Sequia and Kings Canyon National Park took my breath away and I mean that quite literally, because as it turns out, if you’ve lived your entire life a stone’s throw from the ocean then you notice how much harder your lungs are working at 6000ft.
We stayed in a tent cabin which is the kind of place that my mum would walk in to and then burst in to tears. We had a lantern for light and just wood between us and the great outdoors. The journey up from Los Angeles was on long and windy roads and for some unknown reason we didn’t get around to have lunch so by the time we arrived we both had headaches and felt kind of sick (we may have been suffering a little from altitude sickness, a quick google tells me that it is possible to suffer from it fairly low down). Sleeping it off seemed the best solution until I woke up at 2am unable to feel my face and curled up in the foetal position because I was so cold. As it turns out, only having wood between you and the great outdoors is not so great when you go to sleep wearing shorts and the temperature plummets because you’re in the mountains. Needless to say I was glad that the suitcase of clothes I packed for dad to take home with him was full of my winters layers and on night number two I wore two pairs of socks, full length leggings, flannel pj bottoms, a tech shirt, t-shirt, long sleeve top and a hoodie. Night number two was a much better experience.
We spent our time in Kings Canyon pretending to be outdoorsy. I forced dad to go on a hike, he grumbled that the trails weren’t well signposted and that his knees hurt. I came to the sudden realisation that my dad is no longer thirty and that he is actually well on his way to becoming a grumpy old man. Despite getting more shuffly by the second, he still managed to make himself a ridiculously strong rum and coke in a plastic water bottle à la teenager on a night out to the local park for the campfire talk we went to about John Muir.
This morning we went on a horseback tour of the park, something that I am sure my sister is going to be ridiculously jealous about.
Oh, and I’ve taken to wearing my LSU rowing sweatshirt like a permanent badge of honour because so many people have pointed it out and asked about it.
I love your accent count: 32ish