The Camping-Go-Round

Here we are, in the heart of one of America’s premier national parks. We were lucky enough to score a campsite in a wonderful tents-only campground on Jenny Lake beneath the sweep of the Grand Tetons. It’s the last site available, and the last one on the campground circle, site number 50.

The view is magnificent, and though we’re a bit closer to the entrance of the campground than we like, we are not worried. This has always been a fairly quiet campground. It attracts climbers and outdoorspeople who like to come and go unobtrusively and spend their days out mountaineering, hiking, or perhaps the boating and fishing. Or at least that’s how it used to be many years ago when we camped here last.

The only quirk we discern with this particular campsite might be the bearproof trash container nearby, which makes a bit of a heavy metallic clunk every time it’s opened and digests someone’s refuse. But it’s located across the roadway, and at least twenty yards from our picnic table. Innocuous enough, right?

Yet by the time we’ve filled out and dropped off our fee envelope, set up the tent, and begun to peruse our maps for today’s planned adventure, we discern the bearproof dumpster becoming a bit of a nuisance. It’s nine in the morning (we had to get here early to score a campsite) so we’re hoping that the clunk nuisance is just a campers-on-their-way-out-for-the-day problem.

However now there is a rather concerning nuance added to the nuisance: cars are driving up to the bear dumpster, parking and idling, while they dump their trash. So now it’s a clunk, thump (trash container, followed by car door) spiced with an occasional wafting exhaust fume. Add to this the passengers who sit and gawk at us, our tent, our kayaks, (without smiling or waving) while the driver gets out and dumps the garbage. Sometimes a passenger will get out, walk around the car, and do the dumping. Then we get stared at by both the driver and the passenger.

Ordinarily, we wouldn’t be too worried. I mean, you expect a few people to be efficient and dump their trash on their way out for a full day of hiking. But it is nine already. Shouldn’t these people have deposited their trash and headed out hours ago? Which begs another question: couldn’t some of them have walked their trash to the dumpster instead of using a car to get it there? I’m just guessing, since we’ve only seen one bear, high in the mountains, only once in fifteen years of visits to this part of the Tetons, that most campers would make it from camp to dumpster during mid day without getting mauled.

By the time we’ve taken our kayaks off the roof rack and strapped them to their little wheels for the quarter mile stroll down to the lake, at least ten more clunk thumper campers stop by.

Maybe we needed to think about this big bad bearproof dumpster a bit more before paying for two nights? This thought is confirmed when Deb says to me, “That Land Rover has gone around the circle twice now, and stopped at the dumpster both times.” Uh oh. I think to myself, these don’t seem like the avid hikers and climbers we usually see here.

“Maybe they’re heading out this time,” I urge, hoping things will improve. It is or could be such a lovely campsite, great view and close proximity to our paddling plans.

“Don’t think so,” Deb replies, pointing to the Rover as they re-enter the loop and disappear back to their campsite. Ten minutes later, the Rover appears again, this time with the wife driving, and she’s alone. She doesn’t stop at the dumpster though . . .

“Drove to the bathroom,” I state flatly. Meanwhile there has developed a four car traffic jam at the dumpster. Clunk thump, clunk thump, clunk thump, clumk thump. Luckily the breeze is blowing away from us, and the cars aren’t all that noisy, but they are annoying nonetheless.

As we finish putting paddles, life jackets, and day bags into the kayaks and make sure the tent is zipped tight, a diesel pickup idles for an eternity in front of the dumpster—just in time for the breeze to shift back in our direction. Clunk, rumble rumble rumble, thump, ROAR. We hold our noses for a minute while the air clears. Our ears need to recover as well.

Deb says, “We might want to camp somewhere else tomorrow.”

I reply, “Yeah, I wonder if there’s any way we can get tomorrow night’s money back.”

We agree to wait and see how the evening fares before deciding. After all, it’s time to paddle, and we know they can’t drive on the lake. Or so we think.

Later, while on the water, we discover that the park service concessionaires not only are running five fast moving lake crossing shuttle boats instead of just two slow shuttle boats in previous years, but they are also renting skiffs with eight horsepower motors. The lovely lake which runs one mile wide by two miles long resembles a bathtub with kids making waves in it.

Fortunately for us, today there is only one skiff rented and they are on their way back to dock. As to the campground problem, well, we’ll just have to see what happens. But we made the long trip up here to paddle, and so we enjoy the benefits of being camped so close to such a beautiful lake in the Tetons. We do our best to ignore the tourist shuttles, and we soon find moments of natural peace, spectacular mountain beauty, and quiet moments along the far north shores of the lake.

We return to our campsite, happy to have been out of our vehicle for at least seven hours now without starting any kind of motor and begin to think about dinner. A car approaches, and clunk thump goes another garbage drop off. It’s almost five-o-clock now. The car drives back into the loop. It’s another driving dumper on the campground loop.

“I think we’re in for a long night,” By now we are both thinking, if they are unwilling to walk to the bathroom or dumpster in broad daylight, what will the night bring?

We’re aware that campground tent camping has changed drastically over the years. But sometimes we endure tent-oriented campgrounds because of the access to wonderful kayaking, bicycling, or hiking areas.

“Let’s have a glass of wine,” I suggest, noticing yet another vehicle approaching the big bear dumpster.

“Dinner and a show!” teases Deb. So we start sipping and counting cars. Soon we pour another glass and lose count, but we recognize cars that have come around twice or even three times. The clunk thump, clunk thump, clunk thump reminds me of a thump thump car in the city.

The clunk thump debacle lasts until after sunset, and even after dark. We silently cheer and clap and give a little friendly wave to a kindly gentleman who walks his dinner garbage to the dumpster and then miraculously holds the lid back so that it closes quietly. Give that man a beer!!! Finally by 9:30 things quiet down. This is, after all, still a tents-only campground. Except for the raging poker game going on eight sites away, it is getting quieter. At 10:00 someone wins the poker pot and they too pack it in. Ahh, I can now hear the distant waterfall, the gently sighing breeze in the pines and spruces. And we sleep.

At five the next morning, we gently open and close the tent and car doors, quietly brew our coffee, and noiselessly sit before a small campfire enjoying the peaceful dawn. We have a short trip planned on the Snake River today, so we can afford a leisurely morning at camp. We decide that since we did get sleep from ten to five, it’s probably OK to tough it out one more night here. We’ve also found our sense of humor, named the campground loop the camping-go- round, and we’ve enjoyed some quality peace and quiet during our favorite time—the early morning hours. I guess camping-go-rounders are not early risers.

This time we drive to our kayaking destination. It’s the first time we’ve started the engine in nearly twenty-four hours. To us our small car motor sounds loud. Then I joke to Deb that we should stop at the clunk thump dumpster and then maybe also at the bathroom. She scowls at me.

Miraculously, the second evening is much quieter. It seems that a different cross section of people have come to camp. Turnover can be a wonderful thing. Only a few campers, in cars we now recognize, drive the camping-go-round. This is almost the Jenny Lake Campground we remember.

Well, we succeeded in surviving another established campground, strictly in the interest of being close to some spots we love. We found our spaces, our moments of silence. It will be a while, however, before we camp in an established campground again.