THE SPIRIT OF CAMPING.

Last weekend I went camping with my friend, Tom. It was a last minute effort to get out of the city on a holiday weekend. Not very well planned. His family lives in Connecticut, so he went out there early to see his mom and reserve a campsite at a nearby state park. Once the reservation was confirmed (you actually have to drive out to the campground or reserve by mail two weeks in advance), I got on the train and went to CT. After a stop at the grocery and liquor store we made our way to the park. Lush, rolling hills. Fields of knee-high grass, perfect weather.

The view from the Leatherman's Loop Peak

Tom went in to pay for the site and get our permit and came out looking dejected. It seems that in the time between when he had reserved the site that morning and the present they had given away our site. Why? Rick, the camp-master, apparently thought our reservation had been voided. Even though it was sitting right on the counter, lacking the word void or any relative thereof.

As we watched Rick operate it became clear that although he looked slightly like Albert Einstein, he was not in the same ballpark mentally. After about a half hour of sorting through stacks of reservation papers, he decided that since it was 4pm and a family with children hadn't shown up we could have their site. The logic? They have kids, why would they wait until so late in the day to show up? I can only think of 1000 reasons.

The campsite we ended up getting.

Regardless, the matter seemed settled, so we went to the site. It was not the hike-in site we had reserved, so now that we didn't have to carry our supplies a mile through the hills we felt foolish for not bringing beers, ice or anything besides a jug of water, six hot-dogs, some trail mix and a fifth of Makers. We set up camp, gathered a little firewood and took a hike. It was a great day for hiking; hot in the sun, cool in the shade of the woods. The trails we took had many exaggerated "points of interest" to visit. If you ever make it up there, I recommend skipping the "magic stairs" and the "CCC Camp." Do, however, check out the view from the Leatherman's Loop peak and the wigwam. And if you're feeling daring, but not too daring, check out the Leatherman's Cave. You'll feel slightly cheated.

Tom exiting the wigwam or hut of some sort.

The hike ate up a few hours of the day and was a good outing. We saw a rabbit while speaking to a Hell's Angel and his large breasted girlfriend. That sort of made us all friends. At least he couldn't stab us after seeing that little rabbit. At the end of our hike we were tired and hungry. Approaching our site we could see that the family had turned up after all. Their tents were set up and they had been so kind as to throw our possessions on the ground next to our tents. Thank you very much. That's exactly what I would want done with the items I had set on the picnic table. Yep, just toss 'em right there in the dirt. It was a passive-aggressive way of saying "get the fuck off our site."

This is where the spirit of camping comes in. Or rather, the complete disregard for the spirit of camping. The spirit of camping is one of camaraderie, of sharing, of trust. You can feel free to leave your stuff on your picnic table or in your tent. Other campers won't fuck with it. It's an unwritten law. If someone is camping nearby and they forgot to bring hot dogs, you share yours. You offer a beer to a passerby. You strike up conversation and invite neighbors to join you at your campfire. You help when you can and get help when you need it.

Not this family. Apparently this was their first time camping. That, or they were complete assholes. They returned from their hike as we were packing up our stuff. The wife managed to make minimal small talk, during which we explained how our site had been given away, which led to theirs being given away to us. She said, "Sorry." And walked away as Tom added, "I guess we'll just drive back to New York City." The husband passed by with just a nod of his inconsiderate jackass head.

But the spirit of camping was watching. It wouldn't let us drive back to the city, not after we had come all that way. As we were putting our tents in the car a woman walked by with her kid and mentioned she had heard about the situation. She was pretty sure her friends would let us throw up our tents at their site and join their group. So that we did. Not only did they let us join them, they offered up fresh corn on the cob, some slices of a roast, beers, and glow-in-the-dark necklaces. We cooked our pathetic hot dogs on their grill; we shared their campfire, talked, laughed, got reasonably drunk and did what campers do. I can only describe them as well-prepared, blue-collar, salt-of-the-earth, generous folks. I'd welcome them to my campsite any time.

A special thanks to Jim, Tom (yes, two of them had the same names as us), Big Walt, Jimbo's super old father, George and their families. The spirit of camping is alive and well.

And if you ever want to take a group of people rock climbing, talk to me. Camping Jim leads climbing expeditions in the NY-CT area.