Opinion
What happened to Australians’ love of camping and the great outdoors?
By Mark Chipperfield
Camping out in the bush is seen as a birthright of every Australian, but this innocent pastime is under threat from commercial pressures and our own indifference.
The two sounds I associate most with the Australian bush are the tremulous singing of a magpie and comforting rasp of a chainsaw. The first is an early morning melody, while the second usually kicks in just after lunch when Aussie blokes migrate to their sheds.
In the country, simple pleasures take on another, deeper resonance – like the sight of young eastern grey kangaroo standing ghost-like in the dusk or a vapour trail stencilled across a glorious dome of blue sky.
Upscale cabins and converted campers mean you no longer have to leave comforts behind.Credit: iStock
Last year, I took my young son for a few days camping in the Central Tablelands of New South Wales – an oasis of sanity just three-or-so hours from Sydney.
I hoped Myles would learn how to put up a tent, gather firewood, cook on an open fire and, perhaps, along the way, acquire some appreciation of the natural world.
But the transformation was instantaneous – by the time we’d crossed the Blue Mountains he declared: “Dad, I think I’m more of a country boy, than a city boy.”
On a previous trip we’d spied this campsite (I’m not going to say where) which was compact, leafy and surrounded by native bushland teeming with rainbow lorikeets, sulphur-crested cockatoos, kangaroos and magpies.
Comfy safari-style tents are everywhere for those who prefer to glamp.Credit: iStock
The camping ground, run by NSW National Parks, had everything we needed: well-maintained sites (each with its own fire pit), a free communal barbecue and a ’70s ablution block, which was basic but regularly cleaned.
Online booking was fast and efficient and the cost for three nights absurdly cheap at $52.28. The campsite rules were sensible; dogs on a leash were permitted, but drones and amplified music were not. A notice board next to the toilet block advised about fire dangers and feral pigs.
Like most Australians who love the bush, I’d always seen this type of no-frills family camping experience as a right rather than a privilege – a national urge to explore this continent and connect with a simpler way of life.
“Australia is an outdoor country,” said the late Barry Humphries. “People only go inside to use the toilet. And that’s only a recent development.”
Today’s well-equipped camper is merely creating a facsimile suburb under canvas.Credit: iStock
The quote is still funny, but no longer true. Most Australians like only those parts of the great outdoors that have been specially curated for them, like Noosa or Uluru; a ready-travel meal designed for the microwave.
Our tolerance for discomfort and bland food, the two cornerstones of camping, has largely evaporated. We may admire the heroic Australian landscapes of Tom Roberts, Frederick McCubbin and Arthur Streeton in the art gallery, but few of us want to experience the real thing.
A couple of years ago we booked into a commercial camping site on the Central Coast and were astonished to see the huge amount of equipment that the modern Sydneysider now requires for a camping holiday – everything from portable fridges to gas barbecues and fairy lights. The tents were huge, multi-room structures.
Small, family-owned sites are rapidly disappearing from the landscape as large corporates such as BIG4, G’Day and the NRMA build huge property portfolios; the biggest is the G’Day Group (majority owned by SunSuper) with 280-plus parks around the country.
Forget roughing it: BIG4 Adventure Whitsunday Resort is one of a new crop of kitted-out campsites.
Australian hotels are generally not family-friendly and overcharge for things like roll-out beds and kids’ meals, so I understand the appeal of these new campsites which come with swimming pools, water slides and jumping pillows. And forget about crawling into a two-man tent, today’s sites boast upscale cabins and safari-style tents.
But I’m not sure this is really camping. Rather than shaking off the comforts of home, today’s well-equipped camper is merely creating a facsimile suburb under canvas, complete with a gorgeous converted camper (#vanlife) or a spotless SUV parked next to his or her marquee-sized encampment.
With so little government funding for our national parks, I wonder how long they will be able to compete for business against these glitzy pleasure domes by the sea?
More importantly, a simple bush camp site is the ultimate expression of a robust, classless society, where people from all backgrounds and income levels mix easily.
One evening I sat by our huge fire while Myles played tag with a couple of country lads who’d come over to see if he wanted to hang out – I heard their laughter as they chased one another through the gloom.
Every morning Myles jumped out of bed to visit a mob of kangaroos who gathered in a paddock across the road. “I have to go and check on Bill,” he said. “He’s my friend.”
I have fond memories of my first camping trip on the English moors where our tent leaked and Dad fed us on tinned Irish stew, but I am not confident that Myles will be able to take his own children on such a carefree adventure where they might light a fire, gaze up at the Milky Way and meet a ’roo called Bill.
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