For me, this is the best of both worlds: you get the experience of communing with nature, without any loud, obnoxious bros partying until 2am or loud, obnoxious children shrieking at 7am, AND with no need to pack everything in on our backs! I like this better than backpacking, because I have bad knees and I like to be able to bring champagne with me into the great outdoors. (As Andrew says, every camping trip is "glamping" when I'm around.) We went there for New Year's Eve two years ago, and it was wonderful. There was not another human being around for miles in any given direction. The only sounds to pierce the night air were coyotes howling at the moon (or perhaps at Andrew, who had howled at the moon "like a werewolf at his bar mitzvah" as part
of a drinking game, illustrated at left, which we had made up a while back, involving a deck of cards and various wacky antics). This weekend, I wanted a repeat of that experience. But as it turns out, this was the hottest weekend we've had in months, and I didn't think the desert on a hot weekend in April was quite what the doctor ordered. I suggested that we go somewhere with shade instead. The only other nearby place to offer this kind of camping (which they call "yellow post" instead of roadside) is San Bernardino National Forest. So that's where we were headed on Friday afternoon. When we arrived at the ranger station, we were told that nearly all of the yellow post sites were closed for the winter, because there was still snow at the higher elevations. There was, however, one area open. At the time, I didn't notice the name of it . . . though perhaps I should have paid closer attention. He explained to us that, since Thomas Hunting Grounds is not the choicest of locations, the sites probably would not yet have been snatched up.We could access the sites by driving to the back of a General Store/Restaurant (the only thing in the hamlet of Angelus Oaks, as far as I could tell) and then driving down a rough dirt road for several miles. Off we went, in our 4WD equipped vehicle, and though the ride was bumpy, upon arriving we managed to choose a site that was relatively far from the others (though not nearly as far apart as the sites at Mojave). We settled in to cook some sausages and corn on the cob, followed by the requisite s'mores, and read stories to each other from a book called The Campfire Collection.
After that wholesome evening, we decided to go for a hike the next day. The guidebook indicated that it would take us past some stunning vistas. Unfortunately we never got to them, because halfway up the trail we encountered more and more snow until it was essentially impa
ssable. So we turned back, somewhat disappointed, though it was still a nice walk in the woods. Upon our return to the campsite, we lounged in a hammock and read for a while. At some point, it became clear to me that Thomas Hunting Grounds was more than just a name. Our idyllic nature scene was abruptly interrupted by a series of gunshots echoing nearby. I got kind of upset, because I didn't want to get shot and all, and I was afraid that we'd be kept up all night. To this, Andrew said something to the effect of, "It's annoying now, but not dangerous, and it's not like they'll still be shooting at midnight." Oh, ye who tempts Fate!The shots did let up soon after, and we went on about our evening. We had a brief visit from a man who was there with his wife and kids, and in need of matches. Otherwise it was a pretty uneventful evening. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, so we got into bed pretty early (by our standards) -- around 11 or so. It seemed as though we hadn't been lying there for very long, when we began to hear some loud revving and shouting. Some dudes had decided to arrive at the campground after midnight and do some very loud off-roading. We heard them drive into our site, and one driver yelled to another that the site was already taken. At some point, a shot, and then another, rang out in the night air. I turned over, and said sharply, "What the fuck?!" We were both wide awake, and scared. Andrew said that we shouldn't say anything, preempting my usual response to people waking me up when I'm trying to sleep. I recalled a night of camping at Joshua Tree, when I became increasingly incensed at a drum circle, complete with didgeridoo, raging on late into the night at a nearby site. We were getting up early to do some bouldering, and I was pissed that these hippies had the audacity to play their shitty music until well after midnight. Last night, I would have been thrilled to hear that didgeridoo!
So, anyway, the guys were hooting and hollering and revving their engines and driving around and around. At one point I heard one of them yell, "I'm a wild boy!" in a decidedly aggressive tone of voice. There were no more shots, but we were still lying there terrified. Who knew what these dudes were capable of? We agreed that they were probably just inconsiderate assholes who didn't care whose
sleep they were disturbing as they let off some steam. But that didn't mean they wouldn't kick the ass of anyone who asked them to keep it down. We contemplated our options. At one point I heard angry yelling. We wondered if the guy with the kids had tried to talk to them. We hoped he had called the cops, because by 1:30, we were really wishing we'd called them a long time ago. I had my phone with me in the tent, so we discussed the merits of calling the police. We didn't want them to hear us, because who knew how they would respond to that? But then they started blasting music, and as we lay there helplessly listening to their country and death metal selections (a terrifying combo, if ever I've heard one), we thought we could get away with a phone call . . . That's when I noticed that I had no service in the tent. In the car, 20 feet away, we had service, but not in the damned tent. Then, all of a sudden, we heard some chopping sounds. Presumably they were just (illegally) chopping limbs off of trees to make a fire, but nonetheless, all I could say was, "Great. They have an axe too." I imagined we were in a nightmarish version of a choose-your-own-adventure story: choose-your-own-serial-killer-death-scene.At this point I had to pee really, really badly, but with visions of Deliverance dancing in my head, I just couldn't bring myself to exit the tent and pull my pants down with those hillbillies raging nearby. Eventually Andrew also had to pee, and we had heard neither shots nor yelling for a while now, and they had even turned the music down a bit. So we decided to make our move. We left the tent and each peed close to it, not wanting to wander far. Andrew came back over to the tent and we sat outside of it for a while. "It feels much less scary out here, somehow," I said, crouching in my own urine, and he agreed. The tent made us feel extra helpless and claustrophobic -- out here we could tell where they were and had a better sense of what they were doing.
We still didn't know what to do, though. We knew we wouldn't be getting any sleep, and being lying ducks in the tent all night did not sound the least bit appealing. I considered going over near the car to call the cops, but as the night went on and their truly scary behavior was winding down, it seemed less and less like a valid use of taxpayer money. I suggested that we abandon our stuff and drive off, but Andrew was afraid they'd chase us down with their much more powerful trucks, to do who knows what to us to prevent our going to the police. Now this probably would not have happened, but it could have. I mean, who the hell drives to a campground in the middle of the night, sees that there are at least two tents with sleeping campers, and proceeds to fire off shots?!? Who does that? And who can predict what such a person would do, under any circumstances? We didn't want to assume they wouldn't seek vengeance or just decide to fuck with us for fun. No need to bring attention to ourselves, we agreed. Andrew suggested that we hike back down to the town. My hiking boots were in the car, though, and anyway that seemed like a worse idea than driving out of here. I mean, assuming we managed to trek several miles through the woods at night without them noticing us, where would we go? The town seemed to consist of two buildings, neither of which was a police station or a motel.
So we stayed put and eventually, tired as we were, drifted off to sleep. I guess they left around 7:30 this morning. We had planned to take another hike today, but I was so all set with Thomas freakin' Hunting Grounds and its immediate vicinity.
And that's how what was supposed to be a relaxing weekend in the woods became a hellish hillbilly nightmare. Guess we should have gone back to Mojave after all.
