Camping in the Great Northwest

Camping is our go-to vacation destination.

Take one look at the Great Northwest and you can see why. We’ve got beaches, mountains, high desert, streams, lakes, forests, and waterfalls.

 We’ve got it all.

And the best way to be one with nature is to get out in it.

Some people claim it’s not camping when you’re pulling a small house on wheels, fully equipped with a gas furnace, a Sealy mattress, running water, and a refrigerator better stocked than your average mini-mart.

Still, if Brady Bunch taught us one thing about family vacations, it’s that you don’t have to “rough-it” to have a good time. If you remember, the boys were determined to eat only what they could scavenge from the land, like berries and the fish they never caught. While the girls and Alice—the housekeeper who always had fried chicken for nine at the ready—came fully prepared with luxuries from home. And it was a good thing, because if shenanigans like creating bear shadows to scare the boys is going to spoil a good night’s sleep in a tent, you don’t want to go hungry too!

Which brings me back to all the camping fun we’ve enjoyed over the years.

Like most RVers, we tried the traditional way first. As newlyweds, Mike and I went backpacking in Oregon’s back country and slept out under the stars. That’s when I learned that critters will raid the snacks in your backpack, mosquitoes will dine on every inch of bare skin, and nothing is as cold as sleeping on the ground in an ill-suited sleeping bag. When you’re wide awake and freezing, the dark of night feels like an eternity. It’s the one time in my life I took the Little Orphan Annie theme song to heart, praying it was true. The sun will come out tomorrow! Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun!

So, we upgraded to a tent.

At that point, it took only two camping trips to learn that no matter how much sealant we sprayed or how many tarps we tied on top, the rain still found a way in. I don’t know which is worse, waking up soggy or trying to fry bacon and eggs over a campfire in a downpour. Either way, I decided that if we were going to enjoy nature in Oregon on a regular basis, we needed to find a way to stay warm and dry.

Enter: The 2003 Cougar 291BHS Travel Trailer.

And we’ve never looked back.

The more kids we added, the more the trailer made sense. With a slide that expanded the family room to accommodate a Pak’n Play for the babies, triple bunks for the older kids and furniture that easily turned into beds, we had a spot for everyone. As time went by, and our kids became teens, they often opted for a room of their own and pitched a tent outside. We had space, versatility, and comfort.

The Dahlen traveling vacation machine spanned 24 years and over 32,000 miles. Our trek took us up and down the Oregon coast, south to the Redwood Forest, north through Washington into Canada, and east across Idaho and Montana as far as Cody, Wyoming.

All the while, we put coexisting with nature to the test. Our campsites have been visited by every species of wildlife from spiders and caterpillars, to hungry chipmunks, an inch worm, curious deer, and most recently, wild turkeys. One trip early on, Lesanna unzipped her tent only to find herself nose-to-nose with a raccoon. I think she and the critter were equally startled. Last year, after star-gazing past midnight, Michael was forced to wait away from the entrance to his tent to avoid a kerfuffle with a skunk. Perhaps our most memorable visitor came during our visit to Yellowstone, when just after lunch our trailer started shaking.

Surely it wasn’t an earthquake.

At first, I thought the boys were wrestling in their bunks. But when they rushed from the back of the trailer spooked, we thought someone outside must be playing a prank. Opening the door, we took a peek and were surprised to discover a bison rubbing up against the corner of the trailer, scratching an itch he couldn’t reach.

We debated about what to do, but the behemoth’s size answered that question for us.

Whatever he wants.

There’s no shooing away a bison or telling him to take his itch somewhere else. We got out of the trailer, watched from a distance, then breathed a sigh of relief when he moved on, leaving our trailer intact without any visible damage.

Our Yellowstone trip was also marked by a decree I made before we left. “We can’t come home until we’ve seen a moose.” I’d never seen one in real life, and we weren’t going to Alaska anytime soon.

So the mandate was set.

Throughout our trip we searched, even making up a ditty to sing along the way, which we can all recite to this day, “Lookin’ for a moose, doot do do do do!” We saw a bear, lots of bison, and plenty of deer and antelope. But the moose eluded us. Everywhere we went, we came up empty. During the later part of our trip, we headed down to the Grand Tetons, which was more beautiful than I ever imagined. We were told we were certain to see a moose there.

Just for fun, we took a guided horseback tour into the mountains, which was a trip highlight, but we didn’t see a moose. The last day of our trip, we drove to the one place on earth a person would expect to see the coveted animal that had eluded us for nearly two weeks: Moose City. We searched and searched and added to our song: “Lookin’ for a moose, doot do do do do! In the city of Moose, doot do do do do.”

It was getting late in the day, and we were just about ready to head back to our trailer, when we spotted a group of tourists gazing into a swamp.

Could it be?

We all jumped out of the truck and pushed through the brush. There, standing in the middle of the slough, chomping on pondweed and water lilies was the most majestic creature I’ve ever seen in the wild.

No, not Sasquatch.

A North American Shiras moose.

Mission accomplished.

No matter where we traveled, nothing beat time spent at the campsite, where our kids scavenged for firewood, climbed trees, rode bikes, or went swimming. And some of our best moments were spent gathered around the campfire, where they found cooking especially fun, with the added-bonus of playing with fire. Roasting hot dogs, hamburgers, and heating chili inside the can were just some of their favorite camping culinary concoctions. And when it came time for s’mores, no camping trip was complete without a toddler wielding a flaming marshmallow on a freshly chiseled stick, prepped by an older sibling, flashing a pocket knife sharp enough to impale a pinecone. We’d talk, laugh, and sing along with our gifted guitarists, until the sun set and the warmth and beauty of the flames lulled us into our sleeping bags.

Then, one day, Mike and I looked at each other and realized the Cougar trailer, which had faithfully served us for over two decades no longer made sense. One-by-one, the kids had launched themselves out into the world and triple bunks and hide-a-beds were no longer needed. With just the two of us, a spacious kitchen and a pair of recliners felt like a better fit.

The day our Cougar trailer rolled away with another family at the helm my heart was shattered. Twenty-four-years of RVing as a family zipped through my memory like a highlight reel on warp speed.

There was no getting those days back.

We prayed over the trailer and the family that would occupy it, grateful for God’s blessings throughout our many travels, and wishing the same for them. The Cougar was gone, but not the memories or the lessons we learned along the way.

Now, with our updated rig, new adventures await.

And every year, we have a big family campout.

Last year, when it came time for s’mores, the grandkids were stoked. But, like all good parents, our daughter limits the sugar in-take of her children. So, she told her kids, “Only one dessert.” The timing couldn’t have been worse. I’d just pulled a tray of homemade chocolate chip cookies out of our RV oven, just as the skewering of marshmallows began.

Seven-year-old Morgan found himself conflicted, but quickly put his negotiation skills to work. “Mom, can I have a cookie instead of a s’more, but still have a s’more?”

While his mother was still processing the question, Uncle Drew came to the rescue. “I’m going to use my cookie instead of a graham cracker to make my s’more.”

Morgan’s eyes lit up.

Problem solved!

And that’s how the S’mookie was born!

And so, new adventures await as we roll on . . . camping in the Great Northwest . . .

Jen♡