I grew up camping near King’s Canyon just outside of a small mountain town called Camp Nelson. My family has been camping there since my great grandmother was a little girl. The campground is filled with pine, sequoia, and other varieties of redwood trees, many of which seem to stretch over one hundred feet tall. There are two streams that meander through various campsites and eventually merge at a swimming hole near the western edge of the campground.
Just beyond that swimming hole is a magical stretch of forest where thousands of ladybugs scatter the rock walls during mating season. More sequoias tower over the cliffs, some which have given way to the harsh elements of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, only to make convenient bridges and beautiful water features in the streams below.
My cousins and I used to follow the stream in that direction to fish and we would dream about following the stream as far as it would allow us one day. One year when we were camping we realized we had reached an age at which we actually could follow the stream as far as it would allow us, and so we did.