Camping in Arizona.

 

We left Vegas, bound for Phoenix, AZ. It was sweltering, and all we could think about was swimming in a nice, cool lake. We checked the map, and found Lake Pleasant just north of Phoenix. It was manmade, born from a dammed river and full of fish. Best of all, there was a campground on the lake. Perfect. We sat through an oil change, slowing melting into the chairs in the waiting room, hit a Walmart for some supplies, and headed for the lake. You could only camp in the campground with a reservation, however, so we were offered “shoreline camping.” Basically, we could camp anywhere along the lake, as long as it wasn’t in a developed campsite. Such a crazy concept, but we were so psyched for some ghetto camping. On our way to the shore, we saw a herd of donkeys, just grazing off to the side of the road (we found out later they were wild, left by the miners who abandoned the area in the 1800’s). We drove down toward the shore, where there was a nice flat, rock free patch of dirt only feet from the water’s edge. We set up our tent and built a fire-ring about fifteen feet from the water, and had a nice relaxing evening. That night, the wind picked up, whipping our tent around a little bit, but we slept well. When we woke up, the water was probably a foot from our fire ring. This should’ve been a clue to relocate, but of course, we just moved the tent another ten feet back from the water, re-built the fire-ring, and spent the day swimming, and lazing around in the tent, trying to avoid the demon orb in sky, trying it’s best to cook us. That night, the wind began to blow in an angry, vengeful way. Our tent whipped back and forth, at times so flat we could feel the roof touching our sleeping bags. A skunk meandered by our tent and dug through our trash, and neither of us could sleep. We just laid there, our lives flashing before our eyes, as we heard the wind tearing at our shelter, and the water heaving and crashing in the (not so distant) distance. Finally I sat up, checking the water level, and was dismayed to find it only 2 feet from our tent. It was four or five in the morning, the wind had reached an alarming crescendo, our tent whipped, on the verge of tearing, and the water was about to engulf us. So, we scrambled out of the tent, through everything pell-mell in the back seat, and made our escape from hell’s beach. On our way out, we saw the herd of donkeys again, their eyes glowing an eerie white in the pitch dark. We headed for the safety of a Walmart, and laughed at our near death experience. Lake Pleasant… what a lie.