I decided, spur of the moment, that I felt like camping at Ruckle Park this past week. I wanted to be there before the kids got out of school because in mid summer it can get way too busy for my liking. I knew it was this week or not at all, at least not until fall perhaps.
I got an online deal on a Budget car rental and headed to the island on Tuesday, a hot hot day. I had my trusty gardening wagon to take my stuff to the walk-in campsites and found a perfect site with some shade from fir trees and an unobstucted view of the ferry parade on the ocean out front.
It has been a long time, definitely more than 5 years, since I've used the tent, and it showed. Luckily, there weren't many people around to watch the fiasco. The problem was the fly which should be easy peasy to put up but it had this interesting entry cover that made it not obvious to me.
Later that night when I went to go to sleep on my blow-up mattress, the mattress completely deflated within about 30 minutes and I was basically lying on hard ground, which, given that my hips often hurt at the best of times, was pretty excruciating through the night.
Note to self: even when ground looks flat, test things out before it's time for sleep. I looked like some squirrel buiding a nest inside as I went round and round, each corner covered, to try and find a flat sleeping area and then being bunched right up against the bottom wall, the sole flat spot.
I beelined it to town the next day for Tylenol, a new blow up mattress, a couple of craft beer and chocolate. Camping in your sixties is like buying shoes: comfort first!
The best part is, and the part that never fails me almost every time I've ever camped at Ruckle, is the people I meet there. This time I met Joey, a tugboat worker from Ladysmith. He was camping for one night in the smallest tent ever as his wife was doing some mega trail running race up in northern B.C. out of Nimpo Lake Lodge. I really enjoyed talking to him because they had travelled extensively and he was a super nice guy who blew all my stereotypes about who might work on tugboats.
There was Sue, a retired doctor and her husband and their beautiful 11-year-old Australian Shepherd From Summerland, they were camping for a week before visiting their daughters in Victoria.
And Anna Clara, a 20-something social media nomad who also, spur of the moment, arrived from Vancouver.
It reminded me of the time I met the Libyan.
On Wednesday, another hot day, I made my way to a nearby lake which shall remain nameless on purpose. I walked into the water, the small entryway surrounded by lily pads as if they were placed their to welcome us. I glided into the water which, compared to the ocean, was incredibly warm. Dragon flies. The sparkling cool emerald liquid to luxuriate in. The sounds of bird call. Farther out, on a floating dock there were five naked local maidens, catching up on each other's days. A scene you're not likely to find in the city and I can only admire their comfort with their bodies.
Thank you Salt Spring for always delivering what I need, when I need it, even when it's just lazy quiet time to soak in your beauty; a quick reprieve.