Choosing a Campsite When You Anticipate Neighbors

We’re at a small county campground in SW Michigan that’s unusual: instead of being part of a popular county park with a playground or whatnot, it’s on land leased from the state wildlife and game preserve (I believe; the brochure we picked up is complicated). What I do know is it’s out in the woods, crisscrossed by miles of narrow dirt roads and ATV trails. Deer don’t even bother to pick up the pace as they walk across the road. It feels very much like the only people who come here are people who are from here.

The campsites are vague clearings in the woods. No hookups, no cell signal.  Just an info board at the entrance with registration tags and a faded map behind Plexiglas. When we found the place in the middle of the week, I took a picture of the map so we’d have a guide as we picked out a first-come, first-served campsite.  

Good thing we were alone in the forest, because if anyone had seen us, they’d have laughed at the fancy idiots from Texas inching their expensive trailer along the curvy single-lane dirt path through the trees, taking three hours to pick out a spot. 

To consider one section, we left the trailer in the road and walked to the camping spots closest to the lake. They looked great, with little paths to the water where we could leave the kayaks the whole time we’re here. And the only evidence of anyone camping was one tent, that looked kind of sketchy with its giant Mountain Dew bottle among the detritus, but no one was at it. 

Problem with those sites was there’s no way our Starlink would get a clear shot to satellites, so no cell signal, no wifi.  Fine for a getaway but not fine when you’re living your regular life.

Once we carefully made it over to check out the other section, we figured we could point the dish across the lake and probably get signal. Problem was, over there were hangtags indicating reservations at some sites. The nerve of people!  Still, one site was kind of level, had a path to the lake, and might work, so we spent about an hour backing the trailer through the trees into it, avoiding briers and an embankment, trying to get the walkie talkies to work, staying patient.  

Just when we had the trailer situated and were about to unhitch, we stepped back and thought. This was in a loop with three hangtags. Tracy was going to put the tent up right in the middle of the path to the lake so no one would walk right beside our trailer.  He thought, “That’ll keep people away,” and I thought, “They’ve planned this weekend together and when they get here someone has blocked the dang path to the lake.” 

The deciding factor was the Starlink: Tracy ran his cord out to where he thought we could place the dish, and damned if he wasn’t five feet short. So, no cell, no Starlink, neighbors who might hate us.  I voted we inch our way back out of that section and return to the Sketchy Tent Dude section.

Three hours from when we pulled in, we’re set up in a beautiful spot.  Mature sycamores all around us, moss and ferns and mushrooms underfoot, and plenty of room for my kayak at the water’s edge.  Sketchy Tent Dude turns out to be Sketchy Tent Couple, with two barking dogs chained to a tree, but they’re far away from us and rarely there. 

And, as the weekend approaches, we know we made the right choice.  Across the Lake Dad keeps yelling at his kids, “Get the f*ck out of the lake!” And the kids pretend they don’t hear him, but even I can hear him. There are constantly running generators, more barking dogs, overly loud country music.  

On our side, it’s frogs and chipmunks and lily pads.  

I’ve really loved these few lazy days in the woods, on the lake. We spent one day at the county fair watching the 4H steer-judging contest. That was the extent of the excitement, though. The way I like it.