Tales from a Campground Host: A Survival Guide

As an Executive Coach, I work from the road in a 25' Airstream Flying Cloud RV. As such my wife, Cindy and I, work as US Forest Service Volunteers. Fortunately Starlink makes our professional and personal life possible. Here a short story you might find entertaining.

You know, when we signed up to be campground hosts, we had visions of morning coffee by the lake, fresh mountain air, and friendly chats with outdoorsy folk who just love nature as much as we do. And yes, those things do happen...between moments of managing wildlife (the two-legged, tent-lugging, rule-bending kind) and deciphering the peculiar quirks of modern camping.

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Let me introduce you to some of our more "memorable" campers.

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The Free-Roaming Dog Owners?

We get it; your pup is your baby. But just like toddlers, not every "baby" belongs unleashed in a public space, especially when they’re charging headlong at someone who's just trying to enjoy their breakfast. We gently remind these owners that, like them, we love dogs (but only when they’re not dragging bacon out of the neighbor’s cooler or “marking” tents as their territory). The dog owners always nod, leash up, and then, as soon as we’re gone, it’s “Rover, RUN!” all over again. I’m convinced some of them think “leash” is a campsite dance move.

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The Pistachio Shell Pyromaniacs?

Then we have our fireplace friends. To some folks, a fire ring is like a magical trash compactor. There’s no need to pack out pistachio shells, they figure, because they’ll just vanish in a puff of smoke. As hosts, we have the joy of cleaning up those tiny, charred reminders after they leave. And let’s not forget the occasional half-burned shoe and mystery item – all evidence of a brave attempt to live “off the land,” complete with processed nuts.

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The Tent Challenged?

Some campers come prepared for glamping but find themselves battling tent poles instead. We’ve watched families pull out brand new, super high-tech tents, look at the directions (which are usually in nine languages), scratch their heads, and then spend two hours creating something that resembles a distressed spaghetti monster. We’ve learned to recognize the look of desperation as they wave us over, clearly hoping we hold secret degrees in Tent Engineering. After a quick assist, they thank us like we’ve just unlocked the mysteries of the universe.

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The Campground Karens and Kens?

These folks are special. They stroll in, convinced that “Nature” was created specifically to cater to their personal tastes. The “No Smoking” signs? Clearly meant for everyone else. Quiet hours? Please, they’ve just discovered karaoke. The rules about site limits and staying on the trails? Mere suggestions. Campground Karens and Kens have a sort of VIP mentality—they’ve paid their $20, so they’re basically royalty in the great outdoors. And they always need to speak to a manager. Guess who that manager is?

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The Squatters?

Every so often, we have campers who roll in with everything. I mean, they bring full sets of patio furniture, string lights, and potted plants. After a week or so, we notice they’re still here, getting mail deliveries and maybe eyeing a plot for a veggie garden. As hosts, we get to have the awkward, “So, how long are you folks staying?” conversation. They’re always shocked to hear that the two-week camping limit actually applies to them.

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The International Scofflaws?

We’ve met some charming international travelers who unfortunately think U.S. national park passes are optional, like a suggested donation box. They often plead ignorance (or try the old “no hablo” routine) while their Instagram posts suggest otherwise. When asked for a pass, they’ll shrug, give us a thumbs-up, and wander off to climb a “Do Not Enter” rock formation. At this point, we just smile, wave, and brace for the inevitable rescue mission, or we inform them they are trespassing and the LEO (law enforcement officer) will pay them a visit.

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The Poop Dodgers?

Ah, pet waste. I can’t count how many times I’ve watched someone look around, make sure no one’s watching, and then, with ninja-like speed, leave behind a little “present” from their pet. We’ve tried polite reminders, posted signs, even put up bag stations at every turn, but there’s always one person who’s sure “Mother Nature will take care of it.” Mother Nature, meanwhile, sends her regards (and a fresh supply of mud boots).

The Caravan Crowd and the RV Rebels

There’s nothing quite like seeing a convoy of vehicles roll up to one humble campsite. What begins as a single car transforms into a scene from Fast and Furious—a parade of SUVs, sedans, and, for good measure, a couple of motorcycles. One spot becomes a bustling parking lot, complete with tailgates down, music blaring, and enough coolers to feed a small army. Politely reminding these folks that their "one-car" campsite isn’t an invitation for a motor rally often gets us a look of utter disbelief—as if they truly thought each of their twelve vehicles would somehow “squeeze in” between the picnic table and the fire pit.

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Then there are the RV campers with a slightly different ambition: they roll in with grand dreams of starting their own little RV neighborhood, all on one site. As they try to park a second motorhome, which usually extends beyond the actual campsite boundary, we get the fun task of gently explaining that, in the grand design of campgrounds, “one RV per site” isn’t a suggestion. Cue the “but we’re all one big happy family!” argument, as if that would magically shrink their second rig to fit. It’s all part of the host’s dance, reminding folks that while we want everyone to enjoy the wilderness together, there’s a reason it’s called “camping” and not “moving in.”

The Starlink Moochers

Ah, the wonders of modern camping: rugged wilderness, starry skies, and... high-speed internet? You’d be surprised how many campers stumble upon our little Starlink setup and assume it’s there for public use. “Oh, wow, you have Starlink? Could we get the password?” they ask, as if it’s campground Wi-Fi and not the $150-a-month lifeline we use to keep up with work and stay connected to the world. Some campers even hint they’d like to “just check a few things real quick,” which somehow turns into a Netflix binge on their tablet. Explaining that no, our Starlink isn’t included in their camping fee often earns us looks of shock, followed by mild indignation, as though we’re hoarding some precious public resource. And yet, here we are, in the heart of nature, trying to keep a little corner of the digital world to ourselves.

But for every pistachio-shell-dumping, tent-destroying, rule-dodging camper, there are ten wonderful folks who keep us coming back. They’re the ones who love the outdoors, keep their sites tidy, and thank us for the work we do. They’re the ones who bring us cookies and a cup of coffee in the morning, who make sure their kids and dogs respect other campers’ space, and who genuinely want to preserve the natural beauty of the campground.

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And that’s what makes it all worthwhile—those little moments where someone says, “Thanks for helping make this place great.”

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So, next time you’re camping, remember, your friendly campground host is just a shout away if you need a hand. ?We’ll happily help...right after we finish picking up pistachio shells, beer, cans, dog poop, and corralling some “free-range” pooches. Happy camping!

Terry and Cindy Barnhart have been Volunteer campground hosts for five years in addition to being Visitor Center Volunteers at three National Recreation Areas.? Cindy is a retired elementary school teacher and Terry is an Executive Coach.