Roll out the groundsheet, camping season is upon us. The 2024/25 Christmas beach season is going to be a busy one, wherever you can find space to pitch a tent.
It’s the time of the year when everyone and their dog - where allowed - ditches town
Whatever the reason and wherever you go camping, you’re guaranteed to meet these people. Photo / 123RF
Roll out the groundsheet, camping season is upon us. The 2024/25 Christmas beach season is going to be a busy one, wherever you can find space to pitch a tent.
It’s the time of the year when everyone and their dog - where allowed - ditches town to live under tarpaulin for a few nights. Some go for the romance of sleeping under the stars, some for the cost efficiency. Some go camping because there are no spaces left in the beach motel. Whatever the reason and wherever you go, you’re guaranteed to meet these people:
They’ve come to create golden summer memories to last a lifetime. This wasn’t what they meant. With three kids under 5, the sand rash and sunburn will last almost as long. At least they arrived with three kids. “Where is Oliver? Oliver!” (Don’t worry, Dad. Tent instructions are more like suggestions.) The experience certainly won’t stop them coming back next year.
Where did they come from? Nobody knows. Where are they going? Nowhere any time soon. They’ve got their beachfront pitch and setup, just how they like it. They’ve possibly been here since last summer. Kind, gentle and wise with the ways of camping - it’s hard to tell which arrived first, the Top 10 site or this guy-line guru.
Which is a shame, because it would be nice to have their pitch.
Every day is Christmas for this camping tech fiend. Every time you meet them they’re holding a new piece of gadgetry - fresh out of the box. A pizza oven, that is also a power bank. Enough satellite internet to supply a small country. Despite each costing a small fortune, you never see the same gizmo twice. Who brings a blowtorch camping? The wearable sleeping bag suit they walk around in is questionable. But they complimented you on your camping stove, so they’re a good egg.
It’s less a tent, more a small tented festival. Probably arranged around a battered campervan kombi, sound system always on. The vibe is cash-strapped Coachella or have-a-go Glastonbury. The only thing louder than the Bluetooth speakers, assorted northern European accents or noisy amorous tent liaisons - inexplicably - is one well-worn acoustic guitar. Wonderwall. Why is it always Wonderwall?
Last Christmas they were at Everest Base Camp. The year before that, the Inca Trail. " You’ve never done the Milford Track? Oh, you must!” They obsessively ask everyone they meet how much their tent weighs and keep on referring to this place called “the backcountry,” as if they go every week.
Despite being able to fit their worldly possessions into a bumbag, you get the feeling they spent more on their camping gear than oldmate Christmas gizmo. Gore-Tex, everywhere.
What brought them to the Whakatāne Beach Park is a mystery.
There is little to mark them out as special. Anywhere else they’d be an everyday Jo but, with a pair of barbecue tongs in hand, it’s like a sermon on the shores of Galilee. The moment the coals are fired the group of blokes he’s with assemble like disciples. Some holding tins, others folded arms. They look studiously at the grill, talking sparingly, as if it was open-heart surgery not a pack of Hellers sausages. It’s all a bit awkward, actually. He’s hardly feeding the 5000. Those immune to barbecue guy’s charms and the ritual of charred meat (mostly wives, girlfriends and plus-ones ) are still at the beach enjoying themselves.
This story was originally published in New Zealand Herald Travel on December 15, 2023 and has been updated.