One With Nature
I’m back from my two week camping trip, feeling a tad guilty for having failed to post any dispatches in the interim. I discovered during this trip that writing and camping don’t easily mix, especially when any writing would have to occur at the expense of time spent hiking, exploring or assuming my share of the daily duties of setting up or breaking down a campsite for a family of five. I would like to hope that my hiatus from the laptop will result in renewed energy and commitment for my commentary about our car-dominated world, although I'm sure I can still find other excuses for not posting on a regular basis.
Our trip was illuminating in other ways as well. We had counted on being impressed by the natural wonders in our corner of the country, but we did not expect to encounter awe-inspiring landscapes on a daily basis. Our destinations, capped by the deep blue brilliance of Crater Lake and the eerie mystery of the Oregon Caves, were, of course, unforgettable, but so were the routes we traveled. The historic highways that traverse this region offer a spectacular, self-guided tour of the sights, and are as convincing an argument for driving a car as any. If you stick to the mind-numbing dullness of the interstate, you miss the endless undulations of Oregon State Route 66, which connects Klamath Falls with Ashland, and the Trinity (Route 299) and Redwood Highways (Route 199) in Northern California. And at the end of each day, instead of retreating into air-conditioned blandness, we camped in the midst such splendor, sleeping in a tent with views as good as any photograph.
Not all in our trip was picture postcard perfect. Our tour of various campgrounds in the area was an unfortunate reminder that no one really camps anymore. Even the relative convenience of our minivan parked on top of our campsite was a rare sight during our trip. Nearly every campsite was populated with a recreational vehicle, typically towed by some form of gargantuan SUV or pickup. The presence of so much horsepower meant that most campsites were brimming with conveniences considered luxurious even at home. Separate stoves and barbeque grills. Special bug-proof tents for eating and relaxing. Generators to power every electronic device considered too essential to leave at home. If nature becomes too much too handle, you can always retreat into the well-appointed confines of the RV. And don’t even get me started on the fuel consumption requirements for all this excess.
I don’t begrudge anyone who desires to own all these gadgets. These families seemed to be having a good time, and none of it interfered with our ability to enjoy ourselves. What I find fascinating is how the campgrounds, especially the publicly-owned parks, are catering to the RV population. Most campgrounds now resemble neatly arrayed subdivisions, just without the matching cookie-cutter houses. The roads and “driveways” are all nicely paved, and even some campsites are partially paved (to my kids’ great amusement). RV-ready sites are the norm in most campgrounds, and seem to outnumber the tent-only sites by a wide margin. At a time when camping provides useful lessons in low-impact living, the conversion of our state and national parks into trailer parks sends exactly the opposite message.
One campground we visited was refreshingly basic. At Smith Rock State Park, the separation of the campsites from parking by a mere 100 yards keeps all of the intrusions of modern convenience at bay. The result is minimalist camping without any distractions. Campers spend the day exploring the park and, when the sun sets, retire to a quiet campground. Of course, there were no RVs to be seen anywhere. Backpackers have always understood the calming magic of leaving the car behind. As my family becomes more mobile, we hope to leave the car even farther behind on our camping trips. For now, we’re happy in our tent, trying to make out the stars in the sky above the din of the TV blaring in the RV parked next door.