Me paying to camp?!?!

I’m in a nice little campground about a half mile from my previous spot. I moved because of highway noise—especially from big trucks—and because the place was a bit… sketchy. There were a couple of piles of trash and the feeling it was a spot where locals came to do annoying things. No one ever came, but once that idea got in my head…

So down the road is a BLM campground. A few years ago it was only a spot by a farm road with a boat ramp and some picnic tables. Now it’s all official and stuff. But it’s quiet and has a respectable vibe. Just other old fart nomads and snowbirds. At least at this time.

Two things, though. 

One is that jets and helicopters from the Marine Corps Air Station in Yuma make occasional low-altitude passes along the river. About five times yesterday (and just now) the tranquility has been interrupted by brief shrieks or more prolonged whoppita-whoppita-whoppitas.

The other is the occasional rumble very much like distant rolling thunder. It’s actually the sound of vehicles driving on a wood plank bridge about a hundred yards away. Okay, no big deal now that I know what it is.

About another half mile downstream is the first place I camped in this area, with a group that formed at the 2014 Rubber Tramp Rendezvous. It, too, was just a river access area. I see it’s also a campground now, with designated sites, a pit toilet, and fees. Things change.