A Happy Camper

There are few places I feel more at home than a pristine, deserted beach. Such is the calibre of beaches where I live though, to find one that’s deserted requires swimming just off the shore wearing a shark costume with a strategically placed and large fin attached. The other option is to go off road. The shark costume idea is more fun but the off road idea keeps me out of jail.

And so, with a pristine, deserted beach in our sights, cars loaded with gear and eskies full of cold beer, a group of us headed in the direction of Double Island Point (view map) for a weekend camping trip.

Off road, beach camping is one of my favourite things to do but such camping trips going without a hitch are a rare thing. Strangely, the surprise factor of what can go wrong (or right) is actually one of the parts of camping I think is cool.

Case in point…

Throw Another Tree on the Fire

Whilst sitting around the campfire, fellow camping compadre, Ando, announced we needed another log on the fire. He disappeared into the darkness only to return with an entire tree that he duly placed on top. “Ando,” I said, “Could you not just find a normal sized log?”

Now, when I say a tree, I mean a tree. It was no sapling or over-sized branch. It had the makings of the mother of all fires. This would have been all fine and good had it not been for a visit by the ranger the following morning.

You see, there are hefty fines for burning any of the local flora so as to protect the surroundings. This particular tree had somehow been uprooted and was, how can I put this delicately? Dead. It was prime campfire fuel. However, even uprooted, dead trees are not permitted to be burnt. You can imagine the panic that ensued as the ranger drove up. Not only had we failed in our attempt to buy camping permits but we had a half burnt tree conspicuously placed across the centre of our fire pit.

It was all hands on deck. Val duly kept the ranger occupied with, “Oh, we didn’t realize we could get the camping permits online?” and “the camping permit place was shut when we came through” and “we were going to head down there and get them today”.

Meanwhile, a couple of others flanked him so as to block his view while Ben, in an act that can only be described as Navy Seal worthy, used stealth and agility to move the offending tree back into the bush. How he managed to do it without the ranger noticing I’ll never know. I mean it was a TREE for god’s sake. I did my part and sat there with a stunned mullet look on my face. Evidently I’m not good in a crisis. Definitely not Navy Seal material. 

The ranger was kind enough to let us off with a warning and our promise to get the camping permits (which we were in fact planning to get anyway) and the tree is back in its final resting place, albeit scorched.

Gone With the Wind

Then there was the wind. For the uninitiated, trying to sleep in a small, 2-man tent during gale force winds can be likened to resting your weary head behind an F-111 jet engine at full throttle. The only thing not flapping on our tent was us. And even I started flapping when I woke up and found myself gazing at the stars through the gauze in the tent roof.

“What the? That’s not right!” I thought, as it dawned on me that our tent fly was missing. It had been stripped off and was now caught against a tree.

My fellow campers should be grateful it was the middle of the night or they would have found me reinstating the fly back in its rightful place…in my undies.

Braveheart Camping Gear

Even heading home can prove interesting. We’d caught a lift with friends Cam and Pauline. As Cam was navigating their 4 wheel drive along the rough, sandy track on the way home, he happened to glance in his side mirror to find the contents of the camper van they were towing, littered along the trail behind us. The back door of the camper van had come adrift and camping gear had made a bid for freedom William Wallace style.

The freedom was short lived and nearly disasterous for a chair as Pauline ran down the track to stop a car from running over it. I helped out by yelling, “How about you two stop leaving your crap behind your butt and pick up after yourselves for a change!” Evidently I’m not good (nor helpful) in a crisis.

Oh yeah, and Chris nearly set his armpit alight when trying fire twirling for the first time (alas, I missed getting it on film). This is pre armpit scorching…

Despite all this, who can complain about great times with friends, beautiful, sunny days and a pristine, deserted beach? Not me.

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