A raven streaks across our line of sight silhouetted against the soft peach sky of the Arizona sunset. The Suguaro cactus raise their arms as if to try to hold back the fading sun. The Superstition mountains, too, are a cobalt silhouette, their jagged peaks seemingly scraping the soft atmosphere of soft, color-changing pastels. The air is warm and dry as Diane and walk the roads that trace the low ridges of our campground. This is one of life’s sublime moments, one of those times that your blessed to have and you know you’ll lock its memory away for a reflection sometime down the road. Yet, I can’t help feeling the impending darkness fast approaching. The raven is a harbinger, a sign.
The last thing anyone needs is more dramatic writing abut the corona virus pandemic, especially from me. This blog is supposed to be for entertainment or reflection on traveling. Yet, I can’t help but comment here on the effects of the virus even out here in the near wilderness of the Tonto Basin. For us it’s as if we are living two separate realities. Two polar extremes are tugging at our awareness of reality.
Until March 23rd life here in Coyote Campground was moving along without interruption. Diane and I were acutely aware of what was going on in the rest of the country and the world. We get the news on our TV in the motor home via Roku. Somehow we get receptivity out here, probably because were close to the housing of the Forest Service workers and they get Internet. It has been a scary proposition to us for quite a while. However, here we are out in the desert where we’re relatively removed from the transmission of the virus, or so we thought.
Throughout the early stages of the spread of the virus, campers here were very dismissive of the virus. “Blown way out of proportion” we would hear. “This is the safest place to be, no worries.” And, Diane and I considered that this would be a refuge for folks to get away from being couped up. The campground, until the 23rd, was packed with folks. Most of the guests were from the Mesa/Phoenix metro area. However, we get travelers from Oregon, Vermont, Washington state, virtually all the states of the union, though mostly from the western states. People I spoke with were relieved to be here. They were escapees of the reality of corona virus whether they believed it was real or not. Everyone absorbed the sunshine. They fished in the lake, hiked the trails, made campfires, and had large family get-togethers. Diane and I were working hard to keep the facilities up. Cleaning the showers and restrooms would get done twice daily. I even spent a good 9 hours on one day completely scrubbing down every surface in the showers. We wanted people to feel comfortable here. As time went on we began to see subtle differences in people’s attitudes concerning the virus. Most started to believe it was a real threat. Camping here was becoming both a way to relax as well as a way to stay safe. Social Distancing was manifesting itself in the most natural of all environments.
I’ve mentioned before that there are subcultures within the RV community. Some belong to clubs that meet at various locations across the country. Some drift from area to area seeking work while others might travel six months out of the year returning to a home base from time to time. People live on the road for different reasons. A few are running...from what varies. They all seem to meet in Forest Service campgrounds. They are shared refuges.
On March 21st the man to whom we report from the Forest Service came by and told us that we were to shut down the showers. It was just too easy to spread the virus in that environment. Though we were relieved somewhat as we no longer had to clean them, the campers were not very happy about it. But, we all adjusted to the new normalcy so to speak. The Forest Service also wanted to shut down all but one restroom. That would mean one restroom for roughly 100 campers. Diane vehemently objected explaining that there was absolutely no way we could keep one restroom clean. You would have more to worry about than the Corona virus, she explained. Diane was so strong and persuasive in her opposition to it that the Forest Service actually changed the plan. We’d keep two open. Camping hit a speed bump but we all moved along and most everyone fell in line. Children ran pell-mell carrying on through the early evening. The campfires burned peacefully through the night and laughter and good conversation were everywhere.
Then, the next day, March 22nd we received news that there was a water line break somewhere. The 50,000 gallon reservoir from the well was dry. The only water left for everyone was whatever was left in the pipes. We tooled over to the restrooms, and sure enough, the toilets were flushing oh, so slowly. One of them had stopped flushing altogether. Not good. Not good at all. Big trouble. After some spirited finnegling I got the reticent toilet to do its job. But, up went the closed signs and now we were in the bowels of more change. The Forest Service management quickly decided to bring in porta potties. Though not as good as the flushing restrooms, at least peace was restored and we were out of the restroom cleaning business altogether...not a bad deal for the Jumps at all. All of this was happening during the campground’s busiest time of the year...spring break season. Couple that with the onslaught of folks trying to escape the city’s oppressive shut down orders and you’ve got a carnival of emotions running amuck out in the desert.
