Popsie’s Great Camping Adventure
by
Claude Hall
Andy wanted to take his cat McCloud camping with us. Somehow, he had found
McCloud and now held the cat in his arms. In my family, which included my wife
Barbara and sons John, Darryl, and Andy, my youngest son only 3 years old was
the only one who could hold the cat.
“Definitely not,” said his mother. She was tucking the last of the breakfast
dishes in the dishwasher.
“But John gets to take Popsie,” complained Andy.
“I’m the one who takes Popsie. McCloud has to stay and guard the house.
Popsie keeps the bears away.”
“Oh,” said Andy. He reluctantly let McCloud drop from his arms. The cat
immediately vanished. Darryl said the cat lived on our rooftop. Andy insisted that
McCloud lived on Mars.
The truth was we had recently experienced an attempted burglary. Popsie
and McCloud both had confronted the poor man and held him at bay, slightly
wounded from scratches on his face and a dog bite on his leg, until the firemen
arrived. My wife Barbara and her friends up and down the street always called the
fire department when they had a problem. Such as the time Barbara thought she
saw a snake crawl under the refrigerator (it turned out to be a small harmless
lizard). Firemen took only 15 minutes; the police took 45 minutes. Thus the reason
the fire department in our area received homemade cookies and now and then a
chocolate cake.
I was stressed out from my job and needed to get back to nature for a while.
To think about things. So, we were going camping for the weekend. And Barbara
had persuaded the Vellines who lived up the street from us to meet us there
alongside the stream at Lodgepole in the Sequoias. If you can’t find God while
prowling under those towering two thousand-year-old trees, you aren’t looking.
We’d camped out at Twenty-nine Palms with the Vellines and with Joey Reynolds
and his wife Carolyn and their daughters Mercedes and Kristen. We took along the
Adam kids – sans their parents -- on one venture there. The oldest daughter was
an actress; she’d been in one movie, “Walking Tall,” and a “Bonanza” TV show.
We’d also camped out with the Vellines at Leo Carrillo State Beach. And one time
we’d picked up a hitchhiker named Woody Roberts, actually a well-known radio
man, and he camped out with us somewhere up the coast toward San Francisco.
We were en route to Mt. Lassens Volcanic National Park on that venture. But our
favorite camping was done in the Sequoias.
Loading the stationwagon was always a problem. Tent, sleeping bags, dog,
kids, and food, most of it iced down in a Coleman. Kids trying to cram favorite toys
into the back of the Plymouth. They never played with toys when we camped.
They found it too exciting to wade in the stream, run up and down the trails, yelling
and shouting. I told Darryl he couldn't take his skateboard because there was no
place to use it up there. Now and then, I would take a cassette player. More often
than not, I preferred to listen to the sounds of nature. The wind in those towering
Sequoias sang their own song.
So I unloaded the few unneeded toys while John checked to make sure some
meat was in the Coleman. A few years ago when we still lived in Manhattan, we’d
rented a tent trailer and gone camping to see Niagara Falls and my wife Barbara
had forgotten to take the hamburger meat and the hotdogs. Darryl, even though
quite young at the time, also found it necessary to checkout the Coleman. Then
Popsie wanted to also look in the Coleman ice chest, but Barbara frowned on that.
John had already made sure that we had his water bowl and his food bowl and
enough dog food for more than three or four days. I made sure the house was
locked up and we were off.
Moraga Drive is very close to Mulholland Drive along the ridge of the
mountain. There’s an entrance onto Interstate 5. It’s a long, long way to the
Sequoias, but up around Fresno things get interesting again as you leave the
Interstate and head into the mountains. The road snakes alongside hills and rocks
and slowly rises up into the pines. When you spot your first Sequoia, it’s like a
burst of red thunder in the sky. They grace the clouds. And are as old as Jesus
would have been. In the Great Basin, you’ll find bristlecone pines much older, but
there are no trees anywhere as impressive, as awe-inspiring, as mentally
disturbing as a Sequoia. The Sequoia will pick you up and put you back where you
belong. They can also set your mind back on track.
