Happy Campers?

In a few weeks time, the family will be descending on us. We are meeting them in Exmouth, a small coastal town a stone’s throw from the stunning Ningaloo Reef, where we’ll be able to wade out from the beach to snorkel in waters teeming with marine life. While we’re there we’ll be staying at the fabulous Novotel Ningaloo in a bungalow complete with beach-side terrace with hot tub and barbecue. It will be heaven, pure luxurious heaven. We (minus The Husband, who sadly has to go back to work) then move on to Karijini National Park, a remote wilderness famous for its spectacular waterfalls cascading into the dramatic red gorges which carve jagged slices out of the landscape. And herein lies the dilemma. Being a national park in the middle of the middle of the WA outback, there isn’t much choice in terms of accommodation. Most visitors to Karijini camp – it is the cheapest and easiest way to be slap bang in the middle of the park. When I say easiest, of course, I mean that it is the most widely available accommodation option, for camping would certainly not be easy for my family.


Other than a couple of occasions when I slept in a tent in a friend’s back garden as a child (which I have been informed, more than once, cannot be classed as camping), I have camped once in my entire life. It was whilst travelling around South America with The Husband (although he wasn’t The Husband at the time, just The Boyfriend) and I was so cold and uncomfortable I barely slept a wink. I clearly remember vowing the following morning never to camp again. The Brother has romantic visions of us all sitting around a campfire toasting marshmallows and singing under the stars, although as the park doesn’t allow open fires that dream has already been quashed. The Father insists that he has been camping dozens of times before and knows exactly how to put up a tent but, as The Mother reminds him, the last time the two of them slept in a tent he had sideburns, long hair and wore flares. I can see the problems starting right from the beginning, with the erection of the tent. It will be like one of those reality TV programmes where contestants have to pull together and work as a team but invariably end up fighting, crying and throwing things down on the ground in anger. We would probably be the laughing stock of the campsite, especially in Australia where many families regularly go camping together and whose three year olds know how to secure a tent peg. Then of course there is the issue of the four of us all sharing a tiny space. We haven’t all lived together for ten years, so suddenly sharing a tent could be a recipe for disaster. On top of all of that, there’s the issue of shared shower and toilet facilities. I think I need say no more.

Of course, I could be completely wrong and it could be a wonderful bonding experience. Putting the tent up together, sharing a confined space, laughing about dashing across the campsite in the middle of the night for a wee, it could all create fantastic memories and bring us together as a family. Camping under the stars, waking up to the chorus of birds in natural bush land, hiking right from our tent – it could be a fabulous, unforgettable experience. That’s if we don’t kill each other before the end of the trip.