How to Make Park Access (and Camping Reservations) More Fair

It’s hard to camp at public parks. I know this because I’ve worked on Campnab for seven years. Every day, I speak to campers who are disappointed, frustrated, and sometimes enraged that they can’t find a place to camp.

On one level, I completely understand these responses. I, too, like to camp. In between campsite demand, park closures, fire restrictions (which limit my ability to sauna), and high demand, I too find it hard to book campsites.

There’s probably more that can be done to increase access to parks—and make camping reservations easier. Following are some notes on this topic. First, though, let’s start with a bit of background.

Let’s explore the most common camping scenarios

There are more ways to camp than most realize. These options range from primitive camping on public lands to full-service glamping at high-end oceanfront campgrounds—and everything in between. That said, most folks aren’t overlanding in a tricked-out 4x4 or bikecamping The Great Divide trail. (I’d love to do both, but my interests probably place me in the minority.) From what I’ve witnessed, there are a few groupings that most campers fit into.

The first are car campers looking for a weekend escape between May and September. These folks might only camp a few times a season. Sometimes, they’ll make camping part of their summer vacation and set aside a week or two to explore an entire region. Come autumn, all but the heartiest of these folks will have packed away their gear.

The second core camping group I talk to involves full-timers. Given how long these campers spend on the road, they tend to own dedicated camping rigs, ranging from campervans to fifth-wheels. Many full-timers are retirees who cover vast distances. They’ll plan some longer stays at notable parks. The rest of the time, they’ll park overnight wherever necessary—sometimes even wallydocking en route.

The third are the backcountry campers. These folks travel by foot and pack light gear (probably using Lighterpack) to minimize their base weight. Many backcountry enthusiasts work full-time jobs, which limits when they can camp. Colder and thawing alpine conditions restrict access to short booking windows. Additionally, inclement weather can knock out some otherwise viable camping dates.

Each of these types of campers faces a unique challenge when it comes to booking campsites and permits. Seasonal car campers are all fighting for the same coveted dates. Full-time RVers might need larger camping pads, sometimes at the last minute. Meanwhile, limited supply and variable conditions severely restrict backcountry campers’ options.

The campsite booking problem is most significant in public parks

Admittedly, there are many places you can camp. There are private campgrounds booked through KOA, Goodsam, Thousand Trails and Campspot. You can book a campsite directly from a landowner on Tentrr. There are also regional campgrounds, municipal campgrounds, and boondocking options.

While some options get booked quickly, the common campsite booking problem centers around state, provincial, and national parks. This extreme demand happens for a few reasons. Many of these parks are in idyllic areas that are protected and government-managed. Some of these parks are in easy-to-access locations. Additionally, most people are better aware of these public parks than some of their privately-held counterparts. (I often hear from owners of private campgrounds who would kill for the demand that burdens public parks.)

I often compare camping at popular parks to Taylor Swift concerts. To see Ms. Swift on tour, you’ll need to run through a rigamarole just for the chance to spend $500 – $7,000 for a ticket. Meanwhile, there’s an abundance of performers who can’t draw in an audience despite their talent. Camping is similar. Do you want to camp? No problem! Do you want to camp at Yosemite? That’ll take some effort (and luck).

Launch day is a mad frenzy for most popular parks. Some campsites will be prebooked. The remaining sites and permits will be devoured within minutes, sometimes seconds. If you’ve ever tried to book on opening morning, you’ve experienced the disbelief of every available spot turning red before your eyes.

There is no bad guy

I pick up the phone at Campnab. That means I get to hear a lot of campers’ stories. Some are excited about places they plan to visit. Others tell me about places I should camp at. Yet others are on the road, trying to squeeze in a weekend trip before deploying overseas. Getting to know so many of you has been amazing—and I appreciate these conversations.

Some folks want to vent. They’re pissed off that they can’t book the campsite they wanted—and they wish it were easier. They often tell me how different booking a campsite was 30+ years ago. I get that. I, too, look back with rose-colored glasses and think everything was better back then.

The part that bums me out is when a caller seems to think they are the only camper out there. They think they’re owed that campsite. Some hold an irrational fear of bots and share convoluted conspiracy theories about how RV manufacturers book all campsites for their customers. (Seriously.) I remind them that bots aren’t an issue.

Some play the blame game. These people tell me that the people working at parks organizations “have their heads up their asses”. This isn’t the case. They tell me that outsiders are ruining it and only locals should be able to book. This ignores the value that tourists bring to our regions. (Florida now offers residents a 1-month head start. Out-of-state visitors aren’t thrilled about this.) They tell me that wealthy RVers take everything and don’t care about the average person. This seems reductive.

Why are campsites in short supply?