We found the Vellines tucked by a fallen tree near the stream and out of the
way of most people who enjoy camping. Bobby already had a small fire in a circle
of rocks. Tommy and Jeff, two of his sons, had scrounged up fallen branches to
feed the flame. Me? I’d fetch along a bag of charcoal. We threw up our tent a few
yards away, near enough to the stream to hear it prowl among the rocks and
pebbles. But behind another fallen tree the size of the stationwagon and as old no
doubt as some of the trees still growing and guarding the nearby road.
Darryl and John had leaped from the stationwagon just as soon as I parked
just off the road. Gone! And they had Popsie with them. On a leash, I hope.
Fortunately, I’d learned how to set up a tent with just a little help some years ago.
My “help” was already gossiping with Karen Velline. They were like sisters.
I whistled at her.
“Come hold this pole a moment.”
Without even bothering to look in my direction, she and Karen came over, still
talking. She held the pole while I fastened the tent. Never dropped a word.
Continued talking.
“Done,” I said.
She and Karen walked off over toward the stream. I have no idea what they
were talking about.
I finished setting up the tent and tossed the sleeping bags and pillows inside.
Left all of the food in the car and locked it because of the possibility of a stray bear.
Then I found a boulder beside the stream that made a good place to sit – my
temporary throne -- took off my socks and shoes and rolled up the legs on my
Wranglers. Wading is a magnificent way to start a weekend vacation in the
Sequoias.
I soon noted that Bob had beat me to it. He was wading a few yards up
stream along with two of his boys, Tommy and Jeff. The boys were trying to see
who could splash stream water further … especially in the direction of their father.
He’d found it necessary to defend himself and was splashing back. Robert
Thomas Velline, whose professional name was Bobby Vee, was wrapping up an
album for United Artists. One of the songs on the album was a modern version of
his million-selling “Take Good Care of My Baby.” I considered the new version one
of the best ever made. Right alongside Roy Orbison’s “Oh, Pretty Woman” that
featured Bruce Springsteen and John Cougar Mellencamp as band members. Bob
perhaps made a mistake when he put his real name, Robert Thomas Velline, on
the album. Some people accused him of having an identity crisis. In my opinion,
he merely wanted to be able to venture into more mature songs.
Bob and I, however, made it a point not to talk business when camping. We
were both here seeking to get our feet back on the ground. In this case, in chilly
water.
“Karen going to cook some S’mores tonight?” I asked when he drew near.
“I hope so,” he said.
“You picked a great place to tent,” I told him.
Both of us were literally hidden from the road and other campers. It was as if
we had a small portion of the stream all to ourselves.
“I was afraid you might be going over to King’s Canyon again.”
“A bit too far,” I told him. “Though it’s pretty over there and not so crowded.”
“This place is good,” he said.
He found a boulder nearby. We both just stared at the stream and the trees
for a while. I was having some trouble at the magazine. Hal Cook, the publisher,
had retired and moved to an island off Seattle. I was slated to become
editor-in-chief. However, Lee Zhito came back from a trip to confer with Bill
Littleford, chairman, and said he’d been requested to remain editor-in-chief as well
as assume the position of magazine publisher. That had been a huge blow to not
only my ego but my pocketbook. My salary was somewhat ludicrous in comparison
to my achievements with the publication.
But the intense pain was slowly drifting away as I watched the water.
“You been up the trail yet?”
“Still thinking about it,” Bob said. “But a park ranger came by a while ago and
warned about bears. Said they’re unusually active this time of year and not to feed
them.”
“Feed them? Hey, man, I’m running for the car if I even see one coming.”
“Sic Popsie on that varmint,” suggested Bob.
“Oh, sure. That dog has never seen a bear. Probably run if he even spotted
a squirrel. Or a rabbit. Do they have rabbits around here?”
This wasn’t exactly true. We’d camped out at Twentynine Palms a few times
– once with Joey Reynolds and his wife Carolyn and two daughters – and Popsie
had been driven slightly nuts by the rock squirrels and bluejays. He couldn’t catch
any of them and soon gave up and ignored them. As for rabbits, I never spotted
one in the Sequoias, but they abound in the Great Basin National Park. And they
were huge! Not quite as large as Popsie, but certainly as large as a cocker
spaniel. Jack rabbits.
