Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Hand of Fate
The phone kept ringing. It was my third attempt at the number that was scrawled on a water-stained note tacked to the office door of the hidden campsite by the beach. "Hello?" calls a frail voice from the other end of the line. Surprised, I continue to give our details, hoping to clinch a few days for a good price. "Well, I can't do this today... all hell's broken loose today, yunno. Call me back at 9:30 tomorrow morning and I'll figure this out." I was getting impatient with the guy, but it was worth following up for this site.
Driving around Vernon a week ago, we got lost on our way back to Kelowna. We followed what seemed to be a main highway and took a turnoff that read "Okanagan Lake". We were totally off, but in our efforts to wing it, we stumbled on a cute little cove with a nice beach. As we drove further, we noticed a campsite directly across the road from the beach. On first glance it seemed basic, but with such a great location, who cares. Although the campground didn't seem to have a name or address, I quickly jotted down the contact number on the office door.
We sit here a week later in what has to be a camper's paradise. This beautiful site on a small beach at the end of Okanagan Lake has been such a wonderful place to set up for a few days. The beach is literally 30 seconds from our trailer, although full, the sites are arranged around mature trees that throw shade and create private spaces.
After scouting out the beach for trees suitable for stringing up our hammocks, we've positioned ourselves where the trees meet the water at the end of the beach. On this beach, people have driven their trucks up onto the sand. Music can be heard blaring from old beat-up trucks, people whip tennis balls into the lake as their single-minded dogs dart and dash along the beach. People watching on the beach, campfires, spending time together, experiences like this are what camping should be.
I never did figure out why the campground caretaker seemed so stressed out. For us, this place has had the opposite effect. We have had a great time, and look forward to the next stop as we head up the mountain towards Silver Star to a campground set in the forest.
Driving around Vernon a week ago, we got lost on our way back to Kelowna. We followed what seemed to be a main highway and took a turnoff that read "Okanagan Lake". We were totally off, but in our efforts to wing it, we stumbled on a cute little cove with a nice beach. As we drove further, we noticed a campsite directly across the road from the beach. On first glance it seemed basic, but with such a great location, who cares. Although the campground didn't seem to have a name or address, I quickly jotted down the contact number on the office door.
We sit here a week later in what has to be a camper's paradise. This beautiful site on a small beach at the end of Okanagan Lake has been such a wonderful place to set up for a few days. The beach is literally 30 seconds from our trailer, although full, the sites are arranged around mature trees that throw shade and create private spaces.
After scouting out the beach for trees suitable for stringing up our hammocks, we've positioned ourselves where the trees meet the water at the end of the beach. On this beach, people have driven their trucks up onto the sand. Music can be heard blaring from old beat-up trucks, people whip tennis balls into the lake as their single-minded dogs dart and dash along the beach. People watching on the beach, campfires, spending time together, experiences like this are what camping should be.
I never did figure out why the campground caretaker seemed so stressed out. For us, this place has had the opposite effect. We have had a great time, and look forward to the next stop as we head up the mountain towards Silver Star to a campground set in the forest.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
For Beginners
Every new endeavour has its challenges, and trailering is no exception. When we acquired our 21ft Tango Twist, we had a walkthrough conducted by a wily, exuberant, slightly crass, trailer-tech. He took us through all the things we needed to know: shut-off valves, pilot lights, propane, and of course, the sewer outlet (which I will from here on in lovingly refer to as the 'poop chute'). As he explained with a pirate-like grizzle "this pull is for the poopy; you wanna be ready for this one". He loved taking about the poop chute and spent a relatively long time on it, complete with jokes, nudge-nudge, and other low-brow but amusing antics.
Since bringing the camper home, I've dumped twice, once on a trial run to Whitefish with success, and once by accident on our home cement pad. Thing is, despite a thorough pirate-orientation I can never seem to remember which chute is for gray and which one is for black. In fairness to me, the pulls are marked, but confusingly so. One reads 'sewer water connection' and one 'waste water outlet'. Both vaguely sounding like 'poopy', which one would you choose?
Yesterday, our first day on the road began with an early morning getaway just after the crack of dawn. When we hit Swift Current, Saskatchewan we began to contemplate how we would lighten-up the load as we noticed the truck working harder than usual up the rolling hills past Maple Creek. We decided that we could ditch a 2X4 and dump the gray water. We figured that we could probably reduce the weight significantly, but in an unfamiliar locale, we couldn't find a dumping station.
I decided to pull over onto a gravel parking area beside some bushes near a gas station. Surely, no one would mind if I released some gray water onto the ground to evaporate during the afternoon heat. For you fellow newbies, gray water is waste water used after washing dishes, hands, and for showers. I know that this practice is probably frowned upon, but seeing little option, I parked on the lot and walked around to the back of the trailer. Crouching down I was confronted with a familiar dilemma. "Now, which one was the gray water, sewer or waste water? Both vague..." Rather than simply rolling the dice and mistakingly vacating the family bowels all over the gravel, I decided that the term 'waste water' sounded better than 'sewer connection'. Taking a deep breath, I grasped the pull and yanked.
