Misadventures in Camping

I've camped all of my life. I have been feeling particularly grateful to my parents for introducing us to camping when my sisters and I were young. My parents, I don't believe, camped a lot when they were younger. My dad was a Boy Scout, so maybe he had some camping adventures. Mom grew up on a farm, so I'm assuming she like the outdoors and has adventure in her spirit. In any case, they came to the U.S. from Puerto Rico and before too long, we had a camping trailer.

Our trailer was  Prowler brand trailer. I remember plastic throughout and retro/Brady Bunch upholstery. It was an innovative piece of engineering. The beds magically appeared from nowhere. The beds that were up high were actually folded down from the wall. Two slides from the hinges, and voila, you had beds above your head. I felt like I had won every time I got to sleep up there. Each of those beds had a tiny window next to it. I could crank open my window and peek out into the night or discover the weather in the morning. I was always happy up there.

We loved camping at Solomon's Island where there was always a flock of kids on bikes headed to the pool, putt putt, bowling or roller skating. We stayed up late at night crabbing. At the time, the crabs were enormous. We'd take the crabs back to the site, cook them and eat them well into the night beneath a starry sky.  My family and I also traveled to West Virginia where I learned to love rock hopping in rivers. What great memories my parents created!

Then again, I don't remember dealing with the gray water or actually setting up the camper. Not my problem. As I got older, the perils of camping became a little more evident.

Let's revisit camping in Shenandoah with my two sisters. I have older sisters and like good sisters do, we decided to bond up in the mountains of our incredible state, Virginia. I drove my minty green Toyota Tercel to a trail where I met my sisters. They had driven there in my sister's (Jo-Joy) Isuzu Trooper (the big, old boxy kind). We were incredibly prepared and even donned matching, beige safari hats. During our three hour hike, we stopped at rivers to chat and watch the water pass us by and we "helloed" fellow outdoors-people (who probably thought our matching hats were awesome). Things were peachy until the three hour hike became four. We were out of water, we were out of food and we were lost and we were starting to get punchy. Nevertheless, we flipped the map over and rerouted and continued. One hour later we felt we were making progress. Jo-Joy, however, was not necessarily loving the situation. She's the type that gets...how do you say?? Hangry. Hangriness was pulsing through her veins. Syama and I tried to appeal to her senses, but she was too far gone. She had legitimate reasons. In the fifth hour she seemed to hallucinate and babble about granola and water and that was exactly when a sign appeared:

 

She started to run. Never mind that the lot was still miles away - she ran and ran hollering about food and water and stupid hikes and female bonding. She ran. It was an hour or so before we saw her in the parking lot. Jo-Joy was disheveled. Her face was dirty, she was sweaty and barely "hanging on" and laid out on the gravel lot.  When she came to her senses she confessed that she had tried to break into the cars in the lot to find food and drink in order to survive. She resorted to these measures because my other sister, Syama, had the key to her Trooper. Thankfully we survived and chowed on nuts and berries like every good trailblazer and squirrels do.

 

Bellies satisfied, we hopped into our cars and headed to our tent camping site. We each had brought  gear to get us through what was sure to be a starry date-night with nature. My trusty waterproof tent was up, we made some food, and settled in for the night. All three of us cozy in my tent. Just like when we were kids...laughing, telling stories. This closeness with my sisters was all I could ever want.

 

Eventually, we slept peacefully side by side - until the rain came. My "waterproof" tent was, apparently, water resistant. Jo-Joy scrambled to her Trooper. Plenty of dry space in there. Syama and I held firm - no way were we going to bail out on our camping adventure. The torrential downpour continued in the tent. Syama caved - another one lost to the Trooper. I could see them staring at me through the foggy window. Waving. Laughing. I peered out from my sleeping bag like a turtle in a shell. "Troopers are for sissies,"  I told myself. It was a stare down. In the movies, the equivalent would have been a shoot out in the middle of town, hands near holsters and a squinty eyed, piercing stare that was enough to kill your enemy. No. I had to resist. Whatever... I didn't and I jumped in the Trooper after kicking my stupid tent. Ah, the Trooper - it smelled like a dirty swamp and the air was damp, but it wasn't raining inside. Now, because I am the youngest, I always give in to my sisters' demands. There is no way around this. Submit! Or, you will be beaten into submission. I had to sleep on the wheel hubs. My head was propped up and my feet were propped up while the rest of me sagged between the firm lumps. Perfect. That night, sleep was intermittent at best.

 

The next day was the closing ceremony of our adventure. How sad to see it end! We gathered our drenched belongings and prepared for our reintroduction to civilization. Because Jo-Joy wanted to look nice for her return, she pulled out the blowdryer for her hair. The white flag had been waved.

 

Years later, my husband and I were fortunate enough to live in the Pacific NW where we often hiked and camped. The United States has and impressive landscape not to be missed! On one particular adventure with friends, we backpacked in to our campsite. The hike itself was incredible, but our camping spot was surreal, a clear green lake surrounded by mountains and pines. I've never seen anything like it and would escape there if my mind needed calm - but I can't, because I can not shake the trauma of it all.

Green Lake in Oregon. It is now known as Brown Lake.

 

Tents were pitched and lovely evening had by all. Once again, we settled in to sleep under a starry sky - until the rain came. Really? Again? This time, however, our tent was indeed waterproof. Michael and I had a very small tent, cozy for two. I call it, "the coffin". It's best that you really enjoy your companion if you are sleeping in this tent.

 

On this misadventure, we had our loyal dog, Gus. She was a brown, furry Lab/Chow mix. A sweet dog, a well trained dog (we didn't have kids then, so all of our attention went to her - the exact opposite of our current two mutts). Gus started to bark and cry during this intense storm. Lightning lit up the sky and claps of thunder left our ears buzzing. Soon enough, we had no choice but to begrudgingly "welcome' Gus into the tent. Needless to say, the coziness factor was lost, but it's all relative. At least we were dry and our little family was together. We managed a few blinks of sleep (as is the norm with most of our camping experiences).

 

The next day, we woke to a majestic sunrise over the mountains with clouds burning off at their peaks. The clear lake reflected the scene making it doubly alluring. But, all good things must end. And that indeed was the end as Gus ran away. She had a fierce longing in her eyes - like she must go into the wild and discover something that was out there. She did indeed.

 

If you are backpacking, you know to bring a small shovel. The small shovel is used to create your toilet. There is a standard depth you are "required" to dig to create your toilet. This was a slight oversight to a camper, but not to Gus. She found the non-toilet and rolled and rolled and rolled until she was completely satisfied and dizzied with excitement. She was the drunk girl in the bar. She trotted back gleefully - matted fur and the air around her was unmistakable. Green Lake would never be the same as my nauseated husband washed her fur with cautious intensity.

 

Did I mention that we were ticketed by a Park Ranger for camping too closely to another camper?

 

 20 years is STILL not enough time for Michael to label "that camping trip to Green Lake" as "fun". My recommendation is to never mention it to him.