When you cross the bridge on state route 128, you get a glimpse of Lake Martin. The narrow coves that shape the numerous fingers of the lake on the extreme north end are framed by a dense woodland. The wax myrtle hangs out over the water and the tall pines stand like sentries. From the bridge, it looks like a haven yet untouched by human hands.

Nothing could be further from the truth. This lake was built by human hands almost a hundred years ago, 1926. It was cut out of the Tallapoosa River valley, the headwaters of which gather their flow from the streams of western Georgia well above the fall-line. All of which makes Lake Martin like kinfolk. There’s Georgia water in this Alabama treasure.

We pull into the main gate at Wind Creek State Park. Marion and I are here to camp for a few days. She says that at one point in her life she prayed for someone to come along who wouldn’t be afraid to help her pull her 28ft camper. God has a sense of humor because I’m driving.

This is something new for me. Camping on steroids. Flush toilet and everything.

I am a very experienced camper. Don’t think that I’m a newbie to the world of outdoor adventure. I have slept a thousand nights in a tent. Boy Scouts. Fishing at High Falls Lake. Backpacking the Appalachian Trail. Backpacking through the National Forrest. A trip through the New River Gorge. Coastal camping on Cumberland Island.

I am extremely familiar with the feel of a rock I missed poking me in the middle of the back all night long. I have ridden out some heavy thunderstorms from the inside of a pup tent. I have hung out everything I own to dry. And I have buried my own business with a tiny shovel.

This, I am here to tell you, is not that.

We check in at the park office and get our assigned spot figured out. The young lady hands us a piece of paper to put on the dash of the truck.

“You’ll be in B-31,” she says. “The gate code is on the back of the map.”

There are approximately two gazillion camping spots at Wind Creek. Sections A, B, C, and D. Each one with a matrix of little roads dotted by parking pads and picnic tables. We follow the arrows and wind our way through the pines to #31.

Watching people back up a camper is kind of like watching folks at the boat ramp. It can be entertaining. Some get it done and some can’t figure it out. My neighbor must have been concerned about me. As soon as I started back, he appeared in my side mirror waving me into my slot.

I have discovered that campground camping is a huge social event. Everybody waves. Everybody speaks. It’s like the Cheers bar where everybody knows your name.

We’ve got Mark and his gang on our left. He’s the one who helped me back in. His wife works as a bartender in real life. He’s about a year away from retiring. They have a gaggle of friends staying with them, two boats, two tent awnings, a floating island pad for the kiddos, and a fully equipped bar for the adults. The music is free.

On the other side is Gary and his wife. Gary came over and sat down for a spell the other day. They stay here two weeks every year and already have their spot reserved for next year. His wife isn’t well and doesn’t get out much. This is one way she can see something different besides the four walls at home.

Then, there’s Barbara across the way. We had just set up our space when she was pulling into hers. She shouts over to get my attention.

“This hitch is stuck. Do you mind coming over to take a look?”

She’s a middle-aged woman, tanned like leather, and pink fingernails longer than claws. She’s got four teenage boys with her. Bless her heart.

They play travel baseball. “It’s easier to camp than to make the games from home sometimes,” she says. I know boys and I imagine the inside of the camper smells like dirty socks. Bless her heart, again.

Campground camping is like one big happy neighborhood of folks who don’t know each other but who don’t mind strolling over to see what’s going on, asking about your mama and them, where you’re from, talking about the weather, and wishing you a nice day.

We wanted to put the kayaks in the water, but the best access to the water was behind Mark’s spot.

“Do you mind if we intrude and put our kayaks in the water?”

“Don’t even ask,” he said. “I’m renting a spot on the lake just like you. Come on in.”

So, over the last couple of days I’ve been learning a new way of camping. Used to, I could throw in a tent, a sleeping bag, and a cooking pot and I was ready to go. I had to make sure I had dry matches. Get the flashlight. Pack a little bit of food and I’m off.

I have learned that camping is not as simple as it used to be.

These camper trailers are amazing. Even the names evoke outdoor adventure. Kodiak. North Trial. Pioneer. Yukon “Adventurer Series”. They all have things like leveling systems, kitchen slides, and huge AC units, all of which seems to go against the concept of “outdoor” adventure.

And, know this, it’s not enough just to have the camper. You have to have outdoor rugs and chairs. A mosquito netted tent over the picnic table. Miles of beaded LED lights. Extra tables. And fans, big fans. You must have a grill, a smoker, and a cast iron griddle even though there’s a fully outfitted kitchen inside the camper. Don’t forget the jet ski and the pontoon boat, the bicycles and 100 flotation devices for hours of fun.

This is a beautiful place. We have seen some incredible sunrises and sunsets. As I understand it, part of the Tallapoosa valley was formed eons ago by meteorites big enough to make craters. Valleys pushed down and hills pushed up. The river made its own path and man got the idea to damn it up. The result is a 31-mile-long lake with house lots that go for over a million dollars before the first block is laid.

I wanted to fish some, but Ted, who knows this lake better than anyone I know, says that it’s too hot to do any good. So, I take that as gospel.

Instead, I’ve turned into a modern camper. We went out with the kayaks until my arms felt like they would fall off. We biked around to the other side of the cove until my butt had an argument with that little narrow seat. These are camping activities for which I am not well suited.

Afterwards, I came back to the camper. Cranked up the AC. Stretched out on the sofa and took a nap.

I hate to admit it, but I love camping.