But back to the dualism thing…

I blame many of my more annoying attributes to being a Libra.  The Libra is a balance symbol, which happens to be the only non-living astrological sign, and it aptly describes my inner workings.  I strive for level evenness in all things.  However, this does not mean that I hang out in the safe mediocre middle.  That’s not how the scales work.  Rather, I embody the balance of opposing extremes.  Weight on one side of the scale requires equal weight on the other side to keep it level, which illustrates well my constant state of dualism.

If I have sweet, I need salt. 

If I have hot, I need cold. 

If I have had loud, I need quiet. 

If I am social, I need solitude. 

If I work, I need play.

If I am frugal, I need to spend,

And vice versa (for all of the above).

The real problem with this need to balance is that it makes enjoyment and contentment in a single pursuit very difficult.  I don’t do prolonged routine well.  In work and life I need constant variety to keep my spirits up.  I’m like a kid trying to play teeter-totter by herself, running from end to end to keep the motion going.  It seems like I can never pursue something long enough to be truly great at it. However, I do excel at adaptation to change.

But that quote about the ‘oneness of everything’ got me thinking. How can it make dualism disappear? How can it connect my presence in California with the absence I’m making in Alaska?  What if I made that absence permanent?  Would I want what I left behind? Maybe I can consider the oneness of myself like a thread woven into a larger fabric, connecting my choices to my past and future. Can it all be one reality because it is all connected to me, and that is all I need to think about?  I worry so much about the effect of my actions on others and what I add or take away from their lives, but those are ‘outer entanglements’ that I can’t always control.  And trying to find answers by plumbing the depths of my ‘inner void’ can be similarly fruitless and frustrating.  I can almost find rest in imagining oneness that connects all the people I care about and our actions into a bigger picture.  A picture that is shaped by our individual decisions, which fit perfectly together and fill the gaps in between. I feel a peace of mind simply by telling myself that this oneness exists and that I can’t mess that up.

“If only you could make now last forever…”

“I guess that’s all forever is…just one long trail of nows.  And I guess all you can do is try and live one now at a time without getting too worked up about the last now or the next now.”

from The Horse Whisperer by Nicholas Evans

Floating leaves down the river for departed family.

Camping in McCloud gave me a lot of moments I wanted to make last forever.  I did my best to live each of them as they happened; being thankful for how each one played its role in the oneness of everything.  I cherished the simple pleasures of camp food, shiny bugs, laughing with family, and the generosity of strangers.  I tried to think less, worry less, and live in the now more.  My dualism has not vanished, but I can say that I have recently enjoyed periods of blissful serenity.  Through practice, I hope to live more in the now and fret less over what comes before or after.  I want to ride the ebb and flow of my balancing act without fighting it.  I am part of the oneness of everything, like flowing water that changes course yet still moves ceaselessly toward its destination.

Living every now like it's the only one.

A boy's fort is his castle

I said I would tell the story of my son's first night in the woods alone and I aim to please.  Before I begin I have to advocate for the book that has opened my eyes to the importance of unstructured imagination and play in the great outdoors, and especially fort-building.  If you haven't heard about Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv, please follow this link to learn more about it.  Okay, back to the story:


It was a dark and stormy night...truly it was!  The wind was howling with 70mph gusts in typical Alaskan Fall fashion and the clouds ensured there would be no moonlight.  My nine-year-old boy had worked on his lean-to fort all week for this night.  Friday night, September 24th, was to be his first foray into the nearby woods completely on his own.  I thought for sure he would change his mind when faced with the ripping wind, but no, he was determined and I supported him.  With a wind-up lantern in one hand and a sleeping bag in the other he set out at a rather brisk pace down the driveway toward his shelter and a night of adventure.  I managed to get one rather blurry picture of him as he went.

But, this story actually begins months earlier when my son suddenly expressed his intent to be a "wilderness man" when he grew up.  Not only that, but he intended to start honing his skills now and they might necessitate his running away some night while his dad and I lay sleeping.  I didn't worry.  I knew well enough that even if he did hatch a plan that he would be too excited about it to keep it to himself.  His summer wilderness training led him to build a teepee in the yard with cousins who were visiting from California.  They constructed a fire pit and tried lighting a pile of twigs with a magnifying glass but only managing to scorch some bark.  We spent evenings reading My Side of the Mountain together and his eyes became wide with possibilities.  He also learned to whittle sharp pointy spears and fishing hooks out of willows using his Christmas knife from Grandpa.  With the purchase of his very own fishing pole, my boy also learned to catch and prepare his very first rainbow trout.  All the while he continued to inform his father and I about his wilderness-living plans.  He wanted to be completely hidden from society, only meeting with me when he needed more supplies, or visiting town when he got lonely.  He would not get married because that would be another mouth to feed...his words, not mine.  Although, at first, I tried to educate him on the shortcomings of his plans, I soon realized that my efforts were futile.  It seemed better to let him create his outlandish fantasy and learn from his own experiences.  So after much talk of his future life in the woods he finally began to build his first bonafide wilderness shelter.

He chose a shady grove of swampy black spruce carpeted with lush moss as his home site.  After getting a few tips from his father and I, he quickly erected a little boy castle that he was excited about.  The beauty of living on a large piece of property is that he could go far enough away that he felt independent, but was still within an area I felt was safe.  More than once I imagined him encountering a bear or moose and began to feel anxious, but I managed to quiet my unrealistic fears and replace them with joy at watching him create his own adventure.  I couldn't help but question whether he'd rather sleep in a tent (thinking mainly of my own discomfort in sharing my bed with creepy critters), but he was staunch on the point that a real wilderness man uses what he finds in the woods.  My pride in his independence swelled.  And so the week edged closer to his not-so-secret-rendezvous with nature and the calm sunny skies turned gray.  The day of his sleep-out blew in with hurricane force, but my son was not to be dissuaded.

After dinner that evening he packed some snacks in his backpack, gathered his supplies, and said a brave good-bye.  What I wouldn't give to have been a spider dangling from a branch at his camp, watching him unpack his sleeping bag and wedge himself into the tiny space of his stick shelter.  I had overruled him on his plans for a campfire due to the wind, so he had only his snacks and his crank radio/lantern to occupy his time.  Dark descended quickly and there was soon far more to entertain his thoughts.  The trees creaked, branches snapped, the undergrowth rustled, and the wilderness boy began to feel certain that something very near his head was licking its lips.  The sounds smack, lick, slurp taunted him from just the other side of his twig wall.  He buried his head and body deep into the sleeping bag hoping to survive until morning.  Then he heard another sound.  Something had definitely moved nearby and was now nuzzling his sleeping bag.  More nudging.  He was too scared to speak or move.  Was it his dog come to visit?  Was it a moose?  He was paralyzed with fear.  He felt more nudging in his ribs now and his name being called over the howl of the wind.  Still unsure of who or what awaited him outside his sleeping bag, he peeked out to find his older cousin probing for him in the dark.

"Where are you?" she called,  "Your mom and dad told me to check on you and I don't have a flashlight.  Say something before I freak out!"  Finally, the wilderness boy managed to squeak out a greeting to his cousin and immediately asked if she would help him pack.  They made haste out of the woods, but managed to take a couple photos of themselves before retreating to the safety home.

My son's adventure lasted about four hours, but it is sure to be a source of memorable experience for the rest of his life.  I can't wait to see how his adventures in the woods evolve and become more daring as he grows in knowledge and confidence.  Anyone for a snow fort?