For some people, a tiny van might seem like an ordeal. Not when you remember the good ol’ days of camping, writes Tony Ryan
After buying a very small caravan, it was time to take ourselves “way out west”, to go places in NSW that I had never been as our first adventure. Thanks to our famed ‘drought busters’ moniker, the bride and I were assured that the wet weather would follow us. Great to see the countryside of Bathurst, Orange, Cowra, Parkes, Dubbo and Mudgee. The canola fields flowering were a highlight.
We did pretty well despite a few hiccups, including chickening out of putting up the van in Orange, due to the pumping down rain, and succumbing to hiring a cabin for a night.
Caravans and caravan parks certainly have changed since I was young. Vans now have all the mod-cons (TV, toilet, shower) and campsites have en-suites. It’s funny seeing kids “roughing it” with their iPads. I heard one dad complain to his wife that their kids had been on Ebay all day. (I just said if they were still on there tomorrow, he should lower the price.)
When we were young, the old man was a keen camper and several family holidays included packing up the old EH Holden and going bush.
One time (unfortunately, it was not at band camp) he convinced us to go to the Hattah car rally, in the heart of Mallee country, pretty much a desert. He said it’d be great: heaps of families, big open fires at night, new friends, and we could explore the bush while he worked at the rally.
Being a young bloke, I assumed the desert would be hot so I took hat, thongs, shorts and T-shirts.
Upon arrival, my brothers and I were shocked that the oasis we’d been promised was a campsite in the middle of nowhere. We also noticed there were no other families – most blokes had decided it wouldn’t be much fun for their wife and kids.
To make it worse, our three-man tent was barely that, food was in tins, and we only had a couple of 20-litre bottles of water to get us through three days. There were no showers and the toilet was a hole in the sand. Also, open fires had been banned due to the dry summer and older blokes were filling our heads with stories of snakes and wild pigs terrorising the camp at night. Despite the heat, we did our own exploring – as did the thousands of flies that explored our noses, ears and mouths.
Due to the cold desert nights, my lack of clothing, and the absence of fire, we were all in bed just after sunset. Huddled in the foetal position to keep warm, it was the tightest I’d rolled myself into a ball since I took up a ‘dare’ as a nine-year-old and set off the shark alarm at Altona Beach. (I hid under my bed when a policeman friend of the old man came over to tell him I’d evacuated the whole beach. Jaws was the number one movie at the time so fair to say people had extracted themselves from the water pretty quick when the shark alarm sounded. Whilst my mates and I thought it was funny, the ramifications were hard and swift once the old bloke pried me out from under the bed.)
Despite a few rock fights with my brothers, we managed to survive and returned home in good condition, taking a tonne of sand with us. None of us had showered for days so all four windows of the car were open for our eight-hour trip home.
There is nothing better than the creature comforts of home, like a hot shower, a comfy bed and the soft touch of real toilet paper.
