September 15 marks the one-year anniversary of my move to southern California and what an incredibly fulfilling year it’s been! As is my habit, I set out to explore every inch of my new home, but this time, I cleverly disguised my wandering as “work.” One month after I landed in Malibu, I met with the local newspaper owner and came away armed with a batch of assignments to highlight the many recreational opportunities in Los Angeles and Ventura counties. So off I went, prowling the shoreline for sea mammals, hiking miles of trails in the Santa Monica Mountains, going sideways to learn to skate and surf, and chasing the Super Bloom in surrounding deserts.

I loved every minute of it. I gained a good handle on my surroundings and, before I knew it, I had developed regular stomping grounds for my hiking, biking, and swimming adventures. And while my breath still catches at the views from the trails or a dolphin playing in the surf, it wasn’t long before I began to wonder what lay beyond a day trip.

So it was that I found myself at Walmart purchasing a tent, an air mattress, a cooler, and the latest marshmallow-roasting fork, while texting a friend who has some camping experience to set up a date and destination.

You see, for all my van camping experience, I had never before pitched, never mind slept in, a tent, and this seemingly small detail loomed large for me. I couldn’t imagine pulling into a campground without the safety net of my van, its metal walls and small kitchen providing the last divide between me and full-on nature.

But I don’t have a van anymore. What I do have is a car, that can carry a tent, and that’s it. If I wanted to venture farther afield, I knew I had to clear this last hurdle and get up close and personal with my surroundings.

My friend and I settled on an ideal oceanside spot that’s three and a half hours away, but it was still August and high season wasn’t over, yet. The campground operates on a first-come, first-served basis, so I was advised by the website that my best chance for obtaining a much-sought-after weekend spot was to arrive at the campground at 6 a.m. on Friday, when the office opens up, to be at the head of the line.

The day before departure, I busied myself shopping for food, packing up the car, all while envisioning a beautifully-pitched tent and dogs lounging around the campfire where we sat roasting marshmallows. In the middle of this vision, my friend texted and said he was sick and couldn’t make it. I knew right away that there was no way my aircraft carrier was turning around—it was full steam ahead.

So, the dogs and I got up at 3 a.m. and struck out on our own, arriving at the remote campground promptly at 6 a.m., just as the sun began to rise. I was smugly pleased to note that I was, indeed, the first person there. In fact, I was the only person there for the next hour and a half. No ranger, and certainly no other resourceful campers waiting in line. I sat there in my car like Clark Griswold in the Wally World parking lot, looking longingly at the RVs, tents, and vans with their still-sleeping occupants.

Finally, at 7:30, a park ranger who happened to be driving through asked if I needed help. I explained that I was following the website instructions to the letter and he shook his head and said that the ranger station didn’t open until 9. Furthermore, he wondered why I was sitting there waiting when there were a couple of unoccupied spots around the corner that I could just go grab. I almost kissed him. I was in.

After pulling into a site situated about 100 yards from the beach, I grabbed the dogs from the backseat and went for a walk. With an empty beach that stretched as far as the eye could see in both directions, we spent the next hour reveling in our good fortune and logged a few miles of off-leash fun. Exhausted, we returned to the campsite and that’s when the reality of tent camping hit me. I had miles to go before I could sleep.

I cracked open a caffeinated beverage and unpacked my still-in-boxes equipment hoping that the set-up would be as quick and painless as the instructions implied. Starting with the tent, which touted a one-person set-up time of less than two minutes, I started the clock. Twenty minutes later, I had it figured out.

Next up was the air mattress. I unpacked the blower, unfurled the mattress and plugged in my handy car-to-electric converter. The little machine coughed periodically, like a dying animal, and in no way was capable of blowing up a queen-sized mattress. I took the blower and the air mattress over to the restrooms and found an outlet outside the men’s bathroom. Mercifully, it worked. Once blown up, I threw the cumbersome thing on my head and labored back to the campsite battling a prevailing on-shore breeze—my arms nearly ripping off as I tried to keep the mattress from flying away.

At the site, things weren’t getting any easier. I discovered that air mattresses are best blown up inside the tent since the opening isn’t large enough to accommodate an inflated one. At this point, I was in no mood for funny business and I angrily bent, shoved, and wrangled the thing through. After regaining my composure, I made up the bed with sheets, pillow, and comforter; I put batteries in my lights and hung them; I organized the dog bed and my clothes; and then I sat and admired my work. This tent thing wasn’t going to be so bad, I thought, as I fell asleep. It was 10 a.m.

I woke an hour and a half later and the dogs and I spent a wonderful day wandering the beaches, reading, meeting the neighbors, and eating dry goods. As evening approached, I knew I had to get down to nighttime ops and went off in search of firewood at the local camp store. Once lit, the resulting mass of smoke from my fire ring sent my neighbor over with some good kindling and accelerant and I was in business. Having already decided that I wasn’t going to attempt cooking, I ate some cheese and crackers, leaving room for the main event—s’mores. The new marshmallow fork performed admirably and I was covered in sticky goo in no time.

It’s at this point that camping reveals its true allure—the nighttime sky teeming with stars, the sound of the waves, little campfires dotting the grounds, and the laughter piercing the darkness. I was dismayed to once again be experiencing it alone—after having camped for three months by myself two years ago I was ready to have some company—but it was hard not to be seduced by the simple magic of it all.

After soaking it in, the dogs and I crawled back into the tent and went to sleep.

Feeling mostly refreshed, I faced the next day determined to sort through the myriad issues that come with tent camping, such as:

• Keeping a tent clean, which I’ve deemed impossible
• Minimizing air loss in the mattress, especially new ones that are expanding
• Getting in and out of the tent with some dignity intact—I mostly dove in and flopped out
• Figuring out how to put everything back in their thoughtfully-provided carrying cases after striking camp (I didn’t even come close to solving this one)

Undaunted, I’m declaring the outing a huge success. I’m not prepared to say it measures up to van camping, but camping in a tent isn’t bad. Just knowing that I’ve now cut my teeth has opened up a world of possibilities and I’m eager for the next adventure.