07-08-2025 The Fourth of July at Fish Lake

Setting up camp at Fish Lake 

The Fourth of July has always been a family holiday for us, a time to gather, share food, and make memories together. Of course, even the best-laid plans can sometimes be thwarted. This year, our plan was to meet up for a camping trip at Fish Lake in the Oregon Cascades. Mo and I were looking forward to time with daughter Deb, grandson Matthew, and his girlfriend Katy, and with daughter Melody and son-in-law Robert, who make the drive down from Brownsville. A cozy circle of family, gathered in one of our favorite mountain places—that was the dream.

But sometimes life has other plans. Robert was away on a work trip, so Melody stayed home in Brownsville to keep the cats company. Matthew and Katy, ever so responsible, couldn’t leave their elderly charge, Karen, alone overnight. And just like that, our big family Fourth of July celebration turned into a quieter gathering of three—Mo, Deb, and me.

Family at Lake of the Woods, 2016

It wasn’t the first time we’d celebrated the Fourth in the Cascades. In years past, our extended family spent long, sun-soaked days at Lake of the Woods, a beautiful mountain lake not far from Fish Lake. Camping there over the holiday is wildly popular—so popular that reservations vanish the very moment they open. This year, I tried but discovered that people had booked entire two-week stretches leading right up to the holiday. By the time I checked, there wasn’t a single site left.

That’s when the plan shifted. Fish Lake is just down the road, quieter and less competitive when it comes to reservations. We realized we could set up camp there, enjoy the peacefulness of the lake, and still make the short drive over on the evening of the Fourth to watch the annual fireworks burst above Lake of the Woods. A perfect compromise, and one that gave us both serenity and celebration.

We left early enough to arrive at Fish Lake by two o’clock, plenty of time to secure our site. Deb followed along and pulled in not long after us. The weather couldn’t have been better—blue skies, just a ripple or two across the water, and that fresh, pine-scented mountain air that makes you breathe a little deeper.

Our campsite turned out to be a gem. Through the trees we had a peek-a-boo view of the lake, and the site itself was surprisingly spacious. It even included a special raised tent platform, perfectly level—likely an ADA feature. Deb’s tent was just a hair too large for the platform, but with a bit of fiddling (and one wing folded back) she managed to make it work beautifully.

Deb's large and roomy tent

Mo's handy little tent from many decades of tent camping in past years, that Deb decided to try 

Once the tents were up and the gear in place, we settled into an easy rhythm of the afternoon. Mo got a good campfire going, and that’s when we stumbled across our newest camping companion: Eldarr. Someone had left behind the sweetest little gnome, and we immediately adopted him. With his tiny cap and whimsical smile, he was too adorable to ignore. Eldarr quickly became our campfire mascot.

That evening, with the fire crackling and the light softening through the trees, we opened a bottle of wine and shared a simple supper of spaghetti and salad. Nothing fancy, but in the glow of the fire and the company of family, it felt just right. We lingered there into the night, talking, laughing, and sinking into the kind of relaxation that only camping seems to provide.

The Fourth itself dawned easy and quiet. I felt the tug of holiday energy, that little voice that says we should be doing something festive, but instead we let the day unfold slowly. We took the dog for walks, watched the lake glitter through the trees, and enjoyed the hush of the forest all around us. Sometimes doing nothing is exactly what you need.

Originally, our plan had been to drive over to Lake of the Woods for the traditional fireworks. But, as with so much of this trip, plans shifted. Just before the holiday, the resort announced that the fireworks show—after more than sixty years—was canceled. Rising costs, the loss of long-time volunteers, and growing safety concerns had finally caught up with the tradition. Instead, for the first time, they would host a laser light show over the lake.

It wouldn’t be the same, of course. I love fireworks, they have a certain magic—the boom echoing off the mountains, the shimmer over the water—that lasers couldn’t begin to replace. We weren’t interested in making the drive to Lake of the Woods and dealing with crowds and traffic for a laser show, so we chose instead to stay home in camp.  .

We decided that enjoying our smoker cooked ribs that Deb had prepared didn’t need to wait until dinner time.  We enjoyed our meal in early afternoon, and the ribs were so delicious. Accompanied by our tradition Fourth of July potato salad, some chips and more wine, it was a perfect afternoon meal that extended into suppertime.

Later, we wandered down to the water’s edge, following the narrow path through the pines. Fish Lake isn’t as deep and clear as Lake of the Woods, but its quiet beauty has a way of working on you. Lake of the Woods is much bigger and has no restrictions on big noisy boats and jet skis.   Fish Lake is much quieter, with a few slow fishing boats and people bobbing happily around on float toys. Sometimes the quieter places give you exactly what you didn’t know you needed.

It was the quietest Fourth of July we have ever spent without any explosive sounds marring the silence of the night

The morning after the Fourth was every bit as peaceful as the holiday itself. Sunlight sifted down through the trees, warming the air just enough to take the chill off. The lake was calm, broken only by the occasional ripple of a breeze. With only two kayaks and three people, Mo made the generous offer to stay in camp with Mattie so Deb and I could paddle together. We drove just fifteen miles down the mountain to Recreation Creek, our favorite kayaking destination of all time.

Mo and I have explored these waters for years, and still we’ve never found another place that compares. The Upper Klamath Wildlife Refuge is full of life, and the creek meanders so gently it feels like drifting.

Deb and I decided to head south this time, following the creek as it enters Pelican Bay on the northwestern edge of Klamath Lake. The morning was calm and perfect, the water like glass. A large group of Canada geese greeted us along the shoreline, their reflections mirrored in the still bay. At Harriman Springs, the water turned deep and astonishingly clear—we could see trout darting quickly below our kayaks, their silver bodies flashing in the light.

The one sadness was not finding any of the mare’s eggs that used to thrive there. These strange colonies of algae (Nostoc pruniforme) once grew like dark green softballs in the spring, gelatinous and otherworldly. They seem to be gone now, unable to survive as conditions have shifted. Still, the water, the wildlife, and the peace of paddling with Deb made the day unforgettable.

When we returned, Mo was waiting with Mattie. She had enjoyed her own quiet morning walking the dog and resting in the shade, and it felt good to come back and share stories of the paddle.

Later that afternoon, Mo and Deb, and I decided that another trip down the hill to our old home in Rocky Point would be fun.  We have friends there, and I called to see if they might be home and available for a visit.  Mata and Jim welcomed us with open arms and a cold beer as we sat on their porch, enjoying the afternoon.  Deb was amazed at the fabulous view that Mata and Jim have enjoyed for the several decades they have lived in Rocky Point. It was wonderful seeing our old friends and spending some time together.

On Sunday morning, Mo got another fire going, and we put together a simple breakfast. I snapped a few photos to capture the light slanting through the forest. We stayed like that until it was time to think about packing up. None of us were quite ready to leave, but the ease of the morning made saying goodbye to the forest and the lake a little easier.  

Driving home, I thought about how different this holiday had been—smaller, quieter, simpler. And yet, the peace of this camping trip felt like a true gift.

No fireworks, no big family gathering, no crazy Bocci ball on sloping lawns. The big family circle was smaller, there were no fireworks, and our plans shifted more than once along the way. And yet, sitting by the fire with Mo and Deb, walking the quiet forest trails, and watching the light play across Fish Lake, I thought about how little those changes mattered. What stayed the same was the heart of the holiday—time spent together, making memories in the places we love.