Camping's Dark Underbelly

Darren here. Camping with a bunch of little kids is admittedly crazy. Stir in some impressive miscalculations on the part of mom and dad, as we did, and the crazy gets compounded. We share among friends for the record. 

I spent hours meticulously packing the vehicle. Mounted the Yakima Mega Warrior basket to the roof rack, inserted the custom-fit waterproof canvas bag, filled the bag efficiently with the portable kitchenette, three burner stove, plush sleeping gear for seven, camping chairs and a behemoth 10-man tent that went by the name Colossus. To the interior of the vehicle, I added a 20 lb. gas cylinder, a 5 gallon Jerry Can of water, Igloo cooler, toddler hiking backpack, guitar, everyone's clothes, towels, all the kitchen gear, food, and, of course, the port-a-crib. It was a fabled fit, worthy of the ages.

All downhill from there. Departure time slipped from noon to one to four. "We're getting a bit of a late start," Ivey noted. "We'll be fine," I replied, confident we'd have plenty of time to set camp before dark. This was Miscalculation #1. The drive took almost five hours, not three and a half as expected. Fog, rain, and winding mountain roads slowed us.

By the time we reached the camping areas in the Blue Mountains National Park, it was dusk and drizzling. We decided to camp at the nearest of the four prospective sites we'd researched in advance. We missed the turn-off to Murphy's Glen--a fifteen minute time penalty.  We then missed it again, twin Miscalculations by Mom. Dad pulled the car over to switch seats. Once on the dirt track to Murphy's Glen, we were halted by a locked gate: Camp Area Closed Due to Weather. Back on the highway, now thrice traveled, we re-calibrated to camp at Ingar. Twenty minutes later, same story: Camp Area Closed Due to Weather. Prospects looked bleak. The next camp site, Old Ford, was thirty minutes away, half of that by way of a winding, downhill dirt road. For better or worse, we pressed on. Miscalculation #4.

In short order, Summer threw up in the far back seat, covering her car seat as well as a potpourri of camping gear stowed at her feet. We opened the windows to the rain--a compromise move to escape the malodorous stench. Ivey prepped the other children with sick bags as the wooziness spread among them. Annie was next. However, failing to heed mom's advice, she threw up in her hands, paused calmly to explain that she was not using a sick bag and then promptly threw up again.

In the tumult, we passed the Old Ford camp site without noticing. We eventually backtracked and rolled in just before 10pm. Four sites were occupied but a large site that would suit our needs was available. Enter Miscalculation #5.

The worst was over. Now was the moment to display my outdoors prowess. With Will at my side to assist, I sprang the canvas bag open and unloaded dozens of items large and small onto the wet grass to access the tent and tarp. In minutes the tarp went down, then tent went down, tent pegs came out. The back end of my hand ax rang loudly as it struck the 20" solid forged steel tent stakes.

There was one problem though. A big problem. The ground wouldn't take the stakes. And with this kind of tent, no stakes meant no shelter. Thirty or forty neighbor-goodwill-destroying strikes later, the first stake was only half-way in the ground. With fifteen more stakes to go, I realized the effort was futile. We had to pack up and go elsewhere.

I broke the news to Ivey as she was simultaneously nursing Desmond and cleaning vomit around half-sleeping children by the dim light of the interior car fixtures. She bore the news bravely, although later told me she died inside. I took Annie on crutches to the bushes where she could do her business. Ivey changed two diapers. The rain picked up. We had been in the car for almost seven hours. 

The thing about a beautiful pack job is that it is not easily recreated, especially in the dark while suppressing rage. Step one was to coerce the kids back into their seatbelts. Step two was to pile the damp chairs and sleeping bags and stoves on top of said angry children. Step three was to wrestle Colossus back on top of the roof. This last task was mine alone to face. Colossus, now my nemesis, was a 12' x 16' Army grade canvas tent that, with poles, weighed in at an intimidating 115 lbs. I rolled the tent and tarp together, no poles, and hefted them over my right shoulder. I tread tentatively across the sloped wet grass to our vehicle as Will attempted to help by waving the flashlight indiscriminately. Now came a vicious test of athleticism--a single 28" step onto the tailgate of the lilting Land Cruiser followed by a one-legged squat to a standing position. Will chanted meditatively, "You can do it, Dad" over and over again. There was a moment when I thought a tendon in my neck would snap and another when I thought I'd lose the right hamstring. But I defeated Colossus uninjured. He laid limp on the altar of the Mega Warrior.

the completely unphotoshopped view from our eventual campsite - glad we didn't miss out on this

 We had learned from a Park Ranger that stray campsites could be found beyond Old Ford. Crammed in amid the gear with grumpy kids falling asleep on our laps and an unzipped canvas bag on our roof--somewhat fearing we were leaving a steady trail of camping supplies behind--we drove on. Highbeams forward and flashlights left and right, we trolled slowly with windows down on the hunt for refuge. We found nothing. After five miles of dirt road, we were stopped by a gate. It wasn't locked and we believed Dunphy's campground laid beyond the private property the gate marked but we dared not drive deeper into the abyss at this late hour.

We had seen motels in the last town, Blackheath, and decided to brave the winding roads back out of the Megalong Valley. We didn't know if there would be vacancies or if anyone would even answer the phone. It was after 11pm now. The alternative was fairly horrifying: a night stuffed in a vomitous car full of camping supplies with five very unhappy children (and 2 spent adults).

Grabbing a blip of mobile reception, Ivey found a motel online and called. The phone rang 15 times before someone picked up at the High Mountains Motor Inn. The kindly gentleman took pity on us and prepared a room that would fit our family. Just before midnight we transported the kids to their dry, warm beds, looked at each other blankly, and crawled into bed. Ivey couldn't even speak of the escapade until morning.

Epilogue: To me, it actually wasn't that bad. In fact, there was something I really enjoyed about the experience. Being out on top of the Land Cruiser late at night lost in the rainy Blue Mountains was kind of cool. It made things interesting. We ended up camping at Dunphy's campsite the next three nights and it was one of the most beautiful places we've ever stayed. We got in some good 4-wheel driving, hiking, and swimming. The thing is, creating memorable experiences with the kids usually comes at a cost of some discomfort. I often hate the slog through it, but I'm almost always glad to have done it.  

Video soundtrack written and performed by Dave Peery.