“Thank God there’s no telephone around here,” I said.
“Right on,” said Bob. “Right on” was a catch phase in the music and radio
industries at the moment. When you really didn’t wish to comment on the topic
presently under discussion, you just said “right on” and it didn’t mean yes and it
didn’t mean no.
But, of course, the telephone was not my major problem. Like Bob, I was
having a career problem. And one of the problems is that a man with a wife and
kids – and in this case also a dog named Popsie and a weird cat named McCloud –
you had to be very careful. I’d placed all of my eggs unfortunately, as the old
saying goes, in one basket … the music trade magazine where I worked. Oh, I
was writing a novel called “Hellmakers,” but that was mostly to keep sane. The
idea of having a bestselling novel at this stage in my life was mostly a daydream.
Not reality. I had to earn money on a consistent basis. Thus, a job. At this point,
the magazine was extremely important to me. Vital, you might say. I’d worked
hard to make it a success. Other than the magazine, I had no income and very
little potential of another job. Figuratively, I’d painted myself into the old proverbial
career cliché corner. Now, I needed to think things out.
“Guess I’ll take a stroll,” I said.
“Watch out for bears,” Bob said.
“Right on,” I said.
I put on my socks, my feet still wet, and my sneakers. Didn’t bother to say
goodbye. I wasn’t going to be gone long … just a few minutes up the trail.
The stream where we camped is fed by a tumbling waterfall off of a granite
hillside. One hiking trail makes several switchbacks along the waterfall and I
confess that I’m out of shape. Too many evening beers and lack of regular
exercise. I paused about halfway up and was leaning against the side of the trail
when John and Andy came by.
“We were hunting for bears,” Darryl said. “But Popsie didn’t find any.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” I said. “Where are you guys going now?”
“To see if the S’mores are ready yet,” John said.
“Karen won’t cook S’mores until later tonight … long after supper, I would
think.”
“Well, we were hoping,” John said.
“See ya later, Dad,” Darryl said.
And, pulled by Popsie, they went on down the trail and I continued my climb.
The water from the stream, of course, took the easier route among the
fragments of granite that had been chipped and fractured by the storms of the
faded winter. It tumbled here, twisted there. Sprayed off of one little drop off. I
reached over my hands cupped and took a few swallows of the icy water. The old
saying was that if water ran a few yards in the sunlight, it was pure. I’m not sure
that was the case here. But I was thirsty and that water was good! Almost make a
new man of you.
After maybe a hundred yards, I stopped to admire the view. It was like a
painting. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I swear I could smell the pines.
The air was fresh. I felt pretty good.
I hated to turn back. I felt like climbing on up the hill and following the stream
up there back across the rolling mountains. Going nowhere. But anywhere else.
That’s life. Perhaps my life was also going nowhere at the moment. Still, one
had to take the chance that it would turn out okay and that whatever pathway you
took, it always led to bigger and better things.
My trip back was much faster, of course. The twilight of an afternoon hangs
fire in the Sequoias for a long time. Trees and brush grow slowly dim and
comfortable. It’s as if God is weaving a magic spell. And when darkness falls, it
falls suddenly and quietly and I didn’t want to be caught here on the trail without a
flashlight.
Barbara’s conversation with Karen had paused long enough for her to
prepare some hamburgers on a grill placed over some rocks. The soft light of
coals in the fire pit was the only light except for a lantern placed on a log.
I had to stop and admire the scene. This was my Park Avenue princess …
cooking like a pioneer woman out of some Zane Grey novel. She’d certainly
changed from the slender creature with sparkling eyes that I’d married. Truly, as
my father said when I took her that first time to meet the folks … just we came
down from that DC-3 that carried us from Odessa to Hobbs, New Mexico, where
they’d come to drive us on over to Carlsbad, “Boy, you sure know how to pick ‘em!”
