I’M SO OVER TENT CAMPING
At 1:30 p.m. we raced to the cab of the Toyota Tacoma as ice pellets the size of chickpeas pounded our bare arms and legs. Paul and I had just finished setting up a new Coleman 5-Person Instant Dome Tent that I purchased at Costco the week before, to use as a backup in case there were no motel rooms available. As it turned out, we had no trouble finding vacancies on our road trip, but I couldn’t wait to try out my new tent. I hadn’t been camping in 20 years, so I was really looking forward to sleeping close to nature again.
It took much longer to set up than the 60 seconds stated on the side of the box. The problem was that the instructions were missing a vital piece of information, namely how to lock the frame poles in place. Instead it read, “Unfold tent, extend and secure the pre-attached poles.” Nothing was said about there being TWO buttons on each pole, one of which was to slide inside the small hole in the outer sleeve, locking each of the four frame sections in place. After struggling for a few minutes trying to lock the first button into the hole, we tugged and pulled at the frame some more and discovered the second button. The message on the box also touted that one person could setup the tent in 60 seconds. Well, that may be, if the person is 6’5” with very long arms. I happen to be only 5’2” and Paul is 6’2” with short arms. I ended up standing inside the tent propping up the center with my head while Paul stayed outside locking the frame in place. The whole setup took close to 30 minutes.
We were in the cab less than five minutes after the thunderstorm started when Paul realized that he forgot to zip the tent windows shut. After finding his windbreaker buried under everything else in the back seat, he made a quick dash to the tent and found that all of the windows were already tightly closed. The tent came packaged like that—thank you, Coleman. The summer storm lasted about 45 minutes–not long enough for me. There was something very cozy about sitting in the cab of the truck, listening to the hail pound the metal roof and watching the windows fog up, obscuring our view of the world outside.
Once it stopped hailing, we continued hauling camping gear from the bed of the pickup to the campsite. It was my idea to camp in the tents-only section where vehicles had to park about 50 yards from the sites. After our 10th trip between the truck and the campsite, I began to question my suggestion. It was obvious from the look on Paul’s face that he did too.
While Paul worked on organizing the outdoor stuff—food, picnic supplies, camp stove, canvas chairs, lanterns, etc., I worked on the inside of the tent—setting up the sleeping bags and pads, and arranging the duffel bags, flashlights, first aid supplies and camera equipment that occupied the other three spaces of the five-person tent.
We pitched the tent with the door facing White Horse Lake so that we could enjoy the view from the comfort of our sleeping bags. Only we couldn’t. The screen covered just the top half of the door. The bottom half of the WeatherTek system was constructed of a thick opaque material, so we weren’t able to see the lake from inside the tent unless we stood on our knees.
The solid bottom half of the weatherproof tent presented another problem. The humidity from the storm, coupled with the heat of the late afternoon sun, created a steam room effect. So at 3 p.m. when we stepped through the flap to take an afternoon siesta, we were inside the tent just two minutes before we were covered in sweat.
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The next few hours were heavenly—a pleasant reminder of what I’ve always loved about tent camping. After relaxing by the lake with a glass of Chardonnay and gourmet cheese from the local market, Paul made some killer spaghetti in his dad’s camp pot while I put together a healthy organic salad. Later, when the sky darkened and the stars came out, Paul made some hot chocolate and I setup my tripod to get some shots of the full moon rising over the lake. We were the only campers in the tents section of the campground, so it was very quiet and peaceful and a good time to reflect on how lucky we were. I was really looking forward to my first night in the womb-like tent.
Sleeping in a tent wasn’t as cozy as I remembered it to be. I was cold and uncomfortable and there was no way that I was getting up in the middle of the very dark and chilly night to use the pit toilet. Paul brought an extra sleeping bag and pad for me to use, however, we decided that it would be warmer if we spread one bag over the side-by-side pads and the other on top of us to use as a comforter. Unfortunately the pads were of different thicknesses and kept sliding apart during the night, so I spent most of the time on the floor between the pads. Also, I knew that I was taking a chance when I chose the spot close to the center of the tent near the door. Each time Paul got up to go outside, he had to step over me—in the dark. I’m a very sound sleeper, but having a 230 pound man step on my leg in the middle of the night was hard to ignore.
The campsite was immaculately groomed. The tent pad was raked and level, the barbecue grill and fire ring were clean, and the picnic table, freshly painted. Each site had a water faucet, but there were no public showers in the campground, so we had to take sponge baths for the next two days. The pit toilets were an easy 50-yard walk from our tent, which was a big plus. The camp hosts kept the floors sparkling clean, but the smell was tolerable only if you propped the door open with a rock. Paul and I took turns standing guard outside the doorway, so that strangers wouldn’t barge in on us while we were taking care of business. Am I the only one who looks down into the disgusting poop pit to check for snakes?
Early the next morning Paul left to try his luck at a nearby freshly-stocked lake while I stayed in camp to take photos. I was hoping to spot the elk that we heard the night before or to freeze-frame mid-jump the elusive frogs that were always hiding. Instead I captured some okay-but-not-great shots of as-yet-to-be-identified birds, wildflowers and squirrels. I also swept out the tent and rearranged our stuff so that it would be clean and tidy when Paul returned from fishing. I was amazed at how much dirt ended up on the tent floor, even though we always left our shoes outside. Paul showed up empty-handed despite using all of the right bait. He was disappointed, so I knew better than to complain about eating spaghetti again for dinner.
By the following morning all of the glamour and romance of camping had disappeared, so we hurriedly packed up our gear, bid our campsite adieu and headed back to Williams.
We were able to snag a nice motel room close to town with a second-story view of the surrounding pines. As soon as our bags were unpacked, Paul high-tailed it to the swimming pool and I stayed in the room to take a long hot shower. We then walked our clean bodies to the restaurant next door for an interesting, yet relaxing dinner. After serving us the wrong wine, the chef put together the strangest combination of ingredients that I’ve ever tasted. His attempt at gourmet cooking confused my pallet and churned my stomach. Luckily, Paul had packed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in our travel kit.
At the end of our road trip I told Paul to keep my tent. He said, “I already have a tent.” I replied, “Well, now you have two.” My pitch-a-tent-sleep-on-the-ground camping days are definitely over, although the latest craze in “glamping” looks appealing. Staying in an already-assembled tent that comes complete with a wooden floor and furniture and sleeping on a real bed with a comfortable mattress…hmm…maybe. I’ll keep you posted, but don’t hold your breath.