The first time I thought I went on a real camping trip was when I sailed over to Catalina Island from L.A. with a reservation at Parson's Landing campgrounds. What made it "real" to me was that there was no shower and I had to lug my own two large bottles of Evian mineral water on my back like a one-humped Arabian camel in the desert. (This was before Nalgenes.) Luckily we were camping by the beach & the only other thing in my "pack" was a towel, a toothbrush & some sunscreens (SPF 55 for my face & 30 for my body), because not only was my school backpack too small for anything else, but we had to hike 7 miles to this secluded beach. It also helped that my camping companion was a 6'2" rock-climbing instructor with hands of David & body of god who carried everything else we needed.Having to use the port-a-potty was totally roughing it for me, and I boasted about having gone real camping for years, until I moved to Utah. When I told the story about having gone to Catalina to camp out for two days without running water, people laughed. "Rachel, sleeping on the beach with a port-a-potty is not camping!" mocked my friends. So I was really excited about my road trip last summer when I heard we'd be camping out, and bought all my camping gear from Backcountry.com including a portable toilet seat which I was going to use over the hole. (I was told we'd be digging a hole in the ground for our nature's call.) But to my disappointment, every camp site had a shower and a toilet, and I never did get to have that real camping experience in the wilderness. Only thing real about the experience was that I was eaten alive by mosquitoes, and those vicious, carnivorous black flies took chunks of my skin and left it bleeding like bullet wounds from an assault rifle.
Then came an invitation for a real camping experience this weekend from my new camping buddies, the A-Team. Well, it was going to be car camping, but not to fear... no running water & no toilets. As we drove up to the Uintas, I couldn't believe I had never ventured east of Park City in the three (well, almost three) years I'd been here. The scenery was breathtaking. Huge reservoir (right in my backyard!), and green & purple trees covered the mountains like a soft mossy blanket on a slippery slope against the backdrop of crystal blue skies with puffy cumulus clouds... and I'd thought all of Utah was dried-out, red, and bare like an overcooked, tasteless lump of pork roast.
As soon as we turned off the paved road and hit the rocky terrain, I knew I was in for an adventure. I was being tossed in the truck like the dice in the pop-o-matic, die rolling bubble on that board game called Trouble I used to play as a kid; and at one point, our little red pickup was centrifuged, stuck on a rock with the other two cars nowhere in sight. By the time we finally made it up to our campsite, my ass hurt from squeezing it so tight for over an hour of rumble & tumble in the car, but it was all worth it. (Get your mind out of the gutter. Plus, that imagery only works if I were a gay man.) We had our little slice of heaven - a quiet, pristine lake all to ourselves surrounded by tall, majestic trees. (Okay, not majestic, but that sounds better than tall, skinny, half dead trees.)
We drank, we sang, told scary stories, and made curry over the fire in our dutch oven 'cause somebody forgot the fuel for the most awesome JETBOIL cooking system ever. (That was me.) We had too many bossy cooks, including me, and no knives to cut the half-rotten onion (that was me, also) & the potatoes. But we managed by using the 1-inch foil cutter that comes attached to the wine bottle opener (of course we'd remember the tool for the alcohol); and after about two hours of mayhem in our outdoor kitchen (very much like Hell's Kitchen if you've ever seen that show), we devoured the curry like a famished Ethiopian. In the end, we congratulated each other for the perfect meal and sat under the dazzling stars telling more ghost stories and bonding over the fire that kept us warm.
So short & sweet was the trip that I didn't need to dig a hole, but my bare bums did flash the trees a few times. Teeth didn't get brushed, no washing of the face, but did have a toasted bagel with cream cheese for breakfast. I was shocked to hear someone had brought a toaster at first & wondered who had sneaked a generator to our wilderness trip ruining my real camping experience, but I soon found out that all it was was a long handled metal box that closes at the end with hinges to put over the fire. Awesome! Too bad I didn't bring any eggs. Could've had the perfect egg-mitt bagel for breakfast.
So now, I've officially gone real camping. I'm no longer the camping virgin. But am I ready for a 3-day Fourth of July backpacking trip, meaning no cars? Hmm... does anyone know a tall, muscly dude who'd be willing to carry the extra stuff that won't fit in my pack like my tent, sleeping bag, stove, and food?
