My Daughter Set the Pace

Coast Camp, Point Reyes National Seashore, CA · April 2022 · One night

This trip had its own momentum from the start, and that was the best part of it. Two colleagues of mine wanted to get out on the coast, my pre-teen daughter wanted in, and I was glad to come along for the ride — carrying a little extra weight and happily following the lead of a crew that had the whole thing handled. We pointed ourselves at Coast Camp in Point Reyes, in April, with the whole headland in bloom.

The crew. Two colleagues and my daughter, packs on, ocean behind — the three people who actually ran this trip.

This is the actual Coast Camp trip in Backpackers Friend — route, mileage, and elevation. Scan the code to open it on your phone.

Point Reyes in spring is almost unfair. The Coast Trail rolls out along the bluffs with the Pacific on one side and green hills running up on the other, and in April the whole thing is shot through with lupine. We walked out toward camp in bright, clear weather, the kind of day that makes the drive over feel like a steal.

And my daughter set the pace. Not in the polite, let-the-kid-feel-included way — she was genuinely out front, visor down, sunglasses on, marching through the wildflowers while the rest of us strung out behind her. For the entire way in she had one speed, and it was faster than mine. The colleagues loved it. Nothing resets a workweek like trying to keep up with a pre-teen on a flower-lined trail.

Out front through the lupine. On the way in she had exactly one gear, and it was “go.”

Coast Camp sits just back from the beach, and we had it set up before the light went. Tents up, shoes off, the long quiet of a coastal evening coming on. The fog held off, a thin crescent moon came up over the hills, and one of the tents glowed like a paper lantern while we sorted out dinner.

Coast Camp at dusk. One glowing tent, one crescent moon, no agenda.

The beach is the reason you come to Coast Camp, and we gave it the whole next stretch of the day. Cold water, big surf, that wide flat sand that goes on forever. My daughter went straight down to the waterline to dare the waves, and inevitably someone ended up half-buried in the sand getting sculpted into a sea creature.

The traditional beach burial. A key part of the entertainment budget.

I mention the entertainment budget because the way back ran on it entirely. The kid who'd set a blistering pace on the way in was, on the way out, suddenly and deeply uninterested in walking. So the trip flipped: now it was the three adults inventing reasons to keep her moving — games, snacks, a giant downed eucalyptus that simply had to be climbed into before anyone took another step.

A tree too good to walk past. Distraction is a legitimate trail strategy.

The moment I think about most came at a little ridge near the end. The trail kicked up a short steep climb back above the beach — exactly the kind of stretch that turns into a small victory if you meet it right. So I handed off my hiking poles, dropped back, and we took it on together, one switchback at a time, the long curve of the beach falling away below us. Slowest hundred feet of the trip. Also the best.

The ridge near the end. I gave up my poles and we went up it together, one step at a time.

We made it back out salty, sunburnt, and in good spirits — the kind of tired that a group selfie can't help but capture. Two colleagues who'd become trail family for a weekend, a daughter who ran the first half and made us earn the second, and me, perfectly content to carry the poles and keep up.

Salty, sunburnt, happy. The whole crew on the last morning.

That's the thing about a strong crew: the trip doesn't need a leader, it needs momentum, and everyone takes a turn carrying it. She carried it on the way in. We carried it — and her — on the way out. Coast Camp got the easy middle. Best division of labor I've ever been part of.