I don’t despise camping, I merely hate it.
Yes, I realize where I live now and I know residents
of Adirondack Park are not supposed to say such
things — it’s blasphemous. But, c’mon. I’m no
Jeremiah Johnson and even that poor S.O.B. froze
to death while getting “back to nature.” And don’t
get me wrong. I love the forests, the lakes, the
mountains, the air! And I love being out in it. I just
don’t want to LIVE out in it. If I want to “rough it” I’ll
go stay at a Budget Inn.
Now I’ve read about an alternative to camping
that’ll probably get me drummed out of this man’s
mountain range just for mentioning it: glamping.
I guess it’s short for “glamorous camping.” And,
while I’ve never done it, from the sound of it and
the price of it, it certainly is that. ”Glampers” get
the best sites, huge tents with multiple rooms, cots
that are more like beds with fresh linens every
night, chefs preparing 3 gourmet meals per day
(plus snacks!) that you eat at a table and chairs with
china and silverware, wine and cocktails, plus
guides, experts…the whole nine…with everything
from walking sticks to binoculars to bug spray
provided. Some would argue that that ain’t
camping…and it ain’t.
Real camping means pain. Like those religious folks
who are always flogging themselves, real campers
relish the pain…bathe in it, even boast of it. If you’re
not sleeping in a leaky tent with your feet above
your head on a slight slope and a root sticking into
your back all night long, you ain’t camping. If you’re
not eating a fair amount of dirt mixed in with your
ramen noodles, you ain’t camping. If you’re not
cold, wet, hungry, filthy, itchy, totally exhausted
and praying for a good night’s rest …you ain’t
camping.
Camping always starts out great. My wife and I are
light-hearted and excited. We think we have
everything we’ll need for a fantastic trip
communing with nature and all that. The weather
lady said brief periods of light rain followed by
clearing skies for a few days. Perfect. The initial rain
will scare others off and we’ll be the only ones out
there! Except that’s what everybody else is thinking.
To that point, the pain starts with finding a camp
site that isn’t occupied and then choosing between
the site on the uphill slope or the downhill slope.
Next comes arguing over how to pitch the tent,
followed by the realization of all the things that I, of
course, forgot: headlamps, fire starters, tent repair
kit, extra socks, band aids — the full list is
heartbreaking…and expected.
What follows is the internal cursing out of the
weather lady (meteorologist my fanny!) when it
starts to drizzle, then rain, then come down in
torrents. You scurry into your tent where you only
have to deal with a few leaks. How those leaks find
the worst possible locations in your tent is a
mystery of the universe that Carl Sagan couldn’t
explain: over your food, over your clothes, over
your sleeping spot. The good news is you were
smart enough to anticipate the worst and
purchased a tent repair kit…that’s sitting dry, warm
and comfortably at home.
But enough camp-bashing. Here’s the truth: these
days I live in a comfortably warm, dry cabin in the
woods on the shores of a pristine lake. Yet, for
reasons unknown, every once in a while, I yearn to
go camping — to feel that root in my back. To
dodge the leaks in my tent. To go hungry, to get
filthy, to stay cold, damp and utterly exhausted
while sustaining small injuries for days on end.
And then I think, or maybe I’ll just stay home and
start flogging myself instead.