The Last Day of the Season

Back in August, when I was selecting my dates for a camping trip in the Cascades, it surprised me that the booking dates for Beckler River ended on September 13th. Beckler River Campground sits just outside Skykomish, in an area that rarely sees freezing temperatures before mid-October. Surely, I thought to myself, that's just them no longer taking reservations in the slower autumn season. When I checked the campground listing on recreation.gov, though, I saw the campground really closed that early.

Indeed, after arriving at the campground, a host on a golf cart stopped by to let us know we had to be out by noon on Sunday the 13th. That was when the gates would close for the rest of the year. "Unless you want to be trapped here until next year," the friendly host joked.

There is a unique sense of urgency and loss in being there on the last day a venue is open. Some of my earliest memories are of trips to Ossie's Lunch in Bethel, New Brunswick. Ossie's is a long-running and well-loved roadside fried seafood shack. It used to sit right on Route 1, but since the highway was twinned and realigned, it's a few hundred meters off it. Ossie's closes each winter, and so visiting on their closing weekend was a tradition for my family and many others: getting the last fried clams before wading into the long winter. I've heard they're still fantastic, so if you find yourself in that area, stop by.

Being present for the last day of anything stirs up a potent mix of emotions for me, and I wonder if others feel it the same way. Gratitude, sadness, and hope. There's a sense that I'm getting something no one else will: the last moments for this year. Even if the venue or event will be back again next year, no one else is going to experience a moment like this in 2026. It's sad, and it's special.

The weekend camping had its ups and downs: beautiful walks and minor issues with a new camper. But overall, it was wonderful to be out in nature, and we got the chance to change our pace of life for a few days.

On Sunday, the campground's last day of the year, we were the last ones out, with twenty minutes to spare. We pulled through the gate for the ride home, taking one last look back at the campground from the road. Rest well this winter, Beckler. Maybe I'll see you again next year.