Camping - The Triumph of Optimism Over Experience Part 1

One of the traditional definitions of insanity is to do the same thing again and expect a different result.  With that as an introduction let me tell you about my latest camping trip.  I have friends who enjoy camping, or at least they do it quite a bit so I presume they enjoy it.  Despite the fact that the last camping we went on together turned into a brutal death match between us, maniacal stingrays and kleptomaniac wallabies I was invited to join them.  Presumably because humour is a little thin on the ground at camping sites.

My friends had kindly provided me with a tent and an air mattress.  When the subject of the air mattress was raised it was pointed out to me that they had given me an air mattress the last time we had gone camping.  This is true they had.  It had been sitting in my closet ever since and I had spent a fair bit of time wondering what on earth it was and how I acquired it.  For some reason it never occurred to me to take it out and look at it so it stayed in my closet when I went camping.

I packed a bag, acquired a sleeping bag and purchased every organic sausage in the supermarket.  Thus prepared I set off in the stinking heat.  My first stop was Newtown where I purchased the aforementioned sausages and the last drinkable cup of coffee I would enjoy until Sunday afternoon.  Fully equipped for a life under canvas (or polyurethane) I travelled to Chatswood, the Penrith of the lower north shore.  In both Newtown and Chatswood I was able to admire the way the public spaces had been designed so that all of the seating was placed to ensure the users were untroubled by either shade or shelter from the rain.  I huddled in a stairwell to avoid the sun.

Chatswood doesn't have a railway station, dear me no.  Chatswood has a transport interchange.  This is a multimodal transport hub where buses, trains and cars coincide to provide a seamless commuter experience.  This hub is then squeezed into an area about two thirds of the size it needs to be to actually be useful, the end result is that the contents of arriving trains are vomited into what looks suspiciously like an alley undergoing construction work.  I suspect it was an alley undergoing construction work.

Some time later I met up with my friends and we headed off for Glenworth Valley, our destination for the weekend.  Glenworth Valley is an hours drive north of Sydney.  On a Friday afternoon it is an hours drive north of Sydney plus another hour sitting in traffic trying to drive north of Sydney.

How can I describe Glenworth Valley?  Imagine charming bushland, spreading trees, overgrown trails wending through the bush, open ground for camping and childrens soccer matches, a sparkling stream trickling through.  Then bury the lot ankle deep in horse shit.  This is Glenworth Valley where one can kayak, fish, camp, quadbike or ride horses.  There are a large number of horses on standby should you get the urge to ride.  It is here that we would set up our tents for our brief sylvan idyll.

Arriving at reception we stepped forth, screamed in pain and fled back into the car sucking our burnt bits.  Did I mention it was stinking hot?  Getting out of the car was like jumping into a furnace but there was nothing for it.  Now psychologically prepared we slunk out of the car and made our way to reception.  The atmosphere of Glenworth Valley hit us immediately.  Specifically it was the atmosphere of a very large number of horses in close proximity on a day where the temperature hit 40 degrees.  The atmosphere hit us, stabbed us, pummelled us.  You could have picked up bits of that atmosphere and beaten people to death with it.  Fortunately the camping area was somewhat removed from the horse store.

Since the weather was scorching and the earth very dry I politely asked if there was a total fire ban.  I was met with a blank look.  I explained what a total fire ban was with the assistance of some impromptu sketches and a small role playing exercise with the seven year old son of two of my friends.  The girl at reception's expression cleared and she nodded understanding.  "I don't know," was her answer but in an effort to be helpful she tried to find out.  Some ten minutes of phoning and wandering back and forth later and she presented us with the news that there wasn't a total fire ban but in light of the weather we should probably be careful lighting a fire.  Bolstered with this helpful advice we made our way to the camping spot.

Carefully selecting the choicest (and only) available spot we disgorged camping equipment.  Some time later another car carrying more friends arrived and disgorged more camping equipment.  There were seven of us in total; Jason and Idette and their children Jake and Abigail.  Also Natali and her daughter Jasmyn.  Plus me.  Coming tomorrow would be the final piece in our camping jigsaw Tony, Natali's husband.  In the meantime we erected tents and commented to each other on how hot it was.

Child minding was taken care of by a nine month old girl in the neighbouring camp who exercised a fascination on Jasmyn and a bunch of soccer playing boys who entertained Jake.  This left us with Abigail but she was quiet for the most part to the point where I can't actually remember if we took her with us when we left.  Presumably one of her parents was paying a little more attention.

As the sun went down and the evening cooled we opened a bottle or two of wine (seriously, we only brought two bottles) and chatted idly until it was time to go to bed all the while mounting a desperate (and ultimately unsuccessful) campaign against the flies that turned up every time we ate, or moved or breathed.  I also chased off a bush turkey that was engaged in pilfering the neighbours camp and was in the process of making off with one of the nine month old's cuddly toys.  The next day would be a horse laden thrillfest but for now we crawled into our little portable homes and went to sleep.