As a lover of punctuation, I could hardly resist Comma Lake.

Does it nestle in the dales around Cultus Lake like a comma snuggled between an independent clause and a coordinating conjunction? Does it curve around a hillside like a heavy-serif font?

Alas, I don’t know. Because Comma Lake was among the several destinations my family did not make it to last weekend in a failed attempt to camp, hike and generally recreate in the Deschutes National Forest.

Our initial plan was to camp at Cultus Lake, hitting the trail toward Comma Lake after setting up camp. But when we arrived in the chilly morning and started unloading our gear, it became immediately clear why 8-year-olds shouldn’t be allowed to pack their own bags. Despite multiple requests after a grown-up perusal of the contents of the bag, our son Harry had neglected to pack anything warmer than a cotton T-shirt for himself or his 5-year-old brother, Jack. It was 50 degrees at the time and expected to be in the 30s overnight; camping was out.

Oh, well, we could still hike, right?

Comma Lake lies near the border of the Three Sisters Wilderness, a short distance from the Winopee Trail. That trail, with its trailhead at Cultus Lake, snakes a pine-lined course to several high-mountain lakes near the Pacific Crest Trail. But after traversing a short section of the trail, we realized Comma Lake would not be easy to find, especially with our map inconveniently forgotten at home (maybe we should have let the 8-year-old pack).

Rather than bushwhack through a trackless forest in pursuit of the lake, we backtracked to the trailhead and assessed the situation: Camping was out, Comma Lake was out. Why not try a picturesque drive through the forest toward a few more lakes we knew to be nearby?

The practice of heading off on a forest road to points unknown is a time-honored tradition in my family. I have vivid memories of spending whole days with my sister in the leather-scented cab of my dad’s Chevy Cheyenne pickup, bouncing over washboards and rocks, watching the dust swirl behind us. The Ken Johnson-approved method of forest (or desert) travel goes something like this: Have a vague notion of where you want to go, or at least in which direction. Find a dirt track that heads that way. Drive it until you find something interesting, are blocked by a landslide, need to stop to heat up some pork ‘n’ beans in a can on a hibachi, or the sun starts sinking into the horizon.

By this method, when I was a kid, we stumbled across secret fishing holes, abandoned homesteads, and once, a lost lamb stuck in the rocks near the Deschutes River (we freed her and delivered her to a nearby rancher for recovery).

But on this day with my husband and sons, we made no such discoveries.

We wound up on Forest Road 4636, which skirts the edge of Little Cultus Lake (a slower-paced alternative to the speedboat frenzy on Cultus Lake) and heads up the hills toward Lemish, Taylor and Irish lakes. We saw a couple of does staring warily through the trees. We admired some cool rock formations. We dodged gullies and rocks in the road that would have taken out a vehicle with a lower clearance than ours. It was a pleasant, dusty, destinationless drive straight out of my father’s playbook.

Eventually, the road became too rough to continue and we pulled into the Many Lakes Trailhead to turn around, waiting for the dust to settle behind a passing group of dirt bikers before we headed back downhill.

So now what? Camping was out, Comma Lake was out, and now we had exhausted our quota of aimless driving in the forest.

We decided to head back toward Bend on Cascade Lakes Highway and stop at a favorite local spot, the day-use beach at Elk Lake.

This sweet spot is a pebble-strewn expanse of lakeshore staring straight at the rising shoulders of Mount Bachelor beyond the rippling blue water. A popular lake for sailboats and stand-up paddle boards, it’s also a hit with the under-10 set, who aren’t apparently bothered by chilly water made more so by the stiff breeze that perpetually blows across the lake. Our sons joined a few other kids playing some sort of king-of-the-mountain game on a half-floating log while my husband and I fired up the camp stove to grill some hot dogs on a nearby picnic table. (Hey, maybe we couldn’t camp, but we could sure take advantage of the cooler full of provisions we’d brought.) Other nearby families skipped stones in the lake, took a toddler for a ride on the paddle board, watched a sailboat tack to and fro or scoured the rocks in the shallows for crawdads.

Crawdad hunting turned out to be irresistible to my sons, who promptly joined the horde of other kids racing around, splashing and staring intently into the shallow water. Amid their squeals at near-dismemberment (not really) from a crawdad claw and their shouts of triumph at having grabbed a few of the crustaceans, the beach was filled with a babble of frenetic kid noises.

Crawdads released back into the wild and hot dogs consumed beachside with mustard and sauerkraut, we stared across the lake for a few more minutes, buffeted by the wind but enjoying the relaxing atmosphere nonetheless.

Because we get to live here in this paradise, and even if the camping trip is a flop, the trail remains unfinished and the forest road heads to destinations unknown, there’s always a lake somewhere and a little time for crawdad hunting.

Even when it goes wrong, as our weekend plans so undoubtedly did, it’s still so right.

If you go

What: Elk Lake day-use area

Getting there: From Bend, drive 33 miles southwest on Cascade Lakes Highway. Turn left into Elk Lake day-use area, past the campground.

Cost: Northwest Forest Pass or $5 day-use pass required

Contact: 541-388-4848