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Somewhere in the upper right-hand corner just above the "View" in "View my complete profile" lies the best place to camp, ever.
As I'm fond of saying, I've been camping here since before I was born. That's right, since I was a babe in the womb, and almost every year since then has held at least one trip to the Barrens for me.
It's in northwestern Wisconsin and I love its scraggly pines, sandy soil, rolling hills, crunchy moss, dense forest and rippling rivers.
This is actually the Namekogen river, which my river is a tributary of.
We crossed over it on our way in to our campsite this year.
Every year my mom would have my sister and I pack our white slatted baskets with the things we wanted to bring with. Whatever we could fit plus a couple extras were all we could take with us, but somehow I never ended up using all of it on any trip I went. The delights of the Barrens were far more entertaining than anything mundane enough to be brought from home could ever be.
Its called the Barrens because years ago, before I was born, a forest fire swept through and took many acres. When my parents were younger than the age I am now, they obtained permission from the logging company that owns the land to camp there, as long as three common sense rules were maintained: don't cut down live trees, don't start forest fires, and take everything you brought (trash and all) with you when you leave.
My dad took these rules very seriously, and I can remember years where he shimmied up trees like a primate in order to make sure the last bit of rope or stray leftover firecracker was down before we left.
The campsite is reached by driving down a sucession of narrower and smaller roads, going from the interstate 35 all the way to a track that is more for ATV's than cars or campers. The sand on the sides is thick and can drag you in if you're not careful and the roads follow the hills like a dusty rollercoaster and rocks make a musical pinging on your undercarriage as you careen down the dirt "roads". If you worry about scratches to your paint or how rough roads will hurt your car's suspension, this place is not for you.
When I was little, my dad had a toy.
It was a red-orange dune buggy with two bucket seats and padded roll bars, and I can barely remember it, but the few memories I can recall are filled with the scent of delighted terror and breathless excited glee.
One year my dad woke us up late at night and brought us to the beginning of the driveway turnoff where the trees were smaller (recovering still from the fire) to show us a meteor shower.
The stars up there are incredible. The Milky Way is so shiningly obvious. Where I grew up, you could see more stars than where I live now, but even there the night sky could not compete with nature's mural up here in the sparsely populated area along the Totagatic river. I never fail to see at least one shooting star while I'm up there.
After driving down the rutted track, with tree branches scraping along the sides of the car even as the wheels thump down into enormous holes and the grassy middle section brushes the undercarriage, you are rewarded by the sight of a sudden round clearing opening out onto the river itself. The trail curves to follow it downstream several yards leading to the rest of the campsite, gently shaded by tall scruffy pines. Some of the stumps have been sawn off at hip-height and lengths of board were attached to them to serve as all-weather tables.
The edge of the campsite is sudden, breaking off into a minature sandy cliff that ends in the glinting and burbling water below. Two arms of rocks stretch across the river, obstructing the flow, which almost but not quite meet in the middle, allowing a swift and strong current to funnel between. The river upstream of the rocks and in the channel is sandy soft.
Recent damage from the storm. Directly underneath that tree used to be deep swimming
hole that was over my dad's head in some years, but several years ago another tree collapsed from
the bank and caused the hole to be silted up. My childhood simming beach goes unused now.
Once we spent nine days camping out there, a portion with friends of the family but many were spent together with just me, my sister and our parents.
We picked blueberries when they were in season and ate fresh blueberry pancakes. We were eaten alive by bugs and endured rainy trips at times.
Some nights, up late with my friends, I can't wait to show this to my future children. I only hope that it will be preserved long enough for me to introduce them to it properly, over years of childhood exploration like I had.
My parents and their friends started the tradition of tying a rope across the river, the better to secure their floaty devices and soak up the sun's rays. We continued the tradition when I began going up in high school, and I remember being amazed at how much had changed in the few years of our absence between getting my driver's license and when we sold the old Winnebago camper.
The view downstream from our campsite
I remember being pulled across a sandbar by my father on the orange foam boogey board we simply called the "Aussie" for the name embossed on the top. All the floats end at the campsite after putting in upriver, and depending on which entry point we chose and how deep the river was, that trip could either be as quick as 20 minutes or as long as six hours.
I am filled with fond memories every time I visit this place, whether in the flesh or in my mind. It's beautiful and peaceful and far from everything noisome. No traffic, no lights, no electricity, no bathroom, nothing but you and the woods and the river.
If I could buy the place to preserve forever, I would.
Now.
Immediately.
No question about it.
The place constantly changes, as evidenced by the ravages of a storm just recently passed. Selfishly, I wished for our idyllic site to be spared for the most part, and thankfully, it was. Not everywhere was so lucky.
There were acres and acres of trees blown sideways like this on the way out last trip.
Two weekends past I went up there with my sister and her boyfriend, just the three of us. We had a fun time enjoying the sights and sounds of the river, eating and drinking around the fire and later on tubing for the afternoon just after a sudden storm had passed. We saw a majestic bald eagle winging his way downriver while we were ensconced on our rubber inner tubes and enjoyed snacks of summer sausage, cheese and pasta salad while we lazily floated with the current.
The view downstream from where we parked the camper while I was growing up.
The swimming beach is overgrown with disuse now.
The day we had to leave, we dried off my enormously-huge but oh-so-easy to set up new tent and my sister and her attendant handy-man around the campsite waved goodbye.
I LOVE this frakkin tent. It was so big, even my sister's 6'4" boyfriend could stand upright in the middle section. It sheltered us well from a sudden fierce thunderstorm.
I stayed there alone after they left, as I have done before in the past, and read my book and enjoyed the summer day in the woods along the river.
I know this cannot last forever, and every year we drive up I dread seeing a gate barring the last turnoff, signaling that this era is at an end.
Truly, if Heaven on earth exists, it exists in the places like these, where your soul is restored just by being there.
The best part is that I am going again this coming weekend with another small group of friends. One more chance to store up another memory-piece of heaven.