A woosh of brown liquid gushed from the tube. I had guessed wrong and now had created a medium-sized cess-slough. With a sigh, I pulled the other one to dilute the growing puddle with the murky-clear gray water and sheepishly pulled the vehicles ahead to distance myself from the shameful mistake. Once I had put a bit of distance between us, I got out and reevaluated the scene. Noticing a tiny water trail from the newly established cesspool to the back of our camper, I felt the sting of embarrassment that goes along with breaking the cardinal rule of trailering on the first day. To add to my shame, we waited for about 15 minutes in the lot while Marek nursed. As we sat there, a motor home pulled up several metres behind us. A lady who really resembled her pets ampled out of the door and carried her two poodles to the bush for a 'walk'. As she did, the husband stepped out the door and lit a cigarette and stood looking into the morning air. He was standing directly beside the poo slough but didn't seem to notice. I slinked into my seat wanting to die.
I couldn't look up at motorhome guy as we pulled-out across the 'drive of shame' and onto the highway. From here, we head to the Qu'appelle Valley on our way North-East across country to the summer stomping grounds of my youth, Wasagaming, Clear Lake, and Riding Mountain National Park in Friendly Manitoba.
View Larger Map
Since bringing the camper home, I've dumped twice, once on a trial run to Whitefish with success, and once by accident on our home cement pad. Thing is, despite a thorough pirate-orientation I can never seem to remember which chute is for gray and which one is for black. In fairness to me, the pulls are marked, but confusingly so. One reads 'sewer water connection' and one 'waste water outlet'. Both vaguely sounding like 'poopy', which one would you choose?
Yesterday, our first day on the road began with an early morning getaway just after the crack of dawn. When we hit Swift Current, Saskatchewan we began to contemplate how we would lighten-up the load as we noticed the truck working harder than usual up the rolling hills past Maple Creek. We decided that we could ditch a 2X4 and dump the gray water. We figured that we could probably reduce the weight significantly, but in an unfamiliar locale, we couldn't find a dumping station.
I decided to pull over onto a gravel parking area beside some bushes near a gas station. Surely, no one would mind if I released some gray water onto the ground to evaporate during the afternoon heat. For you fellow newbies, gray water is waste water used after washing dishes, hands, and for showers. I know that this practice is probably frowned upon, but seeing little option, I parked on the lot and walked around to the back of the trailer. Crouching down I was confronted with a familiar dilemma. "Now, which one was the gray water, sewer or waste water? Both vague..." Rather than simply rolling the dice and mistakingly vacating the family bowels all over the gravel, I decided that the term 'waste water' sounded better than 'sewer connection'. Taking a deep breath, I grasped the pull and yanked.
A woosh of brown liquid gushed from the tube. I had guessed wrong and now had created a medium-sized cess-slough. With a sigh, I pulled the other one to dilute the growing puddle with the murky-clear gray water and sheepishly pulled the vehicles ahead to distance myself from the shameful mistake. Once I had put a bit of distance between us, I got out and reevaluated the scene. Noticing a tiny water trail from the newly established cesspool to the back of our camper, I felt the sting of embarrassment that goes along with breaking the cardinal rule of trailering on the first day. To add to my shame, we waited for about 15 minutes in the lot while Marek nursed. As we sat there, a motor home pulled up several metres behind us. A lady who really resembled her pets ampled out of the door and carried her two poodles to the bush for a 'walk'. As she did, the husband stepped out the door and lit a cigarette and stood looking into the morning air. He was standing directly beside the poo slough but didn't seem to notice. I slinked into my seat wanting to die.
I couldn't look up at motorhome guy as we pulled-out across the 'drive of shame' and onto the highway. From here, we head to the Qu'appelle Valley on our way North-East across country to the summer stomping grounds of my youth, Wasagaming, Clear Lake, and Riding Mountain National Park in Friendly Manitoba.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Can't Go Back Now
We hastily said our goodbyes and vacated the halls of Lethbridge College. Summer has arrived, and with summer comes the inevitable lack of work as students focus on a new set of priorities until September. This year, Stacey is at home with our new son Marek, and now with the prospect of two months to focus on our boys we have decided to pack-up and take to the road to give them a summer filled with new experiences, fresh air, and fun. We're going camping.
This endeavor began as on of those 'wouldn't it be amazing if we could figure out how to' ideas. With the announcement of a new baby on the way, we quickly realized that we would need to redefine how we would pull-off the annual summer travel plans. With two car seats and a stroller, we are now officially unable to fit even a small suitcase in our car. We had already been piling stuff around us every summer as we traversed the countryside seeing family and friends.
Now eleven months later, we have hit the road for July and August in a newly acquired truck and travel trailer. Both are the result of a year of planning, saving, scheming, and a dream. Both continue to have a learning curve, but now sitting on the precipice of our summer adventure, it all seems worthwhile.
View Progress in a larger map
This endeavor began as on of those 'wouldn't it be amazing if we could figure out how to' ideas. With the announcement of a new baby on the way, we quickly realized that we would need to redefine how we would pull-off the annual summer travel plans. With two car seats and a stroller, we are now officially unable to fit even a small suitcase in our car. We had already been piling stuff around us every summer as we traversed the countryside seeing family and friends.
Now eleven months later, we have hit the road for July and August in a newly acquired truck and travel trailer. Both are the result of a year of planning, saving, scheming, and a dream. Both continue to have a learning curve, but now sitting on the precipice of our summer adventure, it all seems worthwhile.
View Progress in a larger map
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