Gather Round the Campfire

There are two types of people in the world: those who enjoy camping and those who'd rather die. I've fallen into the latter (more dramatic) category ever since my parents took me to Pismo Beach as a child and I spent the entire time at the senior center playing bingo. You see, I'd rather spend the evening hanging with octogenarians (and a roof) than build a campfire and crap in a hole I dug myself. Call me a Pretentious Citified Nancy but I've always had a thing for running water.

However, having not camped since I was a wee thing, I thought that maybe it might not be so wretched anymore. (Maybe?) My interest in exploring the relative pleasures of camping, though, didn’t mean that I actually wanted to leave the city. I have only so much desire to challenge my preconceptions. Spending a night in the forest is pushing it.

So, if you're homeless or just want the law off your body, the whole city is your oyster. But for the urban camper, the only place open for legal year-round camping in San Francisco is on Angel Island. The island has been many things over the years: a fort in the Spanish-American War, a missile base, a scary-ass immigration station, and more. Most of this history is sad and terrifying, but those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it and so now you know. Currently, it’s a beautiful national park with biking, hiking, and yes, camping. Actually, I'm adverse to all of those words but Angel Island is supposed to provide beautiful city views and I'm into enjoying the view, so let's do this, Angel Island!

Booking an evening on Angel Island is easy enough to figure out. You can even do it online. I am used to doing pretty much everything online so we're off to a good start (this should also be your first clue that I’m off to a bad start). After booking East Bay Site 3 (apparently it's the least windy part of the island), I felt nervous and excited. And then I felt unprepared.

You see, to camp you need camping equipment. And I have none. I asked my friends, thinking some of these hippies probably had a North Face sleeping bag or two, but no, they're also unprepared messes. We're all screwed when the big one comes, btw. If your loser friends don't come through for you either, you might want to check out REI and Sports Basement. Both stores rent camping equipment – you don't want to head into the woods with just an iPhone and a Slanket. Trust me. If the serial killers or bears don't get you, the cold will.

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I headed to Sports Basement to check out the selection and it was solid. I mean, I guess. What do I know about camping? A nice gentleman by the name of Nick (or Trevor? I don't know, he was your average white dude who looked like he likes to camp, so let's go with Nick) helped me out. He fit me with a gigantic backpack with 50 pockets (handy!), a tent large enough for me and my boyfriend (I love you, baby!), and a small propane stove to roast Tofurkys over. Next, he set me up with the kind of sleeping bag mountain trekkers take to K2. You know, the kind that's as thin as a piece of paper but the second you're in it, you start sweating balls? That shit is amazing. Finally, he armed me with nontoxic bug spray (oxymoron!?) and headlamps (Dope, I'm totally a miner! Can't wait to get this thing to the club!) and sent me on my way.

As I checked out, the guy at the counter let me know that if you're camping on the Marin side of Angel Island, you can see deer swimming from Marin to the island to mate. Seriously! I thought he was fucking with me, but no, it's true. How adorable is that? I imagine that two doves fly above them, holding a garland in the shape of a heart. Sigh. Unfortunately, we were camping on the East Bay side so no deer love for us, but it's not too late for you.

Into_the_woods2

After renting the necessary equipment, I hopped in a cab, swung by my boyfriend's work in South Park, and headed to the ferry. There are a couple ways to get to Angel Island. You can leave from Tiburon, San Francisco, or Vallejo. Since I live in San Francisco, I will talk about it like it's the only city that matters. We purchased four of the one-way camping tickets (they're cheaper than other tickets so make sure to ask) and headed to Pier 41 to catch the ferry. As we played Flight Control on our iPhones while waiting for our ride, I noticed that my battery was dwindling down. I'm not usually aware of this because I always have about 50 ways to charge my phone during the day. I pushed my panic down and and instead took out The New Yorker. God, I'm bored already.

The ferry ride to Angel Island was quick and painless, but I spent the entire time staring out the window watching the city shrink in the distance. It actually doesn't shrink that much, but in my mind I might as well be in Kenya. Wait, are there snakes on the island? Do you run from a rattlesnake or stare it down? Fuuuuuuck. We got to the island and disembarked. I know I'm a dramatic baby but watching that ferry pull away, I felt a kind of dread that I haven't experienced since I watched that little kid shoot Omar on The Wire. Shit was about to Get Real.

