CampOut weekend creates 'instant neighborhood' for LGBTQ community on the Iron Range

Dozens of campers passed kale salad and scalloped-corn casserole at the West Forty RV Park and Campground's recent potluck dinner. Sitting around the bonfire in Gilbert, Minn., the campers chatted with those in their party and met new people, too.

A few campers' clothing choices — a rainbow-striped dress, two men in matching rainbow-heart button-downs, a tank top that read "Sounds gay, I'm in" — hinted at the theme: West Forty′s third annual CampOut weekend, created to provide a safe, judgment-free space for LGBTQ campers alongside the campground's general customers.

CampOut is among the rare hosted events specifically for LGBTQ campers. The low-key weekend wasn't so much about sharing activities — just a Friday s'more roast and Saturday potluck organized for the group, plus suggestions for nearby recreation spots to explore — as it was simply sharing the same space. One where you could be yourself, surrounded by others like you, who wouldn't blink if you hung a Pride flag from your travel trailer.

Even as recent decades have brought increased rights for LGBTQ people, along with widespread acceptance, a long history of discrimination has led many of the campers to enter new places somewhat cautiously. Which is why they were especially appreciative of CampOut.

Attending the event was "kind of like having an instant neighborhood," said Kurt Stevens, a retiree from Davenport, Iowa, who attended with his spouse, who is transgender. "There are some things you just don't have to explain. You just have a feeling of inclusion, and you don't really have to worry about people being less than hospitable."

Hovering over the grill, West Forty proprietor Paul Skrbec, one of the state's few gay campground owner/operators, cooked burgers and hot dogs for his guests. It had been a busy day for Skrbec, who also heads the Range Iron Pride Festival, and had planned the CampOut weekend to coincide with that festival, which had drawn hundreds to nearby Virginia, Minn., earlier that day.

CampOut is part of a growing trend in affinity-group travel, which includes trips and activities expressly for people of diverse identities. In the realm of outdoor recreation, that means more opportunities for groups that can encounter barriers to access, such as people of color, people with disabilities and LGBTQ folk.

As more Americans participate in outdoor recreation activities, and the group becomes more diverse, our image of the north woods hunter, fisherman, ATV rider needs to change, Skrbec said.

"We need to make space for people that are not necessarily in that traditional stereotype: so that's women, people in the LGBTQ community, people in various minority populations. They need to have their spaces where they can feel like they can participate and enjoy something out in the wilderness."

A place to recharge

Skrbec grew up in Gilbert, where his family ran a mobile-home park. Two decades ago, his parents opened the West Forty to accommodate visitors to the newly opened Iron Range Off-Road Vehicle State Recreation Area. After working for travel companies and nonprofits in the Twin Cities and Atlanta, Skrbec came back to help his aging father run the West Forty during COVID, when it was inundated with campers. Now Skrbec lives onsite all season and heads operations — from adding new glamping tents and a gender-inclusive restroom/shower building to "the glamour of cleaning out toilets at 6 a.m.," he said.

When he took over the business, Skrbec said, he wasn't going to hide his identity, as he had when he was younger. "I was like, 'Mom, Dad, just be aware that I'm coming back as an open, proud gay man, and that's gonna mean something for you' " he said. " 'Your neighbors are gonna know about it more. But I will not negotiate on that. I am not gonna go back in the closet.' "

The Iron Range he returned to felt more accepting than the one he had left. Former classmates of Skrbec's have apologized for hurtful remarks they made as teenagers and some shared that they have family members who are gay. "Now that many more people are out, and open up themselves, people in rural communities are able to see, 'Oh, I have a neighbor that's trans. Or I have a neighbor who's lesbian, and they're good people,' " Skrbec said.

And yet, LGBTQ people can face opposition — such as the "Straight Pride" protest of this summer's Pride festival in nearby Grand Rapids — as well as subtler judgment in any public space. "As a person in the LGBTQ community," Skrbec said, "you're always looking over your shoulder a little bit, wondering what your neighbor is thinking of you."

Skrbec said that, compared with the South, LGBTQ people are more integrated in the community in Minnesota. As a result, there are fewer distinct LGBTQ spaces, such as nightclubs and bars. "The challenge with that," he said, "is that any minority needs to have a place where they can recharge, where they can kind of center themselves, and refocus themselves. And a lot of times that happens in relatively exclusive, protected safe spaces, and we really don't have a lot of those in Minnesota."

Beth Pierce, executive director of the Iron Range Tourism Bureau, likened Skrbec's hosting CampOut to the popular off-roading and mountain-biking groups for women in the area.

