We had to find higher ground. We had been passing the camp sites of my dreams, but all covered in tiny baby bear tracks. We reluctantly moved on only to wade into a freak sea of high-elevation poison oak. Now our goats were drenched in its irritating oils that Thaddeus was sensitive to. The plant had just passed their extensive food testing procedure and they were now eating it with gusto, its special chemicals blending with their saliva. It was just a matter of time before we both got slimed with this mixture, which I had found out was much more powerful than what the live plant had to offer; the hard way, of course.
I had left job and mortgage in the city. Media, internet, and obligations all fading into the background of my mind. This was our first night of a month long adventure, an attempt to experience what we thought was the most realistic way for modern people to re-enter their role in the ecosystem, and we were already having problems; bears and poison oak, both of which we had hoped to avoid.
We had overcome so many obstacles to reach the point where we were actually walking away with our seven goats and two dogs, including getting our vehicle hopelessly stuck in the mud moments before we were due to walk away for three days. At that point, trying to choose between the campsites that were more likely to house cougars or bears, we knew we would both get bad poison oak (I didn't know I would get it in both eyes). We needed water to wash and a spot to put our bed and build a fire, a tall order in a canyon with one of the steepest steady slopes either of us had hiked on without a trail.
When some of the camera equipment fell off the packs of Pippin, our pack goat, the ridiculousness of the situation was clear. As soon as I started to find the humor in the situation, things got easier. I traced our bushwhacked trail back to find the very well camouflaged camera gear. Then the whole herd of us headed straight uphill toward the smallest rocky outcrop we could find, hoping the cougars find them less ideal for pouncing from. That night we had a small fire with a six foot high bolder reflecting the heat back into our tarp shelter. We ate our first of many meals of large handfuls of fiddleheads, violet greens and a bit of buckwheat groats. Thaddeus got some great shots of the sleepy goat families, as well as Beau looking very spooky dancing in front of the fire with the moonrise in the background. I was still laughing a few days later when both my eyes swelled shut from poison oak rash.
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