Bass Canyon Campout Journal
Friday, July 31st, 2026 – The Hike
Last year we wanted to hike with the tribe. It never happened. Too hot. Too unorganized. And... let's just say a few people celebrated a little too enthusiastically the night before.
So this year... I decided we were hiking.
Now, when I say I decided, you might imagine me becoming some sort of camp dictator. Fair enough. Guilty. I put it on the schedule and decided I was going, whether anyone else came or not.
As it turned out, most everyone took Thursday night pretty easy. The few who didn't... weren't particularly interested in hiking Friday morning.
Funny how that works.
The boating event was small.
The hiking crew got a lot bigger.
Tom came. Jennie came. Chrystal. Porter. Kolben. Willie. Rainee. A couple of little adventurers. Two dogs.
And before I spoil the ending...
I'll just say this.
It was exactly what we needed.
We chose Stewart Falls, up near Sundance. Ironically, Tom and I had both spent years thinking we'd already been there. After all these years living right here... we somehow had missed this hike.
But maybe everything worked out perfectly.
Because this turned out to be the perfect time for us to experience it for the very first time.
The views. The clean air. The trees and rocks. The sound of the water. The icy spray coming off the falls.
It was all worth it.
But the waterfall wasn't really the point.
The point was...
We were participating.
Willie carried one of the little ones all the way to the top like it was nothing. Rainee carried another for much of the hike, with Jennie stepping in to help along the way.
The dogs trotted happily from person to person, convinced they were leading the expedition.
One little bee sting reminded us nature occasionally votes back.
A frozen Uncrustable somehow became gourmet cuisine.
I discovered my hydration pack was, in fact, a complete piece of shit.
And somewhere behind us, a group of sweet older ladies—who proudly referred to themselves as "The Grandmas"—spent the entire hike discussing things about their husbands...
...that I wish I had never overheard.
We laughed. We sweated. We climbed. We rested. We walked together.
That's the thing I love about wilderness.
It doesn't ask me to think differently.
It asks me to participate.
And if you participate...
...you automatically allow the earth to do what it has quietly done for humans since the beginning of time.
Heal us.
Fill us.
Wake us back up.
There was one quiet moment I didn't fully appreciate until later.
Porter had brought his old dog, Trico.
The hike turned out to be more than the old guy had left in him.
By the end, Porter quietly carried Trico down the mountain. A big dog. A long way.
At the time, I didn't realize what that meant. I was racing Willie and Kolben back to the trailhead, convinced I still had something to prove.
Only later would I understand what that walk meant to Porter.
Sometimes we don't recognize the important moments until someone tells us their story.
We made it back to camp...
Hot.
Hungry.
Satisfied.
Dave filled the stock tanks with fresh cold water, and one by one we climbed in.
Absolute bliss.
Cold plunge.
Cold drinks.
Camp chairs.
No agenda.
Just that wonderful feeling that comes after doing something real together.
More friends drifted into camp that evening. Caleb and Pam treated us to a beautiful DJ set. John arrived with his brother. Ben rolled in. The conversations deepened. The laughter came easier.
The tribe had settled.
Looking back... I don't think it was just the waterfall. Or the cold plunge. Or the music.
It was that we'd earned the evening.
Every time I do something active with my friends... my family... my tribe... I'm rewarded with this magical vitality that lights me up clear to my core.
There's something about doing hard, embodied things together that makes the quiet afterward feel sacred.
And I don't take that for granted.