We found a ranger (in costume and everything!) who directed us to our campsite. As he pointed to the rocky hill we'd be ascending, I started to question my fashion choice of sundress and flip-flops. Whatever, I'll look hella cute when I ass-slide down the mountain.

We started to climb, and it's not pretty. For folks who aren't familiar with the peak that leads to the top of Angel Island, let me paint you a picture. It's called Mt. Livermore. Look it up and then imagine a beast ten times worse and covered in prickly branches that poke through your flip-flops and draw blood. When we got to the top, my boyfriend announced that he thinks we went the wrong way. SAY WHAT? Fine, okay. We'd already trekked all the way to Mordor but I had to let it slide. I cursed his name and headed down the death stairs. We got to the bottom and he goes, "Oh wait, that was right." I swear to God, you guys, I almost went Donner Party on him. He is lucky I didn't have a hunting knife because I would have set up base camp right there and dined on his innards with a nice Chianti. Oh shit, I forgot the beer, too. What the what!

We climbed back and hiked the rest of the two miles, straight uphill, to our campground, which sat on a bluff, providing a 90-degree view of the East Bay. Pretty. As my boyfriend set up the tent, I put all of our food in the lockbox so that raccoons couldn't get to it. Apparently the raccoons and deer on Angel Island are SUPER friendly, and by SUPER friendly, I mean they'll eat you and sell your skin for profit. If you leave food out or in your tent, be prepared to have a family of raccoons set up shop on your face. After the tent was set up, we hiked around for a bit (read: my boyfriend busted out his laptop and did work until it died and I stared nervously at the red battery light on my phone). I'll give the woods this: They are really beautiful and smell great. I'd forgotten what clean air smells like – different than the garbage we smell in the city.

There were other happy surprises, too. Roasting our Tofurkys over the propane fire, it's fun to see them get all black and bubbly from the fire. You don't get that with a microwave. After we finished dinner, we retired to the tent to wait it out until morning. It was 8 p.m. I guess that means time to go to bed. I mean, what else do you do in the woods? Besides wait for the serial killers to get you? Our setup in the tent wasn't bad except I've got some words to the wise: Bring a mat. Seriously. I believe that's the single most important bit of advice I'm providing here. It can mean the difference between a restful night in the scenic outdoors and dying from minuscule bits of rock eating into your spine. Also, if you can swing a pillow, that would help too. I used my backpack and yeah, no, it wasn’t the same.

I woke up several times in the middle of the night because I dreamt that raccoons or serial killers were circling our tent. Sometimes together. It was so real. I think this is more about me needing some therapy, but anyway, just wanted to let y'all know. I'm all about sharing experiences. Actually, I won't share about having to use the pit toilet in the middle of the night because that shit (ha!) isn't fit for prime time. Or my memories. Thanks for making me think about it again.

Waking up in the morning, I shook my sleeping boyfriend and insisted we head down the hill early so we wouldn’t miss the first ferry off the island. It was 6 a.m. Stepping into the morning dew is either exhilarating or annoying, depending on what type of person you are. I'll say no more. We organized our backpacks (Leave No Trace!) and headed down the hill. I'm not going to lie to you: Seeing that ferry come into sight was one of the best feelings I've had in a long time. I greeted the crew as saviors as we boarded, hugging everyone. One guy asked, "How did you enjoy the night on the island?" I responded with, "I love you." Too much?

There are lots of camping spots on Angel Island, but they fill up quickly (especially in the summer months when it's not FREEZE YOUR ASS OFF cold) so reserve early online. You can get ferry tickets for campers at the Blue and Gold Fleet booth at Pier 39. The ferry leaves and returns from Pier 41 – be sure to check the schedule online. You can get your camping equipment at Sports Basement. It's plentiful in the off-season but if you're summer loving it, you'd better reserve ahead. And don't forget your camping mat! Seriously, don't forget it. My backside hasn't been the same since.

Design by Beau Trincia