As noted earlier in this post, many parks and campgrounds are available. The reasons for not choosing to stay in these areas are varied. The campground may be too far away. Maybe the setting isn’t as beautiful as some famous parks. It could be that the amenities are lacking. Or, people might just not be familiar with that campground. (I canoed at one B.C. lake with white sand beaches that felt like they were plucked out of the tropics. The park was largely deserted.)

The real reason popular parks sell out so fast is a boring one. It’s supply and demand. Millions of people from around the world want to see certain parks. In 2022, nearly 13 million people visited Great Smoky Mountains National Park. That’s a lot of people! The ratio of campsites to visitors at many public parks is wildly disproportionate. A park with millions of annual visitors might only contain a few hundred campsites. Those few spots will go like hotcakes!

👆It seems like all the good spots at Great Smoky Mountains National Park are taken.

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Availability is made even more scarce due to the frenzy that ensues on opening morning. Once folks know something is hard to get, they book more than they should. I don’t blame anyone for this. It’s just human nature. Nevertheless, there’s a sour byproduct of this overbooking in the form of unused reservations. Sometimes, campers dump the days they don’t need. Additionally, folks often forget to cancel—resulting in no-shows.

What’s already happening to fix no-shows

Those who manage parks are acutely aware of the issues around campsite scarcity—and the frustration surrounding no-shows. This year, California will put Bill 618 into effect. This bill aims to prevent no-shows through stricter penalties. These range from forfeiting the reservation fee to losing the booking, and even being banned from making new reservations. (Wyoming State Parks has a similar four-strikes policy in place.)

BC Parks, up here in Canada, requires you to arrive on the first day of your booking and prohibits changes to the arrival date. This policy prevents folks from booking long stretches and dropping dates they didn’t intend to use. Additionally, the occupant’s name and license plate must match the booking information, preventing the resale of reservations.

Some folks don’t intend to leave their campsites vacant. They forget about the booking. As a result, some booking systems now send emails a week in advance to remind campers of their upcoming trip. Other park efforts to level the playing field include lotteries, timed-entry permits, and shorter maximum stay durations. It takes a while to implement these initiatives, but park leaders are working to fix the problem.

Should some parks charge more or limit stays?

You might hate me for this idea, but some parks should charge more. I don’t mean this across the board, but what if campsite reservations at the most popular parks were higher at peak times? Or, premium sites for big RVs could have an even higher price point. Perhaps this could be coupled with lower midweek and shoulder-season rates. Such a change might get more folks to camp in autumn when parks are typically less crowded, bug-free, and equally beautiful.

Admittedly, camping isn’t cheap, and added costs could be more challenging for some than others. Maybe the solution is to use the increased revenue to make other camping destinations more accessible and affordable. I never camped at Yosemite as a kid. You know what? I survived. Meanwhile, I did have some wonderful times at Whitefish Lake, Mossvale Lake, and Great Beaver Lake. Bet you’ve never even heard of those, have you? It turns out that not every campsite needs to be world-famous to be worth visiting.

👆Me and my dad camping at White Lake near Salmon Arm in 1978. (The trailer to the side is a sauna. You can read more about the sauna in this blog article.)

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Yosemite has a 30-night camping limit for each calendar year. What if the NPS reduced this maximum to 5 nights? On paper, this could accommodate 6x more campers. Or should such parks might limit campers to one visit every few years? Not every park would need such restrictions. The most popular parks are in disproportionately high demand. Shorter or less frequent stays should allow more people to witness these monumental places.

Many campsites are available on a first-come, first-served (FCFS) basis. The problem with these is that you’re gambling a bit when you try to get one. You might drive hours to reach a campground only to find all the FCFS sites booked. Additionally, unclaimed campsites that get re-released the day after the occupant fails to arrive typically aren’t visible online. If real-time vacancy data were available online, campers might get a sense for whether they should make the drive. In turn, many of these last-minute availabilities would get used instead of sitting empty.

We need to change our mindset regarding the outdoors

I’m not too fond of the shopping mall. I feel this way because of the frame of mind it puts people into. In the mall, folks seem to think solely about what they want to get—instead of considering those around them. This outlook makes sense, given that the mall is a place to buy stuff. Such a mindset shouldn’t apply to the outdoors, though.

We have a weird way of looking at public lands. Many of us consider these spaces “ours”. Some feel the outdoors is their birthright and that they should be allowed to do whatever they wish in these spaces (as evidenced by candy wrappers left in the backcountry). The idea that nature is there for each of us alone—and that it will accommodate anything we do or want—isn’t sustainable. There are simply too many of us.

