Live from New Jersey, it’s Friday night.
Camping in the various states I’ve done it follows a weekend pattern. As the sun begins to set, many campers start arriving, their lights moving through the woods like phantoms and one can hear calls like “here it is” as the right number campsite is found.
Then comes the hassle of trying to put up a tent in the dark. Where I am at the moment, Stokes State Forest, is by far the most isolated and rustic place I’ve camped. Only a few lean-tos and platforms are available. I’ve been here since Monday and have had a chance to look at various sites. Few have ground that is level enough for anything but a small tent. It is a vivid contrast to the county park I had moved from where there were platforms, level areas and hot showers nearby. Of course, there were also bears there while all I have seen here are deer. But the cursing of trying to find missing stakes and assembling poles fills the air. It’s a macho thing. As I listen, female companions usually are not involved and the simplest question brings a curt response.
The cars continue to pour in well after sundown and it is around 10 p.m. by the time the camping area settles down. The silence is broken by an occasional baby crying or the screaming of teenagers as they perform the rites of adolescence.
But the noise does not stop on Saturdays. There is an assortment of jerks with boom box radios inflicting rap music. And the teen rites are in full bloom. I enjoy the solitude and silence of camping, but Saturday nights can be incredibly different. There is usually beer (even though it’s banned) and loud voices and sometime fights also are likely.
Weekend campers are also uninformed about camping in this area. We are in the wilderness, not suburbia. They frequently confuse a bear locker with a garbage can, which brings the bears out with the smell. And, of course, many of them leave their tents open for bugs to camp in.
Yet they also offer companionship. Campers are the most friendly people I know. And the contrast between the isolation of the weekday is something to enjoy.
I had a friend visit my campsite last week. He told me there were significant changes in me. I had purchased some firewood and it was way more than I could use. I saw a young couple dragging wood along a path and gave them what I didn’t need. I also gave away half a bag of ice to another camper because it would have melted and I couldn’t use it. He said the generosity was a change in my personality.
I suppose that I have been looking for ways to relate to people. I am out of practice. But I am frequently surprised at the response my fellow campers have given me. On my first morning in camp, I cooked some steak and eggs, terribly burning the steak. Some campers walking their dog walked past me and I offered the dog the burnt food. “He hasn’t complained about it yet,” I was told, and they gladly accepted the offering. I am used to hostility, but am learning.
Another time, I mentioned a book, “Travels With Charley” by John Steinbeck, to a fellow camper, also a single older fellow. Steinbeck’s tale written in the mid-1960s forms much of the basis for my wandering. The camper mentioned how he loved how Steinbeck’s dog, Charley, said “pffttt” when wanting to go and how he went crazy near bears in Yellowstone Park. It was good to know someone else thought the way I did.
I am learning that more people than I imagined also feel the same way.
