Nat Locke's Easter Camping Disaster That Ended Her Outdoor Adventures
With the Easter long weekend in full swing, I find myself reflecting on past holidays, and one memory stands out vividly: the camping trip that permanently soured me on the great outdoors.
A Student Adventure Gone Wrong
During my university days in Melbourne, a group of friends and I discovered we could rent camping gear from the campus for a small fee. Eager for an escape, we planned a trip to Harrietville, a charming town nestled at the base of Victoria's ski fields.
About twelve of us embarked with high spirits, packing boxes of peach cooler into our car boots. We pooled our money to reserve two adjacent sites at a local caravan park, which, due to the seasonal rush, extended onto the nearby recreation reserve—essentially, we were setting up camp on a football oval.
The Ill-Fated Camp Setup
Our campsite featured three small tents and one larger one arranged in a loose circle, with a large tarpaulin stretched between them for shelter. Under this tarp, we placed a fold-out table and an assortment of camping chairs, creating a space for meals, card games, and drinks. It seemed like the perfect setup for fun.
However, we failed to consider the unpredictable weather in the region. On the first day, it rained relentlessly for six hours. As inexperienced campers, we didn't realize our expertly rigged tarpaulin would collect rainwater until it became too heavy, eventually collapsing and drenching us during a game of Uno. This cold, wet surprise quickly dampened our moods.
Uncomfortable Nights and Noisy Neighbors
Another harsh lesson was the inadequacy of our canvas tent against the cold ground. Seven of us crammed inside, shivering through each night without sleeping mats, relying only on thin sleeping bags and the tent's floor, which seemed to amplify the chill rather than insulate us.
To make matters worse, the canvas tent had a peculiar flaw: touching its sides during rain caused moisture to seep inside, creating a damp sleeping environment. Combined with this physical discomfort, a nearby camper on the same oval snored as loudly as an industrial chainsaw, disrupting our sleep. While we felt for his family sharing the tent, we were grateful not to be in their shoes.
The Final Straw and Lasting Impact
The second day brought more rain and increased misery from sleep deprivation and deepening cold. Despite having access to hot showers at the caravan park—though requiring sturdy thongs to avoid fungal infections—the weekend felt like a test of endurance, albeit not at Bear Grylls' level.
This experience taught me I could never survive on shows like Survivor or I'm A Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here, and I didn't need to eat hippo testicles to reach that conclusion. Even with modern advancements in tent technology, lightweight mattresses, and earplugs, the damage was done.
Embracing Comfort Over Camping
I've come to accept that I'm not suited for the outdoor life. While I enjoy activities like hiking the Cape to Cape trail, I prefer ending each day at a comfortable beachside resort with wine tasting. For me, the ideal outdoor experience involves day-long excursions with the promise of comfort at the end—think innerspring mattresses and flushing toilets. I guess I'm just fancy that way.
