star-camping surprise

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My January Sky & Telescope is about “star-camping” — car camping for the purpose of stargazing. But that piece doesn’t delve into the practicalities involved for a body like mine.

I can’t go camping just anywhere or under all conditions. Irritable Bowel Syndrome means I need real plumbing readily accessible, and that I must bring my own food and beverages (after an ingredients check). Being prone to hypothermia requires preparations for keeping warm; simultaneously, because I also have a tendency to overheat, I need to be on guard against that, too. And so forth. It’s a major pain in the ass. 

This is the behind-the-scene calculus to travel anywhere — especially darker sky sites for astronomical observing. My disabilities mean I need to know where the bathrooms are, if I’m allowed to bring my own food, and where I can refill my water bottle. I often bring a backpack with an extra layer of clothes, and dietary enzymes. I have to do some digging ahead of time and/or ask a lot of detailed questions and run the risk of annoying everyone else.

So I often just don’t go anywhere, because it’s a big hassle. But I keep trying to find solutions.

If I had unlimited resources, I might find or construct a small “astro camper” for myself — a minimally comfortable haven to which I could retreat as needed. That was my daydream, until this past summer. Guided by the wisdom of Arthur Ashe — “Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can” — I realized I already had a workable solution sitting in the driveway.

In May 1998, I went to the Toyota dealership in my hometown of Richmond, VA, and bought the last remaining 1998 RAV4L on the lot. They were running their Memorial Day sale, and it was obvious why this particular vehicle remained unsold: manual transmission. As luck would have it, I was looking specifically for a manual RAV4, and it was even my preferred color, green. I’d found the exact vehicle I wanted, and on sale, too.

I’d chosen this model because it could accommodate both of my dogs in the backseat at the same time. If not for Nanook and Journey, I likely would have bought a Honda Civic. The salesman demonstrated all the cool features of my first and only new car. He was particularly keen on how the front driver and passenger seats can recline to meet the base of the back seats, which can then also recline to form two full-length beds. But I had no intention of car camping.

I’ve now driven that vehicle for a little over half my life. It’s running well, and I’ve been assured that the needed repair work doesn’t jeopardize safety. And I’ve slept in it, quite comfortably.

It wasn’t planned. In September 2025, I’d spent about five hours on the road to attend a dark-sky star party in Central Oregon, a place with cabins, bathrooms and showers, and provided meals. Camp Hancock’s amenities are more rustic, but for dedicated stargazers this is practically glamping. Unfortunately, I arrived to learn that due to a water leak, the camp’s water was shut-off and the weekend star party had been reduced to a single night. We could use the flush toilets, thank goodness, but not the sinks or showers. The camp chef did an impressive job with limited resources. We could refill water bottles from coolers but were asked to be mindful about consumption.

Instead of unpacking in the bunkhouse, I parked near the bathrooms and set up my sleeping bag in my car. 

The star party itself was glorious! I don’t mean to detract from the soul-stirring, primal magic of a night spent under clear, dark skies — when I could view the Double Cluster, the Andromeda Galaxy, and even the Coat Hanger asterism with my unaided eyes — because I have zero regrets about driving all the way out there, even for only an 18-hour visit. I still feel a physical thrill when I remember watching Cassiopeia rise into the sky, pulling Perseus and the Pleiades in her generous wake. Diamonds in the sky, in every direction! And when I finally couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I climbed into the RAV4 and was delighted to discover that the all-around windows created a cocoon of stars as I drifted off to sleep. 

It was amazing, and perhaps life-altering — truly. That night was an experience I hadn’t thought possible without more planning and more money. Instead of booking myself into an expensive stargazing yurt in the middle of the Arizona desert, I’d driven a few hours in my old car to enjoy the show. Yes, the whole thing was physically uncomfortable. I was fortunate that nothing flared while I was there or on the road — that happened the next day, after I returned home. But after that adventure, with its unforeseen complications, I’m looking for more opportunities, albeit a bit closer to home. I’ll still need to pack my own food and water, and I definitely need modern plumbing — pit toilets and port-a-potties don’t count.

Whenever I discover that I can do something I assumed I couldn’t, or which has thwarted me in the past, I feel a sense of significant victory. These wins often look small from the outside. “Big deal. You went car camping.” Yes! It is a big deal. Anything that expands my possibilities is welcome, and any time spent beneath the stars nourishes me on a foundational level, so win/win. I look forward to packing up the RAV4 again when nighttime temperatures warm up a bit, possibly as early as the spring.

Image: The Double Cluster, captured with a Dwarf 3 telescope at Camp Hancock, Oregon, on 19 September 2025, by Jennifer Willis.