Mammoth Mountain Camping - Part I

I am fairly pragmatic in my everyday life. I like things to make sense, I appreciate functionality, and boy oh boy do I love being right! About anything and everything.

But nothing - outside my wife and kids - captivates me and inspires such romantic wonder in me than the Great Outdoors.

I have always always always had such a fascination with space. The stars, the planets, the galaxies, the incomprehensible truth that the light we see in the twinkling lights in the sky is millions of years old. Looking up in the sky every night is a special kind of time traveling. How can that not make your insides full of butterflies?

I feel the same way about being in nature. Deep in the heart of The Land. A place where I feel absolutely foreign and yet fundamentally a part of. I love inhaling its myriad scents: floral, piney, spicy, earth, and even certain kinds of rot can give a weird heady aroma that's so... "nature".

I love the sounds. I mean, who says they don't love the crackling of a good campfire?! That alone! The birds, the rustling of the critters on the ground and amongst the trees. How the breeze and wind creates a chorus through the leaves and branches all its own. The zipping of tents. The scrunching of walking around. Digging through ice chests. Splashing water.

In the final days of June, we packed up the car and headed to the simply perfect Eastern Sierras.

And no trip in, around, through, or by Bishop is complete without a lazy, drifting, aimless afternoon in the Owens River.

And nothing beats Convict Lake. I always seem to miss out on getting a camping spot here, but it's all good. Being forced to camp in a new spot every time we head up there?! Yeah, talk about a total drag.

And it just warms my heart to hear my wife and son talk about their favorite spots in some of my favorite places to be.

We had our precious pup, Pumpkin, with us, so we were a little limited on where we could wander and what trails we could take, but it was all good. No one really wants to completely exert themselves while they're on vacation, right?

When I'm here I realize an absolute truth: this is where I belong. Not necessarily in whatever exact spot I happen to be when I think this particular thought, but... just the sentiment.

"I belong in nature." Like, I say it so simply because it's a simple truth.

But very often, the nature I belong in is the mountains. By a lake. Surrounded by trees.

I do absolutely love the desert.

And the beach.

But something about the mountains just feel... correct.

And you know what I love most about being in nature? Getting lost in it.

Now, I don't mean lost in the sense where no one can find me and search parties are gathered and helicopters dispatched.

I mean... losing myself in nature. Getting lost. No itinerary. Going, "oooh, that trail looks nice" and then wandering off. Losing my sense of control. Losing that nagging feeling that tells me I gotta check this app or whatever.

I know the "no itinerary" thing drives my wife and son a little crazy. I really appreciate their patience with me and how I get distracted. We're talking like "ooh! A squirrel!" levels of how I can veer of course. But I love to say this: no one ever said, "Remember when we were on vacation and everything went perfectly according to plan?" Ummmmm. BORING.

I want to get lost in nature to dispel myself of the artifice of everyday life and become grounded in the grandeur around me.

There's a quick scene in Disney's Pinocchio where the little wooden head is standing outside Geppetto's. He's looking at all the kids dashing off to school and he's so eager to join them that there's a giddiness about him; he's hopping and looking here and there and seems just so overwhelmed to get out there and experience the great big world waiting for him.

That's me when I get into nature.

Pinocchio knew he belonged out there.

I know it, too.