by Kim Marvel
My wife and I enjoy camping. Recently, I’ve watched how older campers, with reduced sprightliness and enlarged vehicles, manage the art of camping. With a touch of humility from my own slowing pace as a camper, I share some observations.
Set-up Stress: “No, no! Try it again!” she hollers. With furrowed brow, he pulls the vehicle forward a few feet. “I said ‘move it to the left’ and you moved it to the right! Can’t you see me?!” Years ago, setting up camp was simpler – staking out a tent and unrolling sleeping bags. Now it’s a stressful multi-phase process. By evening, they are at peace, sitting in folding chairs, chatting quietly. The balm of camping has once again relieved the stress of the set-up routine.
A Man and His Tools: It’s mid-morning. A fellow across the way examines his trailer hitch. He reaches into a toolbox. I’ve spotted a fixer upper. Typically older males, they are at home with a tool in hand, fiddling endlessly with vehicles. His activity draws other older males like bees to honey. Soon, two others show up to watch and comment. Just like that, you have a gaggle of fixer-uppers. A footnote: you want a man and his tools nearby, just in case you need assistance.
Trailer Envy: Does size matter? As retirees, my wife and I frequently debate the pros and cons of upsizing our pop-up trailer. As I scan the campground, I’m drawn to the larger and creative set-ups. “Hey hon, check out that SUV with the tent on top. A quick climb up a ladder and into bed on top of the car – how convenient. And no trailer to tow!” My wife reminds me of my diminished ladder-climbing agility and bladder capacity. Probably not the best arrangement for two septuagenarians.
Early Birders: At the crack of dawn, our neighboring senior campers, binoculars at the ready, have started their search for birds. Their attire is similar: brimmed hats, vests with guidebook-filled pockets, and light-weight hiking boots. She points upward and grasps her binoculars; he hunches over a guidebook. Much animated whispering ensues. I mention to my wife that I’ve spotted a pair of gray-headed peepers, migrating from Minnesota to Arizona, nesting in a fifth wheel. She chuckles, reaches for her binoculars, pulls on her boots, and reminds me not to forget my hat and vest.
The Sound of Silence: My tinnitus seems to be worsening. The constant background hum detracts from my enjoyment of the outdoors. Suddenly it stops. Relieved, I realize it wasn’t my tinnitus. The ten o’clock hour has arrived. It’s time to shut down generators. One by one they stop. The sounds of crickets and croakers return. Ah, it’s time to get some sleep. As I lay my head on the pillow, I detect a high-pitched hum. Is that a mosquito or my tinnitus?
Computer Savvy: “Back in the day,” I tell my neighboring camper, “we had no problem finding a campsite without a reservation.” He agrees. The new world of advanced online reservations has spawned a new camping survival skill: computer keyboard dexterity. Six months prior to a desired camping date, this elderly camper hovers over the keyboard, determined to beat all competitors to reserve campsite #18. We yearn for past years when computers weren’t part of the camping experience.
The Great Cover-up: At the risk of over-stepping the “too much information” boundary, I will share my older male perspective about a specific challenge of camping in one’s later years. My habit of an extra trip to the bathroom during the night is further complicated by our no frills pop-up trailer without a toilet. A few years ago I settled on a simple, inexpensive solution for my early-morning urge: a hand-held plastic urinal. However, later, when I arise for the day, the simple remedy becomes more complicated as I trek, urinal in hand, to the public bathroom. To protect my fragile male ego from prying eyes, I drape a hand towel over my possession. Oh, the simplicity of camping in younger years when I slept through the night.
One final observation: Over the years, we’ve found license plates to be great conversation starters. Even when bumper stickers reveal differing political views, we always find common ground about traveling and places of origin. We quickly develop a sense of a tight-knit community. As other campers leave, we wave as if we’re old friends. Our shared experience leads to pleasant connections. And that, thank goodness, has not changed over the years.
Author bio: Kim Marvel is a retired psychologist and family medicine educator. He and his wife, Connie, live in Colorado and enjoy each other’s company while traveling, camping, and exploring the outdoors.
Comments