And there she was: In bluejeans and a floppy long-sleeved shirt and
sneakers, cooking hamburgers over some charcoals. Lord, but she was pretty!
Now and then, seeing her with her hair astray, doing a chore of some kind, I had to
pause and wonder why she’d married a renegade Texan like me. She was a long
way from the apartment on Park Avenue in New York City where she’d lived with
her mother.
“You see any bears?” Darryl asked. He was sitting on a log by the fire with
Popsie on a leash at his feet.
“Not a bear in sight,” I said. I’m not quite sure that I wished to see a bear. In
the wilds. Once when I was a youth on a week’s outing with the Boy Scouts out
southward of Mertzon, Texas, I’d drifted away from the group and, as I came
around a clump of prickly pear cactus, came face to face with an old grey lobo
wolf. We were about 12 yards apart. He just stood there looking at me. I didn’t
know what to do. I just stood there staring back. Finally, after what seemed like
years, the wolf turned and trotted into the distance on the prairie. And, believe me,
I hurried back to join the group led by old man Shuffield. A few years ago, driving
in the Great Smokeys, we stopped the car and watched a bear lumbering on the
road ahead, begging for food from passing cars, but we kept the windows rolled
up. And, of course, a bear in a zoo is an entirely different thing.
“We should have brought McCloud with us,” said Andy. “She would have
tracked a bear down for sure.”
“Probably,” said his mother, putting a hamburger together and handing it to
me on a paper plate.
“Can you cook S’mores, Mother.”
“Nope,” Barbara said. “Karen is a trained specialist when it comes to
S’mores.”
“When is she going to cook them?” Andy wanted to know.
“Whenever she feels like it,” Barbara said.
Fortunately for the three Hall kids, she cooked them before bedtime and
invited Andy, Darryl, and John to participate in devouring them. I saw Bob
sneaking one from her plate. Her S’mores were delicious.
This was almost – but not quite – the highlight of that weekend’s camping
adventure in the Sequoias. Because after Karen had tired of preparing S’mores for
her four children – Tommy, Jeff, Robby, and Jenny – and my sons John, Darryl, and
Andy I headed for the tent. In a moment, I’d unrolled my sleeping bag and crawled
inside. The kids fought a little about who had the best spot and on whose sleeping
bag Popsie was going to rest. For Popsie is family … especially when we’re
camping.
There’s nothing like the outdoors to make you sleep. Maybe it’s because
you’re close to the earth. And the ground is soft under those towering trees. All
you have to do is wriggle a little and the next thing you know someone is waking
you up. In this case there was a kick, kick, kick and Barbara’s voice asking me if I
were awake.
“Naturally not,” I said.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
“Take a flashlight,” I suggested.
“What about bears?”
“All decent, God-fearing bears are more than likely asleep,” I told her.
“Fat chance,” she said.
“Well, take the dog.”
“Popsie might get hurt,” she said.
“Oh, well,” I said, giving up my argument for staying snug and sleeping.
I crawled out of my sleeping bag and took the flashlight and unzipped the
entrance to the tent. I stood dressed only in a teeshirt and shorts while she hunted
for a robe.
“Hurry up,” I said. “It’s chilly out here.” Whereupon a hand with a blanket
poked out of the tent. “Thanks.” And I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders.
It’s definitely nice to have a wife who might forget the meat on a camping trip, but
remembers to bring a blanket.
Immediately, there was a soft bark from inside the tent as she emerged in her
robe.
“That’s Popsie’s blanket,” she explained.
“I wish you’d hurry a little,” I said.
“This is top speed, I assure you,” she replied. She tied the robe around her.
Then she reached in the tent and pulled out a paid of sneakers and sat on a nearby
rock to put them on.
“Where are my sneakers?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said. “But I would think that bears do love to
nibble on bare toes.”
So, I had to crawl back inside the tent. Fortunately, they were near the foot of
my sleeping bag. But I ignored socks for this excursion down the road and also
didn’t bother to lace the sneakers up.
Popsie’s head appeared in the tent opening. It’s nice to have a trained pet.
