Camping Trip

I've been neglecting my blog. I knew this would happen. I'll try not to let it happen again, even though I don't think anyone reads this. Oh well.

So the reason for my neglectful behavior was my camping trip. I went to a campground called Hell Gate which is my favorite place ever. It's in the Shasta-Trinity National Forest, past Red Bluff, waaaay up north. I had a great time. The highlight of the trip was our five mile hike to the Hoffman graves and back.

That's me on a cute little bridge made out of a tree trunk on the way to the graves. We all gave ourselves nicknames early on in the hike. Mine was Baby Moon Dancer, after my favorite My Little Pony.



That's Cougar Jones, aka my boyfriend Zach cooling off in the creek which my three companions later drank from after they ran out of water. Fortunately they did not get sick. I was very proud of the fact that I managed to conserve all my water. Go me!


That's Rooster Cogburn, aka my brother Jake up on this tree that was growing out of the side of the mountain.

And here with Jake is his best friend Tiger Lily, aka Darren. See that rock he's holding? He had it the whole way to the graves and back, for use as a weapon in case we came across any mountain lions. I have a HUGE fear of mountain lions and was looking over my shoulder constantly.

After a long trek down the main trail, we turned off onto a tiny little trail in a pretty creepy part of the forest. The trees were all dead. Every single one of them. Eventually we got to a very pretty swimming hole that was extremely refreshing.

After a short swim we started on the trail again and soon found the graves. Unfortunately my camera died before we got there, which was pretty devastating, or I would have gotten a picture of them. In case you're wondering about whose graves we were so intent on seeing, here's the story behind them-

Way back when, some time around the California gold rush, a man named Jack Hoffman lived in a house in the Shasta-Trinity Forest, just near where the graves are today. Supposedly, he would put ads in the newspapers of nearby towns in which he promised to meet up with prospectors, sell them supplies and act as their guide. But when these people got near where Hoffman lived, he would shoot them and steal all their belongings. The graves belong to Hoffman and his aunt. Carved into his wooden headstone is a pistol and the words, "Here lies Jack Hoffman, crooked in his grave as he was in life."

All in all it was a fun, if not creepy, experience!

It felt so amazing and yet so terrifying to be so completely engulfed by wilderness. There wasn't a soul for miles. It felt unreal.