If the parks we visit in Canada and the United States belong to anyone, they belong to the indigenous populations who traditionally inhabited them. But maybe these lands and treasures aren’t meant to be owned by anyone. What about the many ecoregions, plants, and animals this ground is home to? Perhaps the land is greater than us and should be treated with more respect.

There’s a lot of space and opportunity to connect with nature. It can’t always be on tap, though; sometimes, we’ll need to be patient. Maybe you’ll only visit that world-famous park once in your life. Or, you might have to wait a year before taking that hike you’re stoked about. Our access to nature isn’t a right; it’s a privilege.

Do we need to earn access to parks?

I’ve previously written about introducing karma to camping reservations. Today, I’ll expound on this idea a bit because it offers some opportunities that could benefit many.

Over the holidays, I stayed at an Airbnb that was crappy. There was hair on the sheets, a dirty napkin on the couch, some spilled rice on the hallway floor, and an inflated condom under one of the beds. (I keep wondering how that got there.) As such, I left a fair but appropriate review. Since then, I’ve checked my Airbnb rating daily, as I fear the host might give me a poor rating just because I was honest.

So, rating systems are imperfect. Nevertheless, a record of past actions can shape behavior. I emptied the trash, washed the sheets, and swept that Airbnb before leaving. Even if the host wasn’t great, I wanted to act as I always do. Plus, I didn’t want to screw up my rating. Similar considerations might also encourage campers to do their best.

The punitive part of applying karma to camping reservations is easy. If you’re a no-show, leave your campsite a mess, or create hassles for other campers, your score drops—and you lose some booking privileges. Conversely, you earn points by camping respectfully, tidying your campsite, and departing on time. Perhaps this could even afford you early access on launch day?

Could camping karma encourage outdoor stewardship?

The part I like about some kind of karma score is that it might change how we think about camping and the outdoors. You and I aren’t owed the perfect campsite just because we paid the posted rate, nor do we own that campsite. What if we looked at that reservation fee as the final step—after you earned the right to camp there?

Some ultramarathons require you to volunteer some time before you can apply to race. Think about that. You train for years to be prepared to run 50 miles, knowing you’ll lose some toenails. Before you do, though, you must volunteer some time at an ultra event and prove your commitment. Then, you get to pay the entry fee.

Similar approaches might not be that nutty if we care about our parks. Let’s say you want to hike Mount Robson. Maybe the first step is to volunteer (perhaps at a park closer to home) for a set number of hours. Once you have done so, you’re given priority for making a reservation.

Can we all participate in the parks we love?

This volunteering might come in a variety of forms. Perhaps you can do some cleanup at the park (or participate in a shoreline cleanup). Maybe you could help out on a trail maintenance day. Those with outdoor expertise might be able to educate new campers or lead skill-building workshops.

Underfunded park boards could benefit from this kind of support—as could those who’ve never camped before. New campers might be able to take online courses to learn about fire safety, best practices in the outdoors, and how to conduct themselves in nature. This online training could contribute to their karma—and help prevent forest fires and costly wilderness rescues.

Being asked to volunteer before booking a campsite would turn some folks off. I think that’d be a good thing. Maybe parks need to be set up in a way that rewards those who want to give something back to nature.

One more idea: What if campers could also earn karma by exploring lesser-known parks? Such an initiative would divert some of the demand faced by overused parks, better distribute tourism dollars, and help campers discover parks they otherwise might not have visited.

👆Eric Shelkie (the guy who built Campnab) lending a hand at a TORCA trail day on Eagle Mountain.

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This is the part where you call me a dummy

I took longer to write this post than I intended. This is my curse. I like tinkering with ideas so much that I go down the rabbit hole and lose track of time. Truthfully, though, this post could have been so much longer. As I reread the above, I realize how many gaps lie in my position and all the questions I failed to answer.

Will parks implement a karma system like I describe? Probably not. The challenges and logistics of such a program are many. Making such a thing could be more trouble than it’d be worth. If that is the case, one might wonder why I wrote the above post in the first place.

I write as a way to think through possibilities. Sometimes, doing so leaves me with greater resolve. At others, I come to realize that my viewpoint is flawed. This time, I find myself somewhere in between. While the notion of a member score for campers might address some problems, it’s far from a home run.

My takeaway from this post is a more general notion. We don’t need more campsites so much as we change how we think about nature. Instead of fighting for our piece of the outdoors, we should work to share these spaces. If more of us adapt to that way of thinking, we might minimize some of that 8 AM launch day dread.

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We don’t yet have comments enabled on this blog. So, If you wish to comment on this post, you can do so on our Facebook page. Here’s the link. I welcome you to be critical of anything I’ve written and offer your take on how parks might deal with excessive demand. I’d appreciate it if your replies were polite and free of jokes about my baldness. 😉

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