Camping on Angel Island: An Amateur's Guide

I love camping. Let’s start with that. 

I love being in a place that smells like trees. I love the exhaustion that comes after a great hike. I love sitting in folding chairs or around a picnic table and learning some weird card game that a fellow camper is overly enthusiastic about teaching.

However, as much as I love this outdoor activity, I’m quite an amateur…

Growing up, my mom and aunties took care of everything during our camping trips. All I had to do was help pack the car, enjoy the drive to Malaekahana Beach Park, help to blow up our air mattress (yes, this was glamping), and occasionally help set up the GIANT tent we’d bought at Costco. Then I’d spend the rest of the day running around like a wild thing with my Calabash cousins on the beach. 

As I got older, I still let others take the responsibility when it came to managing camping trips. I always made sure to go with experienced outdoors people who took charge by securing the camping spot, bringing the camping stove, guiding the hikes, and even sometimes supplying me with a sleeping pad or sleeping bag.

Perhaps this is why my attention to detail was lacking when I packed for my first Angel Island camping trip…

About Angel Island

As its name suggests, Angel Island is an island in the San Francisco Bay. Its forested landscape is a state park with hiking trails, historic buildings (the island was used as an immigration station as well as a cattle ranch in the past), and picnic tables by the shore. There are also bikes available to rent on the island for a scenic ride or you can bring your own over on the ferry.

If you’re planning a visit to the island from San Francisco, you can buy a ticket for the Golden Gate ferry from Pier 41. Just be sure to buy a round-trip ticket since there are no ticket stations on the island itself.

I would be remiss if I did not mention my favorite part about Angel Island: Its toilets. They came highly recommended by a scout leader who I would meet on the island during this trip. 

Hidden along the shoreline, this set of toilets is available to any who needs them. Not only do they offer a great alternative to peeing behind a tree, but also a fantastic view of the Bay once you’ve done your business. Cool blue water and mysterious rocky terrains await as you open the stall door, taking in the sounds of the sea lapping against the shore.

But I don’t want to get hung up on the toilets…

The day of our camping trip

It can be difficult to secure a camping spot on Angel Island. A quick ferry ride from the city, it’s a popular spot for urban dwellers who are looking for a weekend escape.

This is why we were headed there in January.

January can be rather chilly (okay, like super freaking cold). This means that less-determined campers often prefer to stay in their warm beds at home. Thus, it’s a bit easier to snag a spot on the island during this time of year.

On the day of our camping trip, I packed my things and met everyone down by the ferry. We enjoyed a couple of cervezas as we motored through the Bay.

Arriving at Angel Island, we traipsed off the boat and walked to our campsite. It was only about a thirty-minute walk from the dock. Along the way, we sang and laughed, chatted, and peered down the sandy shore of a beach. We decided that we would hike down to that beach as soon as we’d set up camp.

I had no idea how unprepared I was to do just that.

No, poles. Big problem.

When we arrived at our campsite, golden hour soon became amateur hour.

Our campsite was located on a hill with a little tree. Down its slope, there was a swath of flat ground where everyone would set up their tents.

Placing our backpacks down, we each began to assemble our evening shelters. 

I unzipped my tent’s carrier bag, pulled out the canvas material, and then stopped. Something was missing. Well, some things.

I had no tent poles.

Where are my tent poles? I thought to myself, opening and re-opening the small carrier bag as though the poles would magically appear.

My brain raced back to the last time I’d used the tent. I’d gone car camping a month or so ago. To be honest, the trip was a bit hazy due to the whiskey-filled activities.

Shit. I thought. There was a good chance I’d been too hungover to fit them back into the tent’s carrier bag. I’d most likely thrown them into the back of some friend’s car, assuming I’d get them whenever we saw each other next.

Honestly, it didn’t really matter where the tent poles were. Just that they weren’t here. All I had was a flatulent piece of canvas at my feet.

Would I have to just sleep in my sleeping bag out in the open?

The idea did NOT appeal to me. Like I said, January is cold. But worse than that, there were raccoons on this island. Raccoons with their opposable thumbs, beady eyes, and habit for rummaging. The thought of waking up to a raccoon staring at me with its glowing eyes in the dark that night was enough to make me want to cry.

I wondered if I could share a tent with one of my friends, but unfortunately, they had already paired up or had small singles tents. 

How the scouts helped me create shelter on Angel Island

At this point, everyone in my group had noticed that I was just standing and staring down at what should have been a tent. I explained that I had no tent poles and there was only a moment of disbelief before everyone realized how unsurprising it was that I’d shown up with only half of my supplies.

I guess my motto should be: I’m always down but rarely prepared.

I turned and surveyed the rest of our campsite. Up the hill to the tree.

I stood there and looked at the tree. Then I looked back down at the canvas on the ground. Then back up at the tree again. 

I knew what I would do. Who needs poles when you have a tree?

To execute my plan, however, I would need some rope.

To find a rope, I’d need to ask around at the other campsites.

A friend joined me as we walked to the next nearest campsite. Looking at the group, my heart both soared and sank. It was a group of scouts and their leader.

Good news: They would definitely have some rope.

Bad news: I would have to admit to a group of pre-pubescent outdoor enthusiasts that I, a grown woman, had shown up at a campsite with only half a tent.

But there are times when you have to grit your teeth, look a ten-year-old in the eyes, and ask for help. So that’s what I did.

The next thing I knew, a group of at least five scouts had surrounded the tree on our campsite. Their leader had given a quick nod of approval and let them take it away.

(This is also when he looked at my friend and me with pity and told us about the working toilets by the shore. I’m sure in his mind he thought that if we weren’t prepared enough to have tent poles, we certainly weren’t prepared to shit in an outhouse).

The scouts moved deftly around the tree, using the rope to tie up the tent, pulling the sides and and using rocks to hold them down.

Of course, this wasn’t done in a vacuum of silence. A barrage of questions hurtled at me while the ten-year-olds scurried about.

“Why don’t you have tent poles?”

“But how could you not know where they are?”

“What were you going to do if this tree wasn’t here?”

“Did you even bring a sleeping bag?”

When they left, I had exchanged a place to sleep for my self-esteem. It seemed like a nice compromise given the raccoons.

I must say that the rest of the trip was lovely. We enjoyed a sunrise hike, a frolick at the beach, and a great round of cards. Still, when I think back to my Angel Island camping experience, it will always be the tent poles and the group of scouts that I remember most.