Lightning Strikes Twice

The following is an account of my trip to Sanjang Gwangwangji (산장관광지) from 24-25 July 2010.

Lightning struck twice last week, the second resulting from the first. In Korean, when somebody is said to "strike lightning," it means that the person has suddenly proposed an unexpected activity of some sort. First strike: on Tuesday, a couple from my Backcountry Camping (BC) group called to propose dinner and drinks in the city with several other BC members. Ostensibly, the main purpose of the gathering was to thank those of us who had sent (monetary) condolences upon the death of the wife's mother a few weeks earlier. But really it was just another excuse to get drunk together. Over drinks, I mentioned that I was planning a car camping trip with my family that coming weekend and asked for recommendations on where to go. Strike two: someone pitched the idea of foregoing the official BC trip that weekend and joining me; everyone agreed. Thus, I found myself looking forward to another mass car camping trip in as many weeks.

The original plan had been to find a location in the vicinity of the city with convenient amenities and, most important, a waterway of some sort for Dominic to splash around in. But I'd been slow in making reservations, which are required at most of the better places, leaving me to consider sites available first-come-first-serve, an unenviable position on the peak weekend at the peak of the summer vacationing season.

Relying on the group's collective experience, we settled on Sanjang Gwangwangji, a public recreational park located about 55 km from central Seoul. As per my original plan, it had the amenities and a shallow river. Available first-come-first-serve, two couples from the group departed on Friday evening to secure a spot for the rest of us arriving on Saturday. In all, we would be 11 adults and 3 kids.

When I arrived on Saturday afternoon, the initial impression was distressingly lousy. First, although nature had not been a stated criterion in the selection process, my underlying camping philosophy is always that the experience should be somewhat removed from civilization, even if only from the overt signs urbanity. The campgrounds here were directly adjacent to the main road with a full view and within earshot of traffic, surrounded by concrete bridges, buildings and other infrastructure. The site itself, with asphalt parking lots, soccer fields, and rows of bungalows for noncampers, was far too industrialized to even try to pretend we had escaped the grip of the city. Second, the people, oh so many of them. We had anticipated crowds to be sure, and we were aware of the growing popularity of camping, but the teeming masses amidst the chaos of Korean car camping gear was enough to give us pause and wonder if perhaps the time had come to find a new pastime. And third, as a direct result of the second, we were forced to set up in one of the asphalt parking lots mentioned in the first, making the situation "car camping" in a literal sense. One of us couldn't even pitch his tent, a Kovea Alpine 4, a non-freestanding teepee-style model that requires driving pegs into the ground. Not an auspicious beginning to what had been intended as a quiet getaway to the country.

Within minutes, however--minutes, I tell you--my perspective changed completely. It turned out that our location was the best choice we could've made (had we been given a choice). Whereas the designated campgrounds and soccer fields where the majority of campers had set up were mud pit swamps due to recent heavy rainfall and poor drainage, our asphalt surface was clean and dry. We had secured a corner of the lot on the far edge of the grounds that was elevated and overlooked the river, which not only provided unobstructed views of the water and isolated us from the crowds but also gave us the gift of wind. "Beverly Hills," one of us called it. And owing to the lack of surrounding vegetation, we were completely free from the nuisance of bugs. Elevated isolated corner asphalt location: definitely the way to go--not just here but anywhere it's possible.

Another revelation came from the experience of car camping with campers who know what they're doing. In the past, my car camping trips often involved inviting non-camper friends or family, motivated by a four-pronged desire to go camping, to share time with my loved ones, to show off my skills, to persuade them to become campers themselves. But the hassle and expense of buying and preparing all the food and drinks, of packing the tent tarp tables chairs burners grills firewood gas lamps coolers silverware plates cups utensils cutting board paper towels mats sleeping bags mosquito repellent laundry line dishwashing detergent sponge and even the goddamn kitchen sink and getting it into the car and setting it up and disassembling it and reloading it into the car and then unpacking it, of cooking and cleaning and serving everyone, of attempting to ensure that everyone's "needs" are met, like boiling a tub of water so that a friend could bathe in warm water--it just wasn't worth it anymore. So I'd recently decided to give up car camping altogether, except with my family or when merited by a special occasion. But on this trip, with each member of the group contributing food and drinks and setting up their own gear and sharing in the cooking and cleanup and taking care of their own minimal needs, the situation was immediately comfortable and worry-free. The car camping policy has been revised to allow for trips with other bonafide campers.

In the end, in addition to the convenience, camping with campers is fun. We all know why we're there, why we're not. We know what to expect, what to appreciate, what not to expect, what to deplore. We learn from each other, teach each other. We share.