Rock Creek Trip Report

Or, My God Teenagers Can Eat!

Just got back from another "family oriented" mini-vacation made necessary by our unwillingness (some would say our cheapness) to send our son to camp the entire summer. This time a camping trip up Rock Creek in the Eastern Sierra, sans the wife, who gets the son next week when I go back to work.

We stayed at one of the numerous Forest Service campgrounds that line the road up to Rock Creek Lake. Anybody who knows me knows this isn't exactly my kind of camping. For one thing, I don't particularly like people, and the average Forest Service campground is practically teeming with them; bunches of inconsiderate, self-centered locusts doing their unconscious best to ruin the outdoor experiences of their fellow campers. But with my six year-old, my sister's family (including her two teenage kids and their two friends) and my Dad in attendance, developed camping was our only practical alternative.

I must say I was pleasantly surprised by the experience. Rock Creek is the only east side drainage of the Sierras I'd never been to, and I wonder why it took me so long. The area is gorgeous, the creek lively and accessible, the lake picturesque and the hiking opportunities limitless. The campsites are spaced far enough apart to impart some sort of "solitude," if that's the right word. We caught some fish at Rock Creek Lake, my son had a great time floating his toy boat down the creek, and in general a good time was had by all.

I also caught a glimpse of what the wife and I are in for when my son reaches his teenage years. Good God, those kids can eat! Following is a list of what was consumed by four adults, four teenagers and a six year-old in just four days:

Nine rib-eye steaks, sixteen hamburgers, twenty-four hot dogs, three pounds of Italian sausage, two pounds of spaghetti, three pounds of stew meat, two large cans of Ranch Style beans, four cans of chili, three loaves of bread, three pounds of lunch meat, a pound of cheddar cheese, two large packages of American cheese, a loaf of French bread, three packages of English muffins, two pounds of bacon, two pounds of chorizo, 72 flour tortillas, ten pounds of potatoes, nine ears of corn, six bell peppers, twelve onions, a package of cherry tomatoes, several bottles of assorted condiments, enough Some-ores to wire an army with a week-long sugar rush, assorted crackers, cookies and candy, and an astounding 72 eggs. Oh, and two fresh-caught trout and four jars of canned lake trout my Dad brought back with him from Wyoming.

And we had zero leftovers. My nephew and his friend, in particular, reminded me of the old joke about Samoans: they didn't eat until they were full -- they ate until their jaws got tired.

So, as the camp cook, I spent much of my vacation standing over my old Coleman stove and the three grills required to cook that much food. Still, it was a fine four days, and the best proof was every one's attitude when it came time to pack up and leave: nobody wanted to go home.