So we planned our vacation. I took the day off—always a good idea—and we packed everything into the back of the truck and our adventure began. Somehow, all of our vacations end up as adventures. By adventure, I mean disaster.
We drove the forty minutes to Mantua and realized that our camping spot was not on Loop B (the loop we visited the previous week). No, this was a more “rustic” loop. By rustic I mean not maintained. We turned the first corner and realized we were ill-equipped to handle the situation. Where Loop A was dirt but well-maintained and relatively smooth, Loop B was paved—fifty years ago. Now the pavement resembled large boulders interspersed with potholes and rocks. Luckily, the road was steep enough that even the boulders couldn't stop us from barreling down the hill.
We found our camp site and began unpacking. Having been through numerous wilderness survival experiences, we were careful to pack the appropriate survival gear. We ran through our check list of essential items as we unpacked. Funyons—check. Donuts—check. Licorice—check. Everything looked good so we moved on to phase two—a nap.
The campground at Mantua is about one mile from the lake, snuggled against the side of the mountains and enclosed by a meandering stream. Our spot was right by the stream and the tall, swaying willows and burbling brook proved an excellent cure for the stresses of modern life.
After the nap and a bag or two of Funyons, we were ready to hit the water. We hitched up, got up enough speed to make it up the pavement strewn obstacle course the Forest Service calls a road and headed out of the campground towards the lake.
We'd been here just one week before so we were familiar with the area. Turn left at the small triangular-shaped park in the middle of town. Go past the old country store. Turn right at the parking lot and creep up the small but steep hill on the side of the dike. Being good boaters we read each sign as we passed to make sure we were aware of any potential hazards or unusual regulations.
No swimming by the docks.
No parking on the dike.
The Health Department has banned swimming in this lake due to health concerns.
Uh oh.
We stopped and re-read the sign. Health department...no contact with water...swimmer's itch. Hmm, that explained the lack of people on the lake.
I glanced around and noticed there were two boats pulling inner tubes on the water. Feeling hopeful, I said, “Maybe they put the sign up and forgot to take it down when it wasn't a problem anymore.”
My wife ignored me and suggested that I call my parents and have them look up “swimmers itch” on the Internet.
Luckily “swimmer's itch” is not the amoeba that crawls up your nose and eats away your brain. Small consolation—swimmer's itch is caused by a parasite (flatworm) that causes extreme itching, fever and insomnia.
So, we did what any sane person would do. We let the dog go in and watched for any unfortunate side effects. After a while we noticed that he began panting, scratching and running around in circles, barking loudly. Obviously this indicated the water was just fine so we decided to hop in the boat.
Strangely, my wife was still nervous about swimming with flatworms so we decided to approach the tubers and ask them if we should be concerned about the “swimmer's itch”.
“No problem—I wouldn't worry about it,” they said almost convincingly.
“Just take a REALLY good shower when you're done.”
“We're camping,” I left the obvious, “we won't be showering,” unspoken. The also obvious implication being, “we smell approximately as good as the pile of mildewing grass-and-dog-poop-compost pile in our backyard.”
As they rapidly plugged their noses and threw their boat into reverse to avoid our eau de forest swamp smell they yelled, “Just scrub really, really well with a clean towel then. You'll be okay ... probably.”
“Sounds good, let's hop in,” I enthused.
With a glance that spoke volumes, my wife began pulling out the dinner we'd packed and commented, “There's a nice little spot over there where we can chill, have dinner and listen to some music.”
I relented and pushed the throttle forward enjoying the gut-wrenching feel of the V-8's acceleration as we skimmed over the water. I glanced at my gauges to ensure everything was running smoothly. Oil temp—perfect. Oil pressure—perfect. RPM's—3,000. Water depth—ten inches. Ten inches?
With cat-like reflexes and a captain's instinctive understanding of the sea (or inland, smallish, puddle-like lake), I immediately stopped the boat. Unfortunately my wife, children and dog don't enjoy these same cat-like reflexes and depth of oceanic understanding. Or, perhaps I just didn't give them any warning. After a few band-aids and profound apologies, I peered over the gunwale to see how deep the water really was.
After a moment or two I was still uncertain. However, I did know that 224 acres of seaweed was exactly ten inches shorter than the depth of the water.
“That's a lot of seaweed,” my wife blandly commented as she leaned over beside me.
“No problem. The prop will just cut right through that stuff,” I said with an authoritative captain-esque tone.
Several hours later, after thoroughly removing the seaweed from the propeller, rudder and skegs, we headed back to camp.
“Why don't we try Hyrum Lake tomorrow,” my wife suggested.
“Great idea.”
And Hyrum Lake was great. The water was cool but not cold, the lake was beautiful and so was the setting. I must admit, Mantua is more scenic, especially since it's typically just you, the water, the mountains, the parasites and the seaweed.
If you're looking for a great, little secluded-mountain-valley-hideaway, Mantua Campground (the forest service calls it Box Elder Campground) is great. And, they say the fishing is good, although the fish tend to itch a lot.
But, if you're looking for a good swimming/wakeboarding base camp—I suggest passing by Mantua on your way to Hyrum lake.
I've added a few pictures below and a new Google map.
1 comment:
Your stories are a kick! Thanks for the laughs. Nice pictures too.
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