A few years ago, my son somehow got it in his thick cranial cavity that he wanted to go camping. But he didn’t just want to hunker down in a log cabin at a kiddie-themed campground named after a cartoon character. He wanted the real deal, and he’d heard about Skyline Drive, the 105-mile road that wends its way through Shenandoah National Park in Virginia’s scenic and majestic Blue Ridge Mountains.
I’d gone camping before on many occasions, including a cross-country journey when I was 17, back when pitching and disassembling a tent on a daily basis for four weeks seemed as easy as rolling off a log. But I never claimed to be a Hebraic version of Paul Bunyan or Bear Grylls. Gazing upon nature’s bounty is perfectly fine for me from the vantage point of a restaurant’s panoramic window or the balcony of a cheap motel.
Nonetheless, I called a buddy who’s a camping addict (yes, he’s Jewish). He generously lent us everything we could possibly need for a two-person camping expedition — a spacious waterproof tent, fleece-lined sleeping bags, a two-burner stove, pots and pans, a tarp, plates and utensils, and other essentials.
I knew my buddy was meshugge about camping and escaped to the Appalachian Trail every chance he got. I just didn’t know he had an REI store in his basement crawl space.
The night before our weekend adventure, a sign of foreshadowing appeared when we accidentally blew up my friend’s stove during a test run in my yard (never listen to a 13-year-old when he says he knows how to handle a propane tank). Undaunted, we made the nearly three-hour pilgrimage to the Old Dominion hamlet of Front Royal and schlepped up the mountain.
A sense of euphoria set in while we drove slowly along Skyline Drive and absorbed all of God’s beauty surrounding us. I’d never seen my son so excited. “Dad,” he said, “this is what I imagine Colorado or California to look like.”
Before nightfall, we set up camp in a pristine, leafy area with nary a soul in sight and went down to the nearby burg of Luray for supper (since we were rendered stove-less). But at some point during our meal, a torrential rainstorm slammed the area and never let up. Crestfallen, we opted to find a motel room that night and checked out Luray Caverns the next morning before heading back up the mountain.
We found our campsite intact and enjoyed a day of fairly intensive hiking and exploring. But in the evening, we again committed the faux pas of abandoning the mountain for the allure of an in-town dinner. By the time we returned, the pitch-black night engulfed our campsite area. Despite a futile attempt to locate our tent among the branches and brambles, we retreated to my Chevy, where we reclined the front seats and gazed upon a million stars through the windshield before turning in.
In spite of our comical and pathetic setbacks, my son and I enjoyed a wonderful time that weekend. We might not have technically “camped,” but we spent a lot of time in the great outdoors and communed with nature. Also, we met amazing people along the trails, bonded in a way only a hapless father and son can when they’re clueless campers, and have memories that’ll last a lifetime.
This issue of Jmore examines the myriad ways to savor the outdoors this time of year. Enjoy and see you out there.
Sincerely,
Alan Feiler
Editor-in-Chief
Pikesville resident Jamie Neumann offers a firsthand account of being in Israel during the recent Iranian attack against the Jewish state.
While the Yankees celebrate the career of their longtime radio play-by-play announcer John Sterling, Michael Olesker recalls the retiring sportscaster's early years in Baltimore.
Only when we see the bigger picture do we understand that God has a bigger plan, writes Rabbi Dr. Eli Yoggev.
Former Baltimorean Mindy Sager Dickler, who made aliyah in 2021, writes about the experience of living in Israel over the past week.