Silver Island Campout

Shower after shower crossed I-80. I was nervous about the roads. To my surprise, the road along Silver Island was fine. I took Dad’s Pop tent. You pull it out of the bag and, pop, it is up. I used it years ago when we last came to Silver Island. There had been a wind storm and the fly had been ripped off. Luckily I had had enough foresight to lash it to our van door.

Janalyn, Michelle, Stefanie, Bryson, Nolan, and I roasted Starbursts. We cooked apples and dipped them in brown sugar and cinnamon. We made smores.

The girls decided to cram into one of the small square tents together. Bryson joined me in my large two man tent. We had plenty of space. Nolan slept alone in the other small square tent.

At 6:30 the storm hit. I had just gone back to bed after checking to see if there was any sort of decent sunrise. Suddenly the rain crashed down. I curled up warm in my bag. Then the wind hit. The tent shook and bent. A little water was seeping in the edge of the tent by our heads. That was normal for this tent. Not a big deal; we’d be dry as long as we didn’t go up there to bother the puddle. The wind grew worse. A bump brought my head out of my bag. The tent had come un-staked at our head and the end flapped up against us. That nice puddle of water was coursing through the tent now, soaking into Bryson’s pad, and the edge of my sleeping bag. Oh, and my shirt, pants, and camera.

Things were going down hill fast. By 7:30 our rain fly was giving up its last hold on the tent. The wind caught it like a sail. I climbed out quickly. I felt like a sailor as I clawed out knots in the icy rope attaching the fly. I made a complete circle attaching all the ties but the wind had already whipped my knots free. I circled, tightening again. My hands were frozen. The horizontal rain was hitting me in the face.

I fled to my car to find it already occupied by Janalyn and Michelle. They had gotten wet in their tent and had come to get dry.

The sky did clear up and we had a wonderful day.

We headed out to the caves. In the first I found a small piece of woven basket. I was shocked. It was definitely and Indian Artifact. So the rumors are true: the Fremont Indians did use these caves as shelter. The second cave had somewhat fresh animal bones. It looked like a fox had been in on the soft silty dirt.

Real food sounded great so we packed into our cars and trundled off down the dirt road to Wendover. The rain had been enough to turn it into the slimy goo I remember from my last visit. I was on a slight curve when my car spun. There was no warning. I was just suddenly sliding sideways. I corrected and kept us on the road. We slid and sloshed forward; the car fishtailing eagerly. I stopped my car and jumped out just in time to see Stefanie’s car, facing the wrong direction, slide off the road at the curve. After five minutes we had rocked it out of the trench and back onto the road.

We got out safely, got our food, and made it home just in time to get rained on by a passing thunderhead.