Does Angel Island Have the Best Bathroom?

At five or six in the morning, we woke to hike to Mount Livermore on Angel Island. Our goal was to catch the sunrise at the peak. The cold morning fog, sleepy fatigue, and uphill slope made me contemplate my sanity, but the epic reveal of the San Francisco Bay from the high vantage point made the sunrise hike well worth it.

As the sun settled in the sky, my little camping group headed back down the hill to our campsite where our favorite camp Mother proceeded to make us an indulgent breakfast of French-pressed coffee and pancakes.

As the pancakes digested and the coffee powered through our systems, more than one of us felt the urge to answer nature’s call. 

Before I begin the tale of discovering my favorite campsite bathroom, I should begin by explaining how this camping trip began. 

How it all began… 

A few months prior, our camp Mother had reached out to say that she’d secured a January campsite on Angel Island. 

I’d never been to the island before but was eager to camp in the new year. Plus, I couldn’t get over the fact that we could catch a ferry over to the island, right from the city! I was still fairly new to city life at this point and had only ever ridden on a ferry a few times. 

The day of the camping trip, I packed up my backpack (this was only the second time I’d ever used it) and went to the ferry station. 

The ferry ride over was exhilarating. We churned through the water, rounding the corner of the island we would be sleeping on that night. 

We exited the ferry onto the island and started the trek up the fire road to where the campsite was. It wasn’t a very long walk, but still felt significant as we wound our way up. I was thrilled to be there. 

That is until…

I opened my tent bag to discover that my tent poles were missing! 

I vaguely thought back to my last camping trip. I’d been car camping up at Prewitt Ridge. There had been a large group of us and I’d thrown my belongings into whichever car had agreed to give me a ride back into the city. Who’s car had I ridden in? Where had I stored my tentpoles? 

The answers to those questions didn’t really matter at this point.

My tent poles were missing, and I was left with a large flat canvas.

Luckily, there just so happened to be a group of boy and girl scouts who were also camping on Angel Island that weekend. They took one look at my deflated tent (and ego) and jumped into action. Shouting and rustling and playing as they tied the top of my tent with a piece of string to a tree branch. 

During this slightly embarrassing occurrence, the troop leader walked over to see what was happening and started chatting with us. 

At the time, I thought a comment he made was somewhat sexist, but ultimately helpful. He said that if any of us didn’t love the idea of peeing in the woods, there was a bathroom that his wife was always happy about just down the path toward the water. 

“The moms always really love the flushing toilets,” he said, “they’re just a ten-minute walk that way.”

I am totally capable of peeing in the woods! I thought to myself. But nodded. 

Cut to our post-breakfast bellies and a sudden urge to do more than pee…

Now, I’ve definitely done my business in the woods. 

Sometimes you have to, but I do admit that if there’s an opportunity to use a flushing toilet, I’ll jump at it. 

And so, as rumblings started in our stomachs we raced in the direction the scout leader had pointed. 

We weren’t entirely sure where to go but followed a road down toward the docks. 

At some point, there was a trail that led down to the left. 

The road led through abandoned houses, previously inhabited by officers and their families, and later, by immigrants (mainly from China) who stayed in what had turned into an internment camp from 1906 to World War II.

I’m not going to lie, the dingy, white-washed houses were a bit frightening to look at and there was an air about them that felt eerie. Haunted for sure. 

But, there, at the base of the hill near the water… toilets!

We trotted down the small path toward the water. 

Sure enough, a small little house with flushing toilets awaited. We did our business, then stepped outside and washed our hands. 

Only then did we allow ourselves to take in the view. 

It was captivating! A wooden picnic table stood just a few paces from the bathrooms and we walked over, sitting to watch the geese walk the beach and to listen to the waves brush along the shoreline.

This was by far one of the most gorgeous places we’d ever, well, taken a shit at, and we felt at peace in more ways than one.

So, in this section of Angel Island, just ten minutes from the campsites sits my favorite campsite bathroom. Secluded enough to avoid running into too many visitors, close enough to reach during post-camping breakfast emergencies, and surrounded by stunning views, it’s a winner in my book!