49.02 California: Catalina Island, a mini-adventure: Part 1

If you're going to sit somewhere, can't think of a better place...just yet, following a stiff climb.
Impressionable.
A successful dwelling builder...home sweet home.
The advantage of being a quick learner is that it does not take long to determine certain likely outcomes. Surprisingly, this past week we found out that ground/earth is very hard. It does not have much cushion to it unless of course, it’s muddy. Then again, the smart person will pitch camp ensuring that he not only has a tent, sleeping bag, gas cannister and teddy bear to ensure a restful night’s sleep, but also a foam contraption on which to place the said sleeping bag and by extension, the occupant. So far, so good. However, when the contraption has a slow leak which leak became less slow with each passing night, the brilliant mind of the said sleeper did not take long to reach the appropriate conclusion about the denseness of the ground. In fact, it became a toss-up as to which part or whom was more dense. That’s a topic for another occasion...continues below. 

One of us gets told by the other where to go place oneself quite often...not that one of us minds in the least.
Camera focuses on one of the subjects.

The city/port of Avalon through the telephoto from a peak.
Early morning sunshine off the grasses.
From the trail, we join a road to ?
Could be a scene from Hawaii or La Reunion.
Amazing colors.
Unusual sights and sites.
'Wake' me when it calms.
From one ridge to another.
Jen climbs...steeply.

'Tell me young fella, do they pay you to knock on wood per strike? Do you go home at 5pm, hopefully?'
Breakfast in bed.
Rugged and attractive scenes from a peak on the south-east section.

There’s something special about sleeping outdoors even with a piece of material covering a couple and their priceless possessions. Of course, in instances of high winds, rain and snow, the use of the word ‘special’ is perhaps out of place and an appropriate synonym might be at best, crazy and at worst, dumb. Jen and I have spent much time sleeping in many different abodes, particularly over the past 11 years. Before then, our clearest memories of places of shut eye outside the home, we suppose, were school classrooms, synagogues and during long speeches, including my own. You could say we have generally been well-rested. 

Sleeping in huts, outdoors, automobiles, tents, refuges, mountain cabins and a host of other less formal accommodation, has given us a much better appreciation of the luxury of modern living. While many might snigger and say our accommodation in towns and cities is hardly luxurious as it is, we believe having hot-and-cold running water, an indoor toilet that flushes plus tub/shower, a bed with mattress and linen, a microwave, refrigerator, electric lighting and a few other items, is pure luxury. In a way, there’s a need to live a little roughly from time-to-time to remind ourselves how fortunate we are having access to the ‘good life’. Well, should you be reading this, I would not be surprised to expect some ‘rolling of eyes’ and the thought ‘when did those two go wrong?’ 

Arriving at the camp office.

We set off for Catalina Island, the town of Avalon, from Dana Point. We struggled to carry our backpacks which contained 4-days worth of food, our utensils, the teddy bear, tent and sleep equipment, besides a host of other items. We know we are aging but did not realize how quickly. It’s one thing to carry a large backpack with tent but try lifting it from the ground and onto the back. We had intended to hike the Catalina traverse but were unable to secure camp accommodation for 2 of the nights. This would have meant Jenni having to stand guard each evening while I slept. Even I thought it not fair. Instead, we camped at Hermit Gulch and used that spot as our base. We think we were fortunate there was no accommodation otherwise, we would have endured much pain. As it was, we did some stiff hikes on this remarkable island. 

The ‘remarkable’ qualifies the magnificent mountains that rise almost vertically and provide exquisite views of the island itself, the sharp cliffs, the town and across the ocean, views of Los Angeles. While the latter city is not a favorite by a long shot, from distance with the mountain backdrops, lack of visibility of smog and traffic chaos, it’s magnificent. (I tried not to display any prejudice but fear I may have failed.) Expressed another way, Los Angeles does not make me feel fulfilled as does Page, Boulder City and a host of other places...about a million. 

The island is approximately 26 miles from the mainland, which is reached by ferry in eighty minutes. In the new environment, passengers and crew, mostly sit with faces covered in masks. It’s a lovely experience with the advantage one does not have to be embarrassed because of newly formed pimples, failure to wash one’s face or be recognized by someone a person would prefer to avoid. Once arriving at the island and repeating the loading of luggage onto backs, we had to determine where to head. The few people we asked had no idea where the campground was situate. Our presumption had been that it would be known to most. After some success in that department, we walked, ambled, perhaps struggled would be a good word, toward our destination, some 1.5 miles inland, passing through the town, along a golf course, beyond the conservatory, finally reaching camp. 

We met Regina, the ranger, who proved over 4 days to be a delightful woman. On our last day, she related some stories of behavior and incidents occurring in the camp over the years. None of this surprised us as on two nights, there were some unruly campers. We did not expect that as usually, people sleeping in the wilderness, have a level of respect both for nature and fellow humans. Truth be told, in most other countries we have camped or stayed in huts and refuges, behavior has been of a high standard. I suppose we could blame Trump.

One of the highlights of the campground were the showers and toilets, probably the best we’ve seen. You could say they were luxury level. Upon entering the shower, one inserts quarters and behold, hot water flows from the head. That’s a big deal. In many places we’ve camped, the best available was cold water, usually freezing, or mostly, none at all.

(We passed a bank, seeking quarters, on the way to the ferry from Palos Verde, after visiting our special friend, Jerry Bongard. What a man. He’s in his 96th year and has been a source of much pleasure and guidance for Jenni and me over the years. As an aside, his son took him on a two-seater flight within the area a couple of weeks ago. G-d bless you, Jerry.)

Anyway, the bank was closed because of COVID and so we were unable to obtain change for the showers. A pity. Nevertheless, on the walk to the camp site, we passed a vending machine displaying sodas. We decided we’d earned a treat and inserted notes into the machine. We also calculated that for each purchase we would receive 3 quarters in change. Heck, the more Cokes we purchased, the more quarters. This would be the first time we could argue that Coca Cola was good for our hygiene. Unfortunately, the machine did not dispense the bottle selected. Then we got an idea. Should we hit the ‘reject’ button, especially as the machine wasn’t working, we would receive twelve coins back instead of 3 notes. Look at the upside: We’d have plenty of coins for showers and would not be forced to drink ‘unhealthy Diet Coke’. What a win…well, sort of. Later, we ended with the change we needed as well as Coke. Who said you can’t have your Coke and drink it? 

We loved the hiking; the views as mentioned earlier were a delight which lifted our spirits, (a change from our backpacks), and many of the people we met were as usual, interesting and informative. Tours of the island are provided for visitors as one would expect. A driver will take people to various spots allowing them to attain a perspective, particularly from height. Because the main road was under construction, these tour vehicles diverted to some of the paths on which we walked. At one point, I greeted a driver. He then approached and asked me a series of innocuous questions that required one-word answers. I wondered what that was about until he proclaimed in a loud voice and a high-elbow tap, “You’re South African”. 

I must add that I’ve never taken the test before. One woman wanted to know how we had held onto our accents for 32 years. Without wishing to be flippant (or too flippant), we replied that we took regular lessons. 

On the final morning, we broke camp, ‘trashed’ our air mattresses, collected the rest of our belongings, and concluded the weight of our backpacks, despite having eaten, disposed of certain items and strengthened our muscles with all the activities, were not much lighter. Seems like you can’t win. (Second hike pictures in next posting or so).

Cheers, 

Jenni and Jeffrey