My family traveled from Oakland to Sequoia National Park last week. My husband drove. I was the navigator with maps and the 800 number to call for In and Out Burger locations.

My ten-year old, Nick, and his buddy, Josh, sat in the back, zoned out with iPods and video games. We’d instructed them that no electronics would be allowed during our five days in the park. They were getting in their last fix.

The boys were bored the first two days. They thought the General Sherman tree, the biggest tree in the world, would be bigger. The tunnel log was deemed a rip off. And to add insult to injury, the TV in our room didn’t work.

We hiked the 380 steps up Moro Rock on day two. Josh stopped at the half way mark, tired out as well as freaked out at being so high. Thereafter, he’d shoot me an evil eye when I’d outline our next hike.

On day three, a shift in interest started. My son asked if I’d buy him a book to read. He also earned the designation of Junior Ranger by completing a booklet of educational activities. Josh could care less about the Junior Ranger program. But he thrilled at catching trout in Stony Creek and at swimming in an alpine lake. Touring Crystal Caves was creepy enough to count as fun for both boys.

We lucked out at Cascade Meadow on our fourth day. Two rangers stood at the edge of the parking lot, observing two mama bears, one with two cubs and the other with three. We were glued to the scene for the next two hours. The action went from watching playful cubs scamper up trees to violence when one mama bear swatted the cub of the other mama out of a tree at thirty feet. The two mothers faced off with growls. We held our collective breaths, wondering if a fight was coming. Nick and Josh said this drama was way better than the Discovery Channel.

Josh asked to go back to Moro Rock on our last morning. This time he made the entire climb – a hot, sweaty and proud boy. We returned to the car and started our long drive home. Ear plugs came out and the boys switched on their electronics. But they had gained a little more between their ears than when we left Oakland.

By Marianne Lonsdale

Labels: Marianne Lonsdale

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