Well, a week has passed since I returned home from lands out west and my re-acclimation to North Texas life has not been easy. I was only gone nine days but those nine days were just enough time to flush some of the status quo out of my system and cause me to develop some new routines.
Like getting a campsite set up every evening at dusk. To save money and enhance the traveling experience, I decided to camp during my trip at state parks, public lands, and national forests. I grew up a camp kid, setting up A-frame tents and living with foam pads, sleeping bags and propane stoves since I was a little boy. I didn't like camping so much then and never appreciated it. But now... my heart has turned and I find that life peaceful and desirable. But even though it has much peace, there is always responsibility in camping.
So every night, setting up camp involved selecting a desired campsite (usually on the outer edge of a campground but not too far from other people). I would sometimes drive around a campground three or four times before my indecisive mind would get sick of itself and just pick one. Once I did, I would fill out the appropriate campground paperwork, drop it in the payment box, and then go about claiming my spot before someone beat me to it.
I learned a valuable lesson my first night on the road about staking one's property claim. My first night was spent at Villanueva State Park south of Las Vegas, NM, a charming canyon locale buzzing with activity. The first weekend of June must have been a state holiday or something because the place was packed, save for a few open camp sites.
I circled the upper campground about five times before I spotted a sheltered site back away from the road. It was perfect! The shelter was an adobe building, essentially, with a canyon view that was unmatched among campsites. I set down some of my stuff on a picnic table outside the shelter to lay claim to the spot while I went to the campground entrance to pay. When I got back to my spot... the shelter was taken. Several cars had moved in and their passengers were unloading. Turns out I claimed the wrong picnic table. At the wrong spot. In the right campground, so at least I had that going for me! I settled for something less and swore to never make that mistake again.
My campsite, lower-left, and the nice adobe shelter, upper right.
Setting up a campsite also involved getting stuff out of my car, a task that grew more and more frustrating every night. When I packed my car, I thought I had things perfectly organized, only to find my organization a complete mess once I hit the road. I had camping stuff in the trunk, my guitar and video stuff in the back seat, and my still camera and power supplies in the front seat. Over the course of nine days I think I managed to bury every important thing where it was least accessible, a complete and utter failure of organization and convenience! And I was pulling gobs of stuff out of my car every evening and dragging the needed items to the picnic table.
The morning after the first night, before my campsite became more complicated.
I just set up a tent and campstove that first night, leaving everything else in the car.
And then there was the tent... I had spent all of two night in my NorthPointe tent before this trip, so I was still relatively unfamiliar with it as a home. As the days progressed, I grew in my tenting (is that even a word?) skills and became quite fond of my little home. I never grew completely at ease with sleeping inches away from the outside world, with one or two layers of fabric separating me from the wildlife, but I employed several techniques to help me rest (earplugs, anyone?).
One of my biggest struggles as a camper came in the area of privacy. As much as I wanted to be around other people for community, safety, and comfort, I also wanted to be able to bathe in privacy, find an outdoor men's room, or just be able to shine my flashlight without worrying about disturbing my neighbors. Another struggle dealt with light. I had intended to bring fire starting materials with me but accidentally left them at home. With burn bans across New Mexico that prohibited the collection of firewood, I was left in the dark with only a LED lantern and three small flashlights. I eventually bought a couple of fireplace starter logs but they lasted only briefly.
Mornings brought the biggest joys of camping in scenic locations. At first daylight, which was impossible to ignore in a tent, I looked outside to find myself surrounded by canyons, mountains, desert lands, and beautiful lakes. Here are a few campground locations I enjoyed:
Manzano Mountains State Park, the cleanest campground with amazing mountain atmosphere. I also got a shelter to use for privacy (yay!).
The most rugged of campgrounds, a BLM establishment located next to El Malpais National Monument. There was no water, no security, no pavement, no picnic table and no lights. Just a rocky, cactus-infested spot to camp for free.
Sugarite Canyon State Park, my final stop. I spent my coldest night here but the morning views of the valley with fog rolling through was amazing.
Sometimes campground plans don't work out. For instance, when I went to Great Sand Dunes National Park, I intended to camp at the park itself. However, when I arrived, the campground was full, so I turned around and went to the closest state park. After wrestling with paying the steep camping fee there, I eventually caved and crashed at 11pm. The next morning I was greeted by mountains. In another example, below, I planned to camp at a free campground on the rim of Rio Grande Gorge, and when I arrived I found myself all alone. I soon figured out why. Because my campsite was 30 feet from the rim of the gorge, there was nothing to block the wind. I hung on for dear life for a few hours before calling it quits and finding a state park. I drove for hours as the sun set until I found a suitable place, again crashing at 11pm or later.
Camping was an amazing experience that ignited inner desires to continue it into the future. I loved the peace of wind passing through the trees, of stars burning pin-sized holes in the midnight sky, and amazing sunrises over mountain, meadow, valley, canyon and water. Even though I did not have the comforts of home, there was still comfort in knowing that God was a security more real than He ever seemed before. There was nothing to keep a bear from making a snack out of me or a cougar, or a crazed duck for that matter! And if a branch fell on my tent or a burglar burgled, there was nothing to stop them. But God.
Camping is an act of faith. It takes a lot of nerve for a city slicker like me, but it was well worth it.
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