Newbs
We were recently parked along the shores of the amazing, glacial blue Hoh River just outside the Olympic National Park. A natural setting second to none. We shared the scene with a handful of digital nomads, decked out with their Instagrammable Airstreams and a bespoke school bus that came with its very own set of barefoot hippie children who, I’m guessing, would likely find it puzzling that other people run their cars using gas (stone cold dinosaur blood!) instead of vegetable oil. It was a commune of strangers, but strangers who were all seemingly prepared to face the elements with confidence and in relative comfort.
The workday was ending for the Airstream crew, brewskis were being shared, no doubt a reward for working so hard on their respective apps. The bus family was kickin’ back after what I’m sure was a long homeschool session; B was getting ready for a swim, and I was enjoying a glass of wine while crushing the newest crossword puzzle.
Then, all of a sudden, a new addition to the river commune. The van, painted in what might be described as a corporate take on tribal totem pole designs and clearly better suited for delivering flowers than driving off road, rolls through, kicking up sand, and trying to find the best spot for a camp out. Aaaaaaaaand, now they’re stuck. Like stuck, stuck. He’s not going to get the van out of the hole he has created. And she’s not going to calm down until the van is out of the hole he created.
Queue the man vortex.
Like the moon’s gravitational force that pulls the tides in and out, I’ve found that a mechanical problem at a campground conjures a man magnet so astoundingly strong even the male squirrels can’t help but wonder if they might be able to offer some insight into the problem. One by one - the remote workers, B in his swim trunks, and the bus driver – all arise from their REI camp chairs and commence the investigation. They dig; they pull out the various tools. They push with a collective might but fail to restore the van to solid ground. Call the car commercial producers, it’s time to tow the new guy out! Who has the biggest truck they ask one another, a coy prompt to outwardly compare and contrast car engines. Blake states with enthusiasm – we have a tow strap. Another man is excited to inform the group that he has a rachet that will help remove the front frame of the stuck van. Yet another man is simply recounting the last time he helped tow someone out of a very deep hole. It was snowing then. Truly, a profile in courage.
In the meantime, the many female partners are all sinking deeper into our matching REI chairs. Saluting each other from afar with lifted glasses, we share laughter and smiles as we watch the unabashed man-joy inspired by the low stakes crisis unfolding before us. The situation is so entertaining, it has even enticed Elaine, the solo lady traveler and hard-core birder, to emerge from her tiny camper in the corner and join in the chit chat. She thinks the van couple should have gotten a 4-wheel drive vehicle. So true Elaine. So true.
This pandemonium alone would have produced a sufficient amount of delight for one night, but Mother Earth couldn’t help herself and gifted us with yet another group of newly baptized outdoor enthusiasts. The van is slipping towards the water. The men are clamoring for their toolboxes; the women are laughing hysterically, and then here comes a Mercedes camper van full to the brim with two families who have now explained to me that this is their very FIRST TIME camping ever! Ignoring or not comprehending the commotion before them, they tell me that they’d really like to park where that van is – the stuck one. Is he leaving? Will he be out of that spot soon, they ask. No? Very well – they will just spend the next 30 minutes trying to straighten out their own van, driving in small circles, making a12-point turn in this direction, no, maybe this direction. They look at me, and say, “Do you think it looks alright?” It looks alright. You guys will be alright.
The sun is setting. The stuck van is officially unstuck. The partner of the man who did the towing asks, “How do you feel?” Without a breath to spare he shouts “AWESOME.” Commence the shot-gunning of Bush Lites. A victory for veteran campers everywhere.
There are a lot of camping newbs out there this summer. And why not? There’s a newfound feeling freedom and the great outdoors has never been so tempting. To these newbs, I give a resounding welcome and only this brief advice: 1) Don’t litter, it’s disgusting and you should be ashamed if you do; 2) you are not alone; there are a lot of people watching you roll into the campground and very excited to help you solve your problem, whether you ask for help or not; and 3) whatever happens on your camping trip, whatever gear you may or may not have, whatever the weather may be, never forget – you’re probably going to be alright. Probably.
