I grew up near the shore of Lake Michigan, and I love the beach. In my opinion, it’s great a place to walk, swim, picnic or watch the sunset — but it’s definitely not a spot to spend the night. As we pulled down the Rutherford Beach road I wondered, How did I get talked into shoreline camping?
Rutherford Beach is part of Louisiana’s Gulf Coast. As we approached our destination for the night, Joe stopped our vehicle in the parking lot. I took a look around from my perch in the passenger’s seat as Joe stepped down from the van to air down the tires. There was one port-a-john with its door swaying in the breeze, a dumpster, and a picnic shelter equipped with a seasonal shower. Along one edge of the parking lot were three recreational vehicles set up to camp. Adjacent to the beach access road that brought us to the parking lot was a cattle pasture enclosed with a four-strand barbed wire fence. I could see a herd of tan, brown and black cows grazing off in the distance.
I voted to join the camping caravan, but that wasn’t Joe’s plan. He was decreasing each tire’s pressure to increase each tire’s surface area. This adjustment would allow us to drive down the beach and find a secluded spot to camp without getting stuck in the sand.
Joe climbed back into the van, looked at me, grinned and said, “I feel like we’re finally camping.” He drove off the parking lot and bumped us along the sand. We navigated by a lady parked in a silver pick-up truck, typing on a laptop, and one surf fisherman dressed in a red swimsuit, sitting on a Coleman cooler next to his pickup. Joe choose a camping spot about a mile from the access road, leveled the van and parked. He couldn’t wait to explore. I watched Joe stroll down the beach with Molly, our dog.
I sat in the van and listened to the waves roll onto the shore and wondered about high tide. Looking out the window, I tried to count the offshore oil rigs. I think at least 20 were visible. When Joe and Molly returned, we watched gulls pester the fisherman, then made dinner. As the sunset the wind picked up and I noticed the oil rigs were lit with lights.
In the middle of the night, high winds woke me up. It sounded like each wind gust was trying to push the van over. I poked at my hubby and said, “Joe, I’m having a hard time sleeping.”
He said, “Put in some earplugs. You’ll be fine. You won’t hear a thing.”
“How will the earplugs help with the van’s rocking?”
Rolling over, Joe repeated, “You’ll be fine.” At some point the wind died down and I fell asleep.
The next morning we walked Molly down the beach together, following a two-track road that paralleled the pasture fence. As we strolled along, I noticed that the waves had washed all sorts of debris ashore: parts of flip-flops and soccer slides, all types of plastic bottles intact and in tiny bits, sun-faded beer cans, odd pieces of clothing including a camouflage jacket and a wadded-up pink tank-top. The biggest surprise was a blue, plastic, fifty-five gallon drum filled with trash. Wandering the beach, I saw firsthand that plastic does indeed last forever and perhaps I needed to more conscious of earth-friendly packaging.
On our way down the shoreline, Molly spotted a black calf, separated from its mother on the beach side of the fence. The mother was keeping a watchful eye on her little one. From the well-worn patch of dirt, it looked like the mother had been on duty for a day or two. A couple of the bulls with curved horns snorted when they saw us and kept pace with us on their side of the fence. On our return, I noticed the calf’s mother had a swollen udder. Joe held Molly back and I approached the calf slowly, then stopped. In my best animal-friendly voice I said, “Hey, there.” The calf took one look at me and bolted under the fence. The sound of my voice was all the encouragement the calf needed to slip under the barbed wire. I think we were both happy that our interaction did not require physical contact.
Rutherford Beach was a one-night stop on our way across Louisiana. Joe wasn’t happy with the photos on Google of the beach, so he posted several of his own. A week later Google sent Joe an email stating that his photos received over 500 views, so would he post more location specific shots? Joe’s pictures made the shoreline look unique (with the cattle) and inviting, since the sandy shoreline was fairly level. Reviews of the camping area warned against clouds of biting bugs on windless nights. Perhaps the van-rocking wind had been our friend?
