Wolfeboro, A Tapestry of Memories

September 19 – 21, 2012
Camp Wolfeboro, BSA
Camping at Sand Flat Campground, Calaveras County

My husband Chris, who is nearing retirement as a firefighter captain, has a good work schedule of two days on followed by four days off. This configuration allows us the luxury of traveling during the week, thus avoiding the weekend crowds.

On a Wednesday, we packed the car for a brief camping excursion and set off for the Stanislaus National Forest. I was thrilled to return to the area where we had often camped over two decades ago.

Just past Big Meadow, we veered off State Route 4 onto the forest service road and descended two steep miles. We set our sights on Sand Flat Campground. Following a dusty and bumpy journey, we reached the campsite by the North Fork Stanislaus River and found ourselves in blissful solitude.

Next to the site lies Camp Wolfeboro, a Boy Scout Camp where Chris, an Eagle Scout and a pioneer of Wolfeboro in the late 1970s, spent numerous summers during his youth.

After setting up the tent, we uncorked a bottle of wine and prepared the foil dinners, which included seasoned hamburger, potatoes, carrots, celery, mushrooms, and onions. We have a set routine for camping: I handle all the chopping and pre-cooking at home, while Chris takes care of the cooking at the campsite. He even prepared bottles for the kids when they were babies.

Each night we slept under the dark dome of the sky and watched the bright, twinkling stars. The ripple of the river lulled us to sleep.

Day One:  The first morning we awoke to the harsh squawk of a Stellar’s jay. The air was chilly, and the absence of a fire due to restrictions made it difficult to leave the warmth of our sleeping bags. I lingered in the tent until the sun was up. Upon awakening, I was greeted by my thoughtful husband with a hot cup of coffee and a bacon, egg, and cheese burrito, both serving as perfect hand-warmers.

The day’s first activity was a walk through the Boy Scout camp. The fall session had concluded just days prior, and it was clear that a return was necessary to wrap things up.

As we wandered through the area, Chris shared tales from his days in the Boy Scouts, pointing out the places where various events were held.

He pointed out Pioneer Rock and explained a Wolfeboro ceremony.

At the Swimming Board, Chris told of how boys had to pass a test before being allowed to enter the water.

Years ago, Chris taught two of our sons to shoot at the rifle range.

As we meandered through the camp towards Upper Falls, we reminisced about our initial trip here together. I recall the area seeming much larger and the walk significantly longer than it actually was. I had forgotten the towering talus slopes and the high granite walls that encircled us.

We did a lot of boulder-hopping and climbing to reach the Upper Falls, ending up hot and sweaty from the trek. At the top, the water looked inviting. After a moment of hesitation, we plunged into the icy river for a quick, invigorating dip. Afterwards, we laid in the sun and thawed. We reminisced about the times we leapt from the rocks and glided down the waterfall.

Slightly wet yet rejuvenated, we made our way back to Bend Camp, a section within the Boy Scout camp. We had lunch sitting on the waterfront at Bend Camp, a delightful spot to while away the afternoon. We indulged in the natural pleasures before us: the sandy beach, the warm sun, and the chilly river. We thought about going for a canoe ride but ultimately decided against it.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I wandered along the river behind our campsite while Chris prepared dinner. The evening’s menu featured BBQ teriyaki chicken, rice pilaf, Caesar salad, corn-on-the cob, and apple pie for dessert. It’s been a while since we went car camping; we’ve only been backpacking. The luxury of having plenty of food will be something we’ll miss on our upcoming backpacking trip.

Day Two:  The second morning was warmer, making it easier to leave the tent as the birds began their break of day banter. The sun was just starting to tickle the tops of the trees, and the wind blew softly through their branches. With no plans for the day, we simply sat and observed the chipmunks as they scurried about, foraging for food. After lounging at the campsite for as long as was comfortable, we made the decision to pack up and depart.

We drove to Lake Alpine about seven miles up State Route 4. Then stopped at Hell’s Kitchen scenic viewpoint and walked the short trail that led through the glacial erratic. By afternoon, we were on our way home.

This journey was a sentimental stroll through the past for both of us. We reminisced about camping here with our children, spending holiday weekends with family and friends, enjoying great times by the campfire, and reliving the joy of boyhood summers. Those moments have woven a tapestry of memories for us that will forever bind us to this place.