When Deb and I explored Vancouver Island three years ago, we found two incredible campsites to pitch our tent at: one on the Johnstone Strait, and one on the Tsitika River. When we returned to Vancouver Island earlier this month, we hoped to return to both of those remote campsites as well as explore new places.

When we reached Vancouver Island this time, we stayed at a tiny resort for our first two days while we waited for the rain to stop. Then we headed directly to the Johnstone Strait campsite. The last time we arrived after Labor Day; this time we arrived the weekend before Labor Day. Because of our poor timing, the Johnstone Strait campsite, right on the ocean, was occupied. That was okay, our campsite on the Tsitika River was less than an hour away.

Three years ago, we found the Tsitika River campground by accident. There are just two tent spots there, and it is near the end of a long, winding, gravel road. The only sign marking the spot declared, “User Maintained.” In other words, this was not a spot tourists ever visited. It was a secret spot, likely only known by a few locals. Surely, no one would be there.

When we arrived, our hearts sank. Someone had the prime spot right on the river. I contemplated turning around, but we were in an extremely remote area. Where would we go, late in the day on Labor Day Weekend?

As you can see in the photo, the campsite is a large open space, surrounded by huge, temperate rainforest trees. There is a long bridge nearby, and my guess is that the space was created for workers to camp at while they built the bridge and then was left for anyone who wanted to use it.

I drove us in, and we quietly pitched our tent on the far side of the campground, not wishing to disturb the other campers’ solitude. Everything seemed fine for a few minutes. Then music began blaring at about 107 decibels!

We were at a legal campsite, but obviously the other campers wanted the entire two-site campground all to themselves. Deb and I debated what to do. Eventually she decided to go over to say hi.

When she approached, a man and a woman (both in their 40s) were engaged in a heated argument. When the man saw Deb, he scowled and walked away. The woman was more friendly. In their conversation, Deb learned that the woman, her husband, and her husband’s 14-year-old stepson had been there for a few days and were leaving in the morning. All seemed okay.

A few minutes later, the music stopped, and our three neighbors got into their truck and drove away. We knew they’d be back, because they left a large outfitter’s tent, a battery powered generator, and a bunch of other high-end equipment.

When the truck returned hours later, the wife was no longer with the husband and his stepson. The music started again!

Deb and I enjoy music, and the man’s musical taste was decent. However, 107 decibels in a remote wilderness campsite defeated the purpose. Wasn’t the purpose of camping to enjoy nature?

The music continued into the night. Deb and I discussed saying something, but we were Americans at a Canadian campsite that was just marginally official. We knew saying something would only end in the man becoming more belligerent. Also, it was obvious that the fight the man had with his wife was over us. She had told him it was rude to blast music and said to take her home if he insisted on doing it. So that’s what he did, even though the nearest town was more than an hour away.

Knowing that we’d most likely have the entire campsite to ourselves the next day, we decided the wisest thing to do was ignore the man and put up with the music. We lay awake in our tent. Finally, at 11:00 p.m., the music stopped.

Now we could get some sleep.

Well, maybe not. Additional voices filled the campground, and we thought others had joined the man and the boy. I sat up in our tent. Next I heard a loud sci-fi-type sound, followed by shouting and gunshots.

They were playing a video game—at 108 decibels!

We listened to them play their video game until after midnight. Finally, I put on my headlamp, got out of the tent, and stared across the campground. Lights inside the man’s tent were flickering on and off as if it were possessed!

The only thing that kept me calm was knowing that as a writer I would get a story out of it.

Sometime around 12:30 a.m. the noise stopped. Later, Deb and I tried to piece together what we had witnessed. Our guess is that the man was an outfitter (he certainly had the equipment for it), and this was how he and his stepson liked to camp when he didn’t have clients. So, if that’s correct, the music wasn’t meant to drive us away; it was just how he and his stepson “enjoy nature.”

In the end, it was worth it for Deb and me. The following day and night we had our “secret spot campsite” all to ourselves, and it was pure bliss!

This photo shows the entire campsite after the man and his stepson departed. The river is to the left, our tent (inside our screenhouse) is to the right, and all the way down (where you see my blue Maverick truck) is where the man and his son had their tent.

I have a similar story for our next campsite, but I’ll save that for another post.