This year, we opted for a car camping trip to the last National Park unit in Washington neither of us had visited: San Juan Island National Historical Park. What? You've never been there either? Here's the only two words you need to know to justify your trip:

Pig War

Right?

So we made reservations for the ferry ride, reserved a stupid expensive campsite, and packed the car full of all the luxuries of car camping. When you aren't carrying it all on your back, anything goes!

We got to the ferry way too early so we walked along a nice beach-front trail. The fog hadn't yet burned off and rolled amongst the trees. The tide was low and birds picked at the shore. Kinda nice. Just like the sedate ride through the Salish Sea. Beautiful islands rising above the waters and not enough waves to make me seasick.

San Juan Island is a lot like the other islands in the... San Juan Islands, but seemingly more developed. At least at Friday Harbor where there were loads of tour operators and options for food. We sped south to "American Camp" per guidance from friends that had already visited. The drive is surprisingly short, but then the entire island is only 15 miles long.

Unfortunately, we were a little early at American Camp. The brand new visitor center is beautiful, but not full of exhibits yet. Bummer. We chatted with a ranger and headed to the camp itself just through the trees. There are several buildings still standing and the redoubt the US Army built to defend from the English. Impressive.

We made our way down to the beach and walked in the waves a bit. An older gentleman walked by carrying a really nice lens so I asked if he'd seen anything. A couple of birds. Bummer. Foxes? Nah. It's the wrong time of year for foxes. Oh well.

Our campsite was... adequate. Camping in the wilds of the mountains has pretty much ruined me for places like this. Nonetheless, we had a place to pitch the tent and eat dinner and there wasn't anybody too close to us.

Of course, days in the summer are long so it was still likely to be light for quite a while. Rather than just hang around camp, we jumped back in the car and headed south again. This time we went beyond the American Camp to a loop trail that promised an easy walk along the bluff. We hadn't gone more than a quarter mile when a dog ran in front of us. Who let their dog run around without a leash?

Wait a minute... FOX!

I saw where it had disappeared into the trees and decided I just had to peek in to see if I could see it. When else would I get to see a fox, right? There were two! They were deep in the woods and it was getting dark, but I snapped a ton of pics and got at least one that would be ok.

Then we heard the bald eagle scream from the tree. More pictures. Then a harrier flew by. More pictures. We considered heading back to the car, satisfied with a bunch of good pics, but instead continued on. After all, it was still light and we were in the open. That's when the fox came back.

Same fox? Different fox? Hard to say. It was close enough to the others it seemed unlikely it would be a different one. It ran across the trail into the tall grass. Even though San Juan Island is on the west side of the state, it's in the rain shadow cast by the Olympic Mountains. As a result, it's much drier than say... home. Our grass is green and wet, but this was brown and dry. Perfect with the light of the setting sun and the light breeze.

The fox looked like maybe it was hunting and at one point did spring across the trail holding something in its mouth. The photos were blurry, but is sure looked like a big mouse or something similar. It returned again to stalk through the grass, but its final disappearance was empty handed... mouthed.

Further along the trail we spied a corgi sitting at the edge of the trees. Nope. It was a red fox, but actually red this time. It was less accommodating and disappeared in the the trees as we approached.

Most of our walks earlier in the day had been short affairs. This time we continued on to complete the loop. It was dark in the forest as we descended sharply toward the ocean. Eyes watched us, but there was only a quick reflection when we shined our lights at them. It's been a long time since I've hiked in the dark and it was both liberating and claustrophobic.

In the morning, we visited English Camp on the north side of the island. It feels better preserved than the American Camp with a blockhouse and several other buildings still standing. It's also right on the water where it seems like it would make sense to build a camp.

In the middle of it all were a collection of three totem poles. It was the only real mention of the people on the island before either the Americans or the English arrived to fight over a pig. While the theme of the Park is that the American and the English chose peace over war, neither side seemed particularly open to peace with the natives. (To be fair, a ranger we talked with at American Camp was passionate about making clear the native americans were the real victims on San Juan Island and everywhere else in the "new world." The NPS website also has a page about the first ones to inhabit the island.)

Our return to the mainland wasn't too exciting. We didn't get back until late, but that's not unusual for an adventure like this. As I was driving the last miles to home it was more apparent to me than ever. This was the last time I'd be on an adventure with my daughter when she was my little girl. After this, we'd be adventuring as father and grown-daughter.

My last tip for raising backpackers is to take what you can when you can. Soon they're off on their own adventures. It's not that they'll leave you behind, but they won't always have time for you like they once did.