Camping doesn’t require a loud soundtrack

The three young dudes rolled in like spring breakers at a Fort Lauderdale beach party. Except most of their fellow partiers were under the age of 12, and a surprising number were wearing water wings.

It was a sunny summer day at a small local lake last year, and about a dozen families had staked out a tiny patch of shore with easy access to the water.

The three newcomers plunked their stuff at the water’s edge, including a portable stereo. A bass beat whump, whump, whumped across the water as they waded in and started shotgunning cans of beer.

I waited a minute for someone to say something, but no one did, so I called out: “Do you mind turning that down a bit?” They looked at me, puzzled, as if to say: “But who wouldn’t enjoy a club-music soundtrack on this fine summer day at the lake?”

After a moment, they asked me if there was some kind of music I would prefer, which was rather sweet of them. I could have said Bavarian polka, but really, that wasn’t the point.

“None,” I said, pointing out that there was a cluster of young people further down the lake, away from this ad hoc family area.

They muttered a bit, but they left, taking their “whump, whump, whump” soundtrack with them. All in all, a very decent, politely Canadian exchange.

But it raised an issue that seems to keep coming up, especially in summer, at beaches, in campgrounds, in picnic areas. Why do you think I want to listen to your music?

I love music. I don’t necessarily love your music. And I definitely don’t want to hear it all day long. I have camped next to people who play music or the radio from the moment they get up until the moment they go to bed.

What is that? Do they feel oppressed by the sounds of birds and the wind in the trees? Have they heard of earbuds?

I could try to puzzle out the psychology — or perhaps it’s just some kind of weird cultural tradition, as fundamental to camping as Coleman stoves, beer and marshmallows — but mostly, I just don’t want to listen to it. Unfortunately, I have no choice.

Portable speakers and stereos have never been better at amplifying sound.

On a recent camping trip to Goldstream, I could hear music from a campsite full of partiers a football field away.

Devices are even sold with an “outdoor mode” with boosted sound levels.

One friend of a friend who was annoyed by neighbouring campers playing their boombox late into the night decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. Very early the next morning, he cranked his own tunes.

Slowly, the neighbours emerged from their beds — bobbing and swaying to the music. Instead of their tormentor, as he’d hoped, he had become their DJ.

If you want to play guitar and sing around the campfire, great. Laugh, yell at your kids, have a domestic dispute.

As long as it’s not at 2 a.m., I really don’t care. We’re camping — we see each other in our pajamas en route to the outhouse with our bleary morning un-made-up faces, we see each other’s parenting skills, good and bad, and our crappy on-vacation eating habits (marshmallows for breakfast, anyone?). We’re all just hanging out here.

I’ll suffer through your generator running for two hours so you can watch The Walking Dead.

I didn’t even mind the Mad Chopper, a neighbouring camper who started chopping wood at 7 a.m. and paused only for meals thereafter. I wasn’t sure if he was planning a bonfire or a log cabin.

But I draw the line at the endless, all-day soundtrack. And I wish B.C. Parks would, too.