Hunting for H. Cooper

We had explored lakes and beaches.  We had conquered mountain trails and stone creek crossings.  We had encountered snakes, had faced storms and winds and ants.  And yet, this part that was now presenting itself caused us pause and trepidation.

"Wear orange," I instructed my husband.
"What?" He looked at me as if I must be speaking code.
"Wear orange." I repeated.  "The kids need to wear really bright colors too."
"Why?" he inquired.
"We're going to H. Cooper Black this Saturday," was my simple reply.
"And..." my husband dug for more information.
"It's a hunting park."

This is almost unheard of.  The beauty of state and national parks is combined with the safety the rangers provide.  Basic Park 101:  No alcohol.  No drugs. No speeding.  No guns.

But H.Cooper is a different kind of park.  Its full title is H. Cooper Black Field Trial and Recreation Area...or some such.  I always get caught up in the verbiage and the long name seems to tie an ensnaring loop around my tongue.  Little Legs though has memorized the name and interjects it whenever she hears one of us stumble around the vast conglomeration of words.

H. Cooper is safe and is a haven for those whose passion is horses or sporting dogs.  Still, H. Cooper made me nervous as I imagined Ben ducking our supervision and ending up in the cross hairs of a deer hunter.  To make matters worse, the car's GPS was only vaguely familiar with H. Cooper and gave us what I shall kindly refer to as "general vicinity directions."

Still, H. Cooper was on our list.  We needed to make the journey and get the stamp.  H. Cooper was also very close to Cheraw State Park which was also on our list for stamp and exploration.

It was wonderful to be able to get out that Saturday.  The week had been stormy, humid and dismal.  Monsoonish rains had left even our driveway half washed out with great gullies of gravel and sand.

The drive was pleasant.  We passed the signs for Lee State Park and smiled as we remembered our wonderful day there.  As we drew nearer to H. Cooper, Thoreau became nervous.  "Mom," he called from the backseat, "I forgot to wear orange."

"That's OK sweetie," I reassured.  Honestly the most difficult part of all of our journeys were their beginning.  The art and science of getting four children out of bed and into the car is a feat that should be included as an Olympic event.  At this point we were almost to our destination.  I wouldn't have cared if the child had been wearing a swimsuit and a tiara.

But Thoreau sounded exceptionally nervous.  "Mom.  I'm wearing a target."

I turned around in my seat and for the first time that day, I noted his apparel.  Sure enough, he was wearing a Captain America t shirt with a large red, white and blue target shield right over my son's chest.  We looked and tried to contain our emotion.  We could not and finally let go the loud laughter that had been gathering in our bellies.  "You'll be OK, kid." we reassured.  Thoreau relaxed and laughed at himself and volunteered to go out and get the stamp when we arrived at the park.

"OK.  Here's your turn." I advised my husband.
"Here?"
"Yes, why?  What's the matter?"

I looked up and saw.  The GPS had led us to an unpaved but sandy lane leading off into the unknown. One got the sense that this road was precarious in the best of conditions but the monsoons of the week had all but washed out portions leaving high dunes and vast gullies.  Could we do this?  Could we do this in a minivan?

We were already so far from any large roads or known towns.  Anchor and I are from the hills and hollers of the Appalachians.  We like a good challenge...and sometimes we may not be the smartest.  Following as determined zombie slaves to our GPS unit, we accepted the road less travelled.

It was the longest stretch of our entire adventure.  I don't know the actual distance.  We measured more in prayers and gasps than in miles and minutes.  This could not be right!  But if it wasn't where would the GPS actually lead us.  We feared leaving our van's chaise on the last sand dune knowing that AAA would never find us here.  We wouldn't even be able to call them as all cell service had fled as well.

Man and van melded as Anchor's fingers grasped the wheel and he expertly and cautiously navigated the perilous path.

I did my best to reassure children and keep them quiet.  We knew enough not to openly show our fears but one look through the car windows would have alerted any child to concern.

Finally and suddenly, the sand smoothed.  At the moment we had lost hope, signage appeared directing guests to "H. Cooper Memorial Field Trial and Recreational Area."  There was the office.

I kissed my husband.  My modern knight had bravely and chivalrously born his lady faire (and four prodigy) through the sandy abyss in his faithful minivan.

We sent the targeted Thoreau to get the stamp.  Of course, I went with him but stayed far enough back so as not to detract from the bravery of the moment.

He got the stamp.  We got out and stretched our legs a bit.  We stayed close to the safety of the minivan.  Nobody's going to shoot a minivan, right?  We tried to gather our nerve to face the sand pits that lay between this current location and the next park.

We set the GPS and it us away from the wanton road we had come in on.  We followed it down another trek.  This road was still sandy but well packed and neatly maintained.  Here was the correct gate to enter or exit  H. Cooper.  Spitting child safe curses ("Dagnabit", "Seriously") to the GPS but  grateful that we didn't have to face mortal minivan danger twice in one day, we drove off.  I handed out peanut butter sandwiches and water from the front seat.  We were off to Cheraw and the Turkey Loop Trail.