Let me just say, I was right…my exact locations may have varied by a few miles. But nonetheless, I was right.
My mom and I decided we wanted to go camping before summer had completely ended. We conversed with our husbands and decided to go forth with the plans. I had told her of a site, located in the Wasatch Mountains, that I had camped at for the past three years. It was beautiful and in the middle of nowhere; since Pop decided that our normal location had been “all camped out” and not worth going.
(Which I would imagine looking something like this)
My description went something like this:
Completely serene, in a field surrounded by trees, located on the foothill of the mountain. You were a thirty-second walk away from a fish filled river, complete with a swimming area to wade in. Across the river were trails to hike and four-wheel on and never ending beauty. Best of all, it was only a short thirty minute drive from my house in Lyman.
Which was supposed to look something like this.
(Yes, this is the actual campsite where we were anyway.)
Deal. Location was set. We packed up, and headed out down the road.
Thirty minutes later, no campsite to be found...
Forty…fifty ….an hour down the road; nothing. My heart sunk even more after passing a “no four-wheeling past this point” sign...so much for that idea.
After an hour and a half drive and a half of tank of gas later, we finally pulled into the elusive camp site. Yes, it is most definitely in the middle of nowhere…No, it is not thirty minutes from my house. My first of many incorrect memories.
After Brent and Mom impeded their giggles due to my horrible sense of direction and recollections, we set up camp. Night falls, and Brent and I headed to make a quick trip to the river to fill the dog’s water bowls. I can’t find the river. I attributed it to the darkness but Brent is beginning to think there is no rive.
Morning came and my mom headed into town to go meet Pop to guide him up. Meanwhile, I am determined to find my river. Mind you, I have complete evidence that this river exists. I had been camping here numerous times, and walked down to the water with my dog to play, as well as tons of pictures to prove it.
We walk...and walk, and walk, and walk. No river. My thirty second jaunt turned into a two hour hike with hardly a hint of any sort of water. We found small creeks and decided to follow them in hopes they would lead us to it. Nope.
Once again, my past memories have failed me, and my wonderful-amazing-beautiful campsite had turned into a semi decent grove of trees…minus the river.
My mom and Pop return and having full faith in me and my river, we set out once more to find it. Eventually, after directional argumentation, we (meaning Brent and my mom) found the river! Though it wasn't the same place I had been before, it was a river, and I found it.
I felt like a used car salesman. I made something sound so great and wonderful, you just have to have it, and in the end you ended up with a clunker that barley runs. But that was just my feelings. My mom, Pop, and Brent all agree the site couldn’t have been more beautiful, and they loved the location. No, we didn’t fish, four-wheel or wade in the water, but we all had a blast. The rest of the weekend included Dutch-oven dinners, games, hikes, site seeing, and lots of play time for our four dogs.