Camping in the USA

I knew with every cell of my being that I was going to love camping. My mother, on the other hand, could not fathom why in the world I was so excited to go with my Girl Scout troop. She was allergic to just about anything you can name from pollen to animal dander making the idea a bit horrifying. I was ten years old and, as far as I knew, not allergic to anything. My excitement stemmed from the knowledge that my troop was going to work together to earn not one, not two, but three new badges for our sashes–Outdoor Cook, Troop Camper, and Foot Traveler. 

Among the many skills we learned were how to pitch a tent and prepare it in case of rain, make a campfire and cook a full meal, and hike on designated trails to enjoy nature. We also learned basics in safe practices for wilderness living and first aid. I never missed a chance to go camping.

With all the skills I had acquired throughout my youth, the idea of camping across the United States for six weeks in the summer of 1982 was nothing short of a dream vacation. For our adventure, my then husband–an experienced outdoorsman–and I purchased the latest camping gear: tent, sleeping bags, pots and pans, lantern, cooler, Nalgene water containers, head lamps, hiking boots…you name it. Besides the gear, we were also equipped with the most recent additions of AAA’s campsite books for every state we were planning to drive through. We even had a Triptik, where our route had been marked by a travel agent. The markings included rubber stamped indicators where we might run into construction or other traffic issues. We had our United States Atlas and maps for just about every state. No GPS in those days! We were ready.

By the time we returned home six weeks later, we had driven 110 hours, 7,400 miles, through 24 states. We had been to the Knoxville World’s Fair, crossed the Mississippi, driven through the Texas panhandle, and explored the Grand Canyon, Zion, Bryce, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Napa Valley, Yellowstone, Salt Lake, the Badlands, Wind Cave, and the Oshkosh Air Show. We had water rafted, hiked many trails, spelunked, camped in national parks and forests, and stayed with relatives on a few occasions. Because my grandmother was just as horrified as my mother had been about plans to camp, she paid for us to stay at the MGM Grand for one night. And it was a good thing as it turned out; there were no campgrounds in Las Vegas. 

A number of years and two children later, we began what turned into nine consecutive years of two-week car camping adventures in different areas of the country. By the time we were done, the kids had been in 35 states and one province of Canada. On every adventure we included rafting, kayaking, or canoeing, horseback riding, caving, and some sort of swim. My son lost his first tooth in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, and wondered aloud, “Hey, who let those guys out?” when deer wandered through our site at Mammoth Caves in Kentucky. My daughter learned to fly fish in the backcountry (special pass required) of Wyoming’s Yellowstone National Park. We heard the yips of coyote pups rejoicing in their mother’s return to their den while rafting on the San Juan (special pass required) in Utah. We have stories to tell about the Lone Fir Motel in Washington State, spectacular night skies in Idaho, and thunderstorms on the Tobermory Peninsula in Ontario, Canada. 

On our last trip, our seven-year-old niece was with us. We still laugh about her telling people we went to Viagra Falls, and moan over our memories of having to carry our gear and portage heavy canoes in Wisconsin. By then I was dictating that there be a hotel room every third night. It wasn’t that I was getting too old, but I was increasingly less enthusiastic about the inconvenience and work that camping required. It just did not feel like fun to me any more. At that point, I knew with every cell of my being that I was going to start hating it, and I didn’t want that to happen.

The only camping I might agree to these days is of the glamping sort. A kayaking trip with a friend in Costa Rica turned out to be just my speed. Our tents were set up for us, there was a decent outdoor shower, and lounge chairs to enjoy the lapping waves along the shore. Our guides prepared gourmet meals, and offered us a selection of beverages throughout the day. After kayaking in the Pacific Ocean all afternoon, we would return to find margaritas waiting for us with cavichi made from the fresh fish they had caught off shore that morning. Now that’s the kind of camping I know with every cell of my being I can still love. 

Copyright DJ Anderson, 2023