“Stay,” I ordered.
His head disappeared. Knowing that hound, he’d probably crawled into my
sleeping bag where it was still warm.
“Well hurry up,” I said.
“I’m ready,” Barbara said.
“Someone stole my Vans,” came a voice from inside the tent. That had to be
Darryl, of course. While Air Jordans were a rage with both adults and youngsters
who dreamed of being adults, the Vans were huge with the younger crowd.
Especially those into skateboards. I think Vans were a local brand, but I’d never
checked.
His mother, of course, had found his Vans and had them on. They were just
a little large for her. She made a flopping sound when she walked.
“Go barefooted,” I said. “The trail to the outhouse is soft.”
“I want to see the bear,” Darryl said. “I cannot outrun a bear in my bare feet.”
Another head popped through the tent entrance.
“I want to see the bear, too,” John said.
“Me, too,” said someone that I couldn’t see at the moment. Andy, of course.
“There is no bear. Mother just needs to go to the bathroom.”
“Never can tell,” insisted John.
“Would you guys please hush,” I said. “A bear might show up just to see
what all of this noise is about. We’re only going to the bathroom. It’s about a
hundred yards down the road. We’ll be right back. Popsie will protect you if any
bears show up.”
“Wish I’d brought McCloud,” Andy said.
Finally, I herded them back into the tent and, yes, my flashlight showed that
Popsie had crawled into my sleeping bag and was more than likely snoozing. That
hound was smarter than I was!
“Are you ready to march?”
“Ready,” said my beautiful Park Avenue princess.
I led the way. The trail followed the road, which was almost paved and
probably had to be repaved every spring as soon as the snow melted. I’d read that
snow could get twenty feet deep in the Sequoias. The snows in these mountains
fed the springs and streams for the lakes that provided some of the water for the
fancy lawns of Los Angeles. But the Halls were likely just as guilty when it comes
to water consumption. Ivy covered the slope in front of our house as well as the
slope on the mountain behind the house. We had a grass lawn, but it was only
large enough for a party blanket or two behind the house.
We reached the supersized outhouse and there was a “his” side and a “her”
side – the bathroom – without seeing a single bear. But, to tell the truth, I wasn’t
searching for one.
I stood guard outside. I glanced at my wristwatch. It was just past midnight.
“It’s cold out here.”
“In here, too,” was the response. Park Avenue princesses won’t take no sash
from anyone. But that’s okay. I’d got lucky. She bothered to learn how to cook.
Somewhat. Enough, anyway, to raise three boys that preferred pizza and hotdogs.
And clean house. Again somewhat. Actually, she preferred a maid for the
housekeeping and we had a maid now and then. After all, Park Avenue princesses
had rights.
That’s the reason, I suspect, she saw the bear first as we were walking back
to the tent. She’d taken the flashlight and was leading the way. We’d just come
around a cedar bush and, as if someone had pulled aside a curtain, there that
sucker was! He was about the size of a hefty bull back on some Texas ranch. But
larger. You know what I mean? Huge. He’d been heading down the road,
probably to another trash can because one had been turned over in the trail up
ahead. And I think he was still hungry. Heck, I knew he was still searching for
food. And I believe he’d found it. Me and my Park Avenue princess!
“Bear!” she said.
And she said it loud enough you could hear her more than likely a block
away. Not a scream. Park Avenue princesses only scream when they’ve got a run
in their silk stockings or a broken fingernail shortly after a manicure.
The bear was, momentarily, just a dark outline in the moonlight that came
eerily down amidst the trees. This made it appear even more dangerous.
Barbara had dropped the flashlight, but it was still on. I quickly picked it up
and pointed it at the bear. The bear was about ten yards away on the other side of
the road. And looking in another direction.
Wouldn’t you know it? Almost immediately, barefooted or not, three young
men and their dog Popsie showed up on the trail in front of us.
“Is that a real bear?” Andy wanted to know.
“Silly,” John said, “they don’t make them artificial.”
“Quiet. Do you want him to hear us?”
