First sunset at Cypremort Point in Southern Louisiana.
The water of Vermilion Bay laps up on the shore of Cypremort Point State Park. A few miles into the bay, the water is claimed by the Gulf of Mexico.
Right now, tent camping is the only camping allowed in the park. Mom knows this cuz a couple months ago she called wanting to camp and was told to call back next year when their RV campground was operational.
Did you know 99% of campgrounds only allow a maximum of a two-week stay? Mom has been in a couple of places where she’d have liked to extend our stay longer than two weeks; the only way to do that is to host.
Camp hosts live in a campground for one to six months or even a year. The hosts swap 20 hours a week of volunteer work for a free campsite.
Mom learned hosting involved various duties, camaraderie with other camp hosts, and staying put for an extended period of time. She thought this was intriguing enough to try, so after Mom filled out an application with the state of Louisianna, she was accepted into the state park hosting program.
When we left Palmetto Island State Park, mom was slated to start her May and April camp hosting gig at Bogue Chitto State Park. That plan crumbled to dust when Bogue Chitto said they only needed Mom in May.
Mom was excited to get a call from Cypremort Point. Their regular host was unavailable for the month, and they needed an extra pair of hands. “Yippee,” Mom thought; Otis & I get to camp on the coast for a month.
My view from our camp spot. The water is just past those trees. If I walked upright like My Mama, I could see the shoreline.
After an exhaustingly long run, I crashed on the rocks while soaking up some rays.
My dog-man cave. I stay nice and cool with the sea breezes and shade.
Sunset scene from The Ivy.
Mom’s and my workstation. She writes while I make sure nothing bothers her.
Mom has a gator she drives to collect trash and lock up the gate at night. This gator is all metal and steel; with no big snapping teeth, we’ll be safe.
The loud, obnoxious big red machine is a major chopper of grass. It’s scary, so I stay far away.
Mom and I were visiting a new friend staying on the beach when I dug up this black slipper half-buried in the sand. I chew on it, play fetch, and Mom and I try to play a game of tug. The slipper is rather small for pulling on, so we both end up laughing.
Mom wants me to be captain of this fine boat. I say ‘NO WAY.” Do you peoples know how thunderously loud these swamp boats are? The two-leggeds get ear protection. What about the dog’s ears? My ear flap that drops over my ear hole does not protect my tiny eardrum. My Mama is sweet and kind but sometimes she just does not think things through.
A big storm is brewing—rain, wind, and maybe a tornado or two. The picture is before the storm hit.
The manager closed the park; told everyone to go home. He told Mom she could go into one of the cabins or find a hotel in town.
The cabins and most buildings in Southern Louisiana are on stilts. In Minnesota, when there are Tornado warnings, the two-leggeds head underground. When Mom mentioned that to the manager, he said, “Well, in Louisiana, you won’t need to worry about the Tornado if you go underground cuz you will drown.”
In the cabin on stilts, Mom felt more like an offering to God than in a safe place from the storms vicious winds, and rain.
One of the fishing piers.
The second set of three cabins.
The pier after the storm.
The cabins after the storm.
Mom’s ground mat is floating after the flood. I thought the water tasted good.
Sunset after the storm.
Yes, we survived the pelting rain and ferocious winds. Mom was shocked the next day; all the water was gone! The tide went out, and the wind quit blowing, so the water receded. There were still puddles everywhere, but the grass hid most of the standing water.
Stay tuned for more pictures and stories from our Cypremort Point adventures.