Published July 5, 2025 05:30AM
Originally posted onBackpacker
Being Forced to Use Rec.gov Just to Go Camping Is Absolute Torture
Millions of campers and hikers around the U.S. are using recreation.gov to book their next vacation—and by the time they’re done dealing with its confusing navigation, broken interface, and inflated fees, most will need one.
A tent in Umpqua National Forest (Photo: shutterjack / RooM via Getty)
Every time I try to book a campsite on Recreation.gov, I end up closer to a mental breakdown than a backcountry getaway. I start off dreaming of a quiet weekend off the grid—and end up rage-refreshing tabs like I’m trying to buy Taylor Swift tickets in 2022. Booking on Rec.gov feels like your camp neighbor is playing acoustic guitar at 11 p.m. while you’re wearing ski boots with no socks and getting a bug bite you can’t reach on top of a sunburn.
The user experience on this miserable site is like if Clippy and a CAPTCHA had a baby during a server crash. Dates won’t load. Pages disappear mid-click. Filters are fake. The whole thing feels like a trick quiz from 2004 Facebook. Just this weekend, I went to confirm a booking for an upcoming trip—only to find out the site I swear I booked months ago wasn’t actually reserved. Instead, I had a confirmed spot 25 miles away.
For the uninitiated, Recreation.gov may sound like a government site—because it was supposed to be. But it’s actually run by a private contractor making millions off your desire to sleep on the ground. While national parks face record underfunding, Booz Allen Hamilton is raking in booking fees that don’t go to the rangers, the trails, or the land. That annoying $8 fee? It’s not helping a ranger buy new boots. It’s padding someone’s investment portfolio.
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For context: Booz Allen Hamilton is a giant consulting firm that sounds like a Succession villain and acts like one, too. In 2023, they paid $377 million to settle claims they illegally billed taxpayers for work that had nothing to do with the government. One of the largest fraud settlements ever—and somehow, they’re still the ones running the site we have to use to go outside.
I wouldn’t mind the fees if they were helping patch trails, protect threatened ecosystems, or even went into the beer fund for our overworked and underpaid park rangers. But instead, it’s Ticketmaster for tents—just another example of privatized inconvenience dressed up as civic infrastructure. (And if Tay Tay ever does come for that monopoly, maybe she can take down this one next.)
In the meantime, I know I’ll keep using it—because sometimes the only way to get to the places that remind me to shut off my phone and breathe. Which, clearly, is exactly what I need after using their site.