Came the 23rd of March. I was weed whipping the grass near the restrooms which were now vacant when Matt, our Forest Service boss, drove up and told me we were closing the campground altogether. He seemed relieved. I’m sure the Forest Service had been anguishing over what to do over this Corona virus issue. This move would resolve the whole matter, for now. Matt, being the good scout that he is, went with me to every single campsite to inform the campers of the bad news. Matt had the Forest Service uniform and the air of officiality that I lacked with my little “volunteer” hat. Together we took on the bad news job.
No one was the least bit pleased to see us stroll towards their camp. Everyone knew what this meant. Everyone knew it was just a matter of time until the final closing of the great outdoors occurred.
“How could this be a good thing for the campers?”
“This is the safest place on earth, 30 miles from the nearest town.”
“Why are you sending us back to the city where we know it’s dangerous?”
“I just don’t understand the logic behind this.”
“Where will we go? There’s no campgrounds left open for us anywhere.”
...and my personal favorite, “President Trump told me I could stay on public lands. I ain’t leavin’...” (this octogenarian told me he had a personal email from the president stating he could stay on public lands)
These and many more were the replies and objections we took in. Some were defiant, as it’s seemingly an American trait to give the finger to the “Man”. Some were compliant. Some had literally nowhere else to go as all public developed campgrounds were closed across the nation. Private campgrounds were jammed as well with the overflow caused by the National Parks, Forest Service, and Corps of Engineers campgrounds being closed. You couldn’t get in to any decent private campground or RV park. All were despondent and disappointed. Think of all the families with school-age children who finally got some freedom from their houses, released into the springtime desert now being told they had to go back to their four walls. It was a strange feeling when we closed the gate after the last camper left the next morning.
It’s the dream of every RV camper to have a beautiful campground all to themselves. It almost never happens. That’s why so many RV’ers boondock...camp out on wilderness roads where there are no services. Of course, you need to have a vehicle that can tackle rough roads. Most motor homes don’t make that grade. They’re too big and they shouldn’t take the bouncing around that a rutted, rocky road demand. Now, courtesy of a global pandemic, we find ourselves solo in one of the grandest campgrounds we’ve been to...with full hookups, for at least a month! The Forest Service told us we could stay here for as long as needed. They appreciated the really good job we’ve done running the place and upgrading the washrooms and landscaping. So, we find ourselves with no one to look after, no bathrooms to clean, no trash to pick up. Due to the heavier than usual rains of the winter and early spring wild flowers are rampant in every imaginable color. The bass are spawning in the lake. Catching 2 to 3 pounders is common. The Internet connectivity is very good since the area is so vacant. The daytime temperatures run 70 to 80 degrees and then dip to the 50’s in time for sleeping with windows open. Wildlife is returning to the campground proper. Javelinas traipse through our yard munching grass. Birds are everywhere, some migrating through the area for a rare appearance. I accidentally killed a rattler with a weed whacker in high grass...not so happy about the rattlers returning, but, it’s their world, too. Frogs, yes frogs, are croaking their little butts off every night down at the lake’s edge. ( who knew there were frogs in the desert ) And, outside of the wildlife and the wind, it’s very quiet...sometimes eerily quiet. How could we be so blessed? How are we in the right place at the right time? Did we hit three bars on life’s slot machine?
Then, there’s television. Try as we might, we find we cannot ignore the news from the “outside world”. (That sounds so ironic to say) The virus spreads faster every day. State after state is closing shop. It seems like the world is a giant Jenga masterpiece that is swinging back and forth threatening to fall in every direction. The totality of civilization seems to be tearing apart and blowing in the wind like a dandelion field in a tornado. Nature has created a herd-thinner. The weak, the elderly, and many, many people in good health are being picked off by the virus wolf band. To us, it’s as if there are two realities being played out at the same time. Our reality here is a massive gift from God. We know that, we appreciate that, and we are very thankful for that. We’re living, for the moment, in a natural environment that is as real as the earth can create it, albeit, with most of the comforts of the 21st century to boot.
But, the reality 30 miles from here and across the country and the world is different. We know that, too. Maybe the news we see is exaggerated. Perhaps the medical experts are predicting a worst-case scenario that won’t really happen. We hear about this terrible pandemic. We see the broadcasts from hospitals overloaded and over-worked. We check in with friends and family by phone and on Facebook. We sense it when we watch the sun go down on another day. Everything seems to be changing in the world. Which reality do we live in? It appears to us that no matter what you do or where you go, life is a day to day reality after all. We have today.