“Too late,” said Darryl. “And here I am … without my Vans.”
“I wish I had my cat here,” said Andy. “I’m not going camping anymore unless
I’ve got my cat.”
“I think that bear outweighs your cat,” Darryl said.
“McCloud’s from Mars, though, and he’d whip that big brown thing up real
good.”
“They don’t have bears on Mars, I’ll bet,” said Darryl.
The bear was now staring at us. He raised one paw and clawed at the air.
“Would you guys please hush,” I said in a quiet tone. “Maybe he’ll go away.”
“I don’t think so,” Barbara said. “Hadn’t we better run or something?”
“Or something sounds pretty good,” said John. “Frankly, I think we should
telephone the police.”
“Or something,” said Andy.
“Call the fire department. They’re faster,” said my wife.
“In the meantime,” I said, “run!”
“Barefooted?” questioned Darryl.
The bear had made up his mind. Suddenly he started our direction. But he
had gone only a couple of yards when Popsie charged to meet him. The bear
stopped and reared up and took a swipe at the dog. But Popsie had also stopped,
seemingly in mid-air, landed on two feet and barked. The bear took another swing
at him, but Popsie spun around to nip at the bear’s heels.
The bear let out a savage growl.
Meanwhile, only John took off for our tent. But when he heard Popsie
barking, he stopped to see what was happening.
“Sic ‘em!” yelled Darryl. “Go get that bear. Teach him who’s boss around
here.”
Every time the bear reared up to take a swing of its huge paw at Popsie, the
dog raced around and nipped at his hind feet. I don’t think he was actually biting
the bear, but giving him a great deal of static that kept the bear from advancing
even a foot in our direction.
Popsie must have made a mistake and sunk his teeth into the huge carnivore
because that bear gave forth with a roar that seemed to shake the earth. All of this
time, that dog was yapping and barking enough to hurt your ears. Myriad
flashlights suddenly appeared as people, awakened by the barking and the
growling, appeared amidst the trees.
“Some dog!” said a guy to my right.
“Definitely,” said my wife. She took the flashlight from my hand. “Shoo!” she
shouted.
Other people took up the chant.
“Get out of here!”
The bear evidently became fed up with all of the unwanted attention. It
settled to its four feet and lumbered up the road and quickly vanished among the
trees into the dark of the night and the wilderness.
Popsie had started to follow him, but Barbara called him back.
“Home, kids,” I said.
“Home?” asked John, always meticulous.
“The tent,” I said.
Barbara petted Popsie on the head.
“Definitely some dog,” she said.
Like a meandering herd of elephants, we headed for our tent, Barbara plop,
plopping along, Darryl complaining about his “borrowed” vans.
“If only McCloud had been here,” Andy said.
We finally reached the tent. Nearby, Bobby Vee appeared with a Coleman
lantern on bright, immediately followed by Tommy, Jeff, Robby, and Jenny.
“What’s all of the noise about?” Bobby asked, holding the lantern high to light
up the entire area.
“We just saw a bear,” Andy said. He went over and stood beside Jenny and
Popsie. “Popsie saved our lives.”
Bobby looked at me.
“True,” I said.
“Definitely,” Barbara told Karen, who had now come out of their tent.
“Fun and games are over,” I told John, Darryl and Andy. “That bear has gone
on to better pickings. Tell you all about it tomorrow, Bob.”
“I get to sleep by Popsie,” Darryl said.
However, Barbara had already told all of the pertinent details to Karen and so
Bob knew all about it the next day as we puttered around the stream by the
campsite. Darryl had found “gold” in the stream bed. That’s always possible, of
course, in the streams and creeks of California. The 49ers may have picked the
streams bare in their heyday, but since then more gold had washed down from
upstream. Maybe. It turned out that what Darryl found, however, was merely
flecks of pyrite.
And we ended up eating some cans of chili that I always take for emergency.
Wolf Brand chili. Great stuff from Texas. It seems that something had happened to
the hotdogs we’d packed. Barbara never said anything about it, but I think I know
what happened to those hotdogs. I think she even cooked them for his breakfast.
