I've always had an idealistic view of camping. Getting out in nature and roughing it -survival without technology or modern conveniences. How the rest of the world lives.
When I was growing up, my dad was an avid skier who was a lifelong member of the local area ski club. One of the few things that the family looked forward to each summer was spending a week up in the southern Adirondack Mountains of upstate NY at Lake George.
My dad would bring the canoe or later he could afford to rent a small 25 HP boat to port us out to whichever of the cluster islands the Club had decided on. There was always at least three to six other families at adjacent campsites, and the adults would sit around partying and socializing as the kids ran wild.
age two, my first camping trip at Lake George
Half our days were spent in the water swimming or boating, the other half going on short journeys to hike, sight-see or buy supplies. One of the most soothing sounds in my memory is the gentle lapping water of the lake tickling the shore as I awoke each morning.
Camping consisted of Coleman stoves and lanterns, grilling over the fire, spider infested smelly outhouses, corned beef hash with eggs, and my parents screaming as they packed or drove or put up the huge 10 soldier army tent, a relic of the 1950s I'm sure. Tripping over tree roots as I ran barefoot, fish hooks in skin, splinters, puckered skin from remaining in the lake for hours and numerous practical jokes were taken as standard hazards.
summer camp with the horses
These memories are mixed together with other halcyon or horror stories when I went away to camp. Girl scouts, 4H, YMCA - even the snotty jewish princesses who waved tampons in my face, talked meanly about their servants and pretended to be my friend so they could laugh at me could not put a dent in a day filled with horses, hiking, woods and adventure.
When I was 15, I begged my dad to send me to a camp in Utah. One week was a small fortune. I'd never wanted something so bad in my life, and for reasons I still can't fathom, my father sent me. The camp had week long adventure trips - kayaking, survival training, rock climbing, horseback riding - and I don't mean the two hour trail rides. This was the real stuff. Riding all day to get to a site, camping overnight, riding again the next day. Spending the day shooting L3 rapids on the Green River, or going out alone into the mountains with a backpack and a pack of matches.
somewhere in Utah, ages ago before dslr
My favorite trip was the week I went on the National Parks tour, sleeping on the floor of a cave in narrow gorges, hiking up steep terrain to see a view of the miraculous red sand formations of Bryce Canyon. Being away from home for so long, and among people my own age, taught me a lot about what other kids did when no one was looking.
I wish I could say I still have photos of all these fantastic trips. If I did, my mother tossed them away or they burned in the fire. I'm sure there are a few more of camping trips my mom has, and I pulled out a few from Utah that miraculously survived.
Bryce/Zion National Park? Utah
Since I became an adult I've had far too few chances to tent camp, even though I enjoy it. Mainly because I've found, I really don't enjoy going alone. Half the pleasure in appreciating nature is having someone to share it with, which is why I think I like photography. I want to share how I see things.
There are many travels I've taken oversees where the majority of the trip felt like camping, as I often bedded down wherever was available or convenient, from a hostel bed or floor of someones living room to in a cow field or under a bridge. My body is too old for that now, or so it tells me. Plus, camping gear is damned expensive.
However that won't stop me from trying. Stay tuned for my next post, Rocky Mountain Camping, with friends!