The Great Outdoors

Last attempt at camping: disaster. Tomas sat shivering after having an allergic reaction to these tiny little bugs we'd never seen before. And that was the last straw.

Following the advice of an expert, we drove three hours and took a trail off of a trail off of a trail. The campsites were trashed. Piles of ashes everywhere. Fire pits full of beer cans and plastic water bottles. Toilet paper and plastic silverware strewn about. And these are the sites that supposedly no one wants to camp on because there are no facilities.

Then there was the noise pollution. Group after group of people drove by on their ATVs and dirt bikes. (One set of people even had their full race gear on. That shows you how seriously they take their sport.) Each time, you could hear them coming for at least fifteen minutes, and after they'd passed, a fine mist of dirt would settle over the campsite. Oh, and did I mention the gunshots? Apparently we were near enough to a firing range that we heard series of gunshots repeatedly.

But there were quiet times, too. That's when I remembered why on earth we would drive three hours to be at one with nature. Utter silence, and trees and blue sky as far as the eye could see.



Saddened and disgusted, we packed up and left days early.