"If there are any kind of barriers for people to try something, particularly outdoor activities, just knowing that you're all going to be, in some ways, in the same boat — by skill level, or by gender, by interests, or whatever that might be — there's a comfort level there," she said.

Rural visibility

Skrbec offered CampOut attendees a few Saturday activities, from kayaking at Lake-Ore-Be-Gone to hiking the Laurentian Divide to visiting the third annual Range Iron Pride festival.

The festival, a small version of big-city Pride events, had booths for the public library, a local counseling center and an LGBTQ advocacy group. There were the summer festival staples — cornhole and face painting and prize wheels — along with free condoms and mpox vaccinations. A woman selling jewelry and buttons ("Make racists ashamed again") greeted browsers with the Ojibwe "Boozhoo." Food trucks served grilled cheese and Filipino fare. From the stage, a band played "Born This Way."

A group of church folks, which showed up to proselytize, was quickly redirected toward the free-speech zone. They were long gone by the day's final act featuring glittering drag performers.

Back at the West Forty after visiting Pride, CampOut attendee Nate Koenig of White Bear Lake noted that visibility can also be far less flashy: as mundane an act as he and his partner sharing morning coffee outside their camper. Coming to the Range was about "showing GLBTQ-plus people exist in your communities and are regular people with kids and dogs who want to enjoy life just like everybody else," he said. "In the Venn diagram of life, we have this common crossing."

In Minnesota, same-sex couples are more likely to live in Minneapolis than rural areas. And difference, of any sort, can be more conspicuous in communities small enough to park your John Deere Gator outside a downtown sports bar.

The Iron Range, in particular, can feel more insular than the touristy North Shore and Brainerd Lakes regions nearby. Historically, the Range's European immigrant mine workers didn't so much melt in its pot as clump by ethnicity. Even today, it's isolated enough to maintain a distinct Ranger dialect. And some locals say that the longtime family dynasties can breed provincialism and a suspicion of outsiders. (Cabin folks are sometimes referred to as "citiots.")

But even if some residents say the area feels decades behind in its embrace of diverse communities, they do sense a change. For example, Virginia, with a population of 8,000 that's 95% white, held its fourth Juneteenth celebration this year.

'We can be ourselves'

While many CampOut attendees from the Twin Cities said they hadn't faced prejudice in rural Minnesota, and felt comfortable traveling there, they said they consciously maintained a low profile, including dialing back their displays of affection. Past experience had made them wary.

"I think I'm always on guard," said Brian McGonegal, of Northfield. "My son is Black. I grew up in the '80s when it was really hard to be gay, and I think I still carry that."

Being around other LGBTQ people at CampOut added to participants' sense of security. "If you're out of the Twin Cities and it's questionable how receptive folks are going to be, you don't want to be the only gay people in a campground," said Jon Novick of St. Paul.

When camping in conservative-leaning states such as Wyoming or Montana, Heather Wallmow of Anoka said she and her spouse are mindful of how they present themselves. But at CampOut, "It feels like we can be ourselves," she said. "My spouse can dress however they want and not have to worry about the looks."

Gabriel Tabolsky of St. Cloud also appreciated the sense of acceptance. "I don't feel weird about holding my partner's hand, because there are other queer people around here that understand and aren't going to think negatively," he said. "We're just like any other couple."

Metro misconceptions

Sitting around the bonfire, Dylon Horne of Gilbert and Tyler Nesset of Bovey, Minn., offered a local perspective. The two met at last year's Pride festival and are now engaged.

Nesset, a longtime Ranger, said his identity could put him at risk in remote areas. "For a long time, as a queer person, I wouldn't have felt comfortable saying, 'Hey, a group of us is going to the Boundary Waters in the middle of nowhere.' It targets you." But he also said there's a misconception among metro residents that people on the Range are closed-minded.

Horne, a recent transplant, agreed. "When I moved up here from the Cities," he said, "my metro friends were like, 'Are you sure? Isn't the Range super anti-LGBTQI?' Honestly, everyone may have their opinion, but a lot of people on the Range are very quiet and they just do their own thing."

Beth Pierce, of the tourism bureau, suggested that Rangers' practical, live-and-let-live mentality could foster diversity: "Iron Rangers are more concerned about, 'Is your driveway shoveled' or 'Did your car start this morning,' versus 'Are you gay or not gay.' "

Nesset said people should remember that the loudest voices don't always represent the majority view. "A lot of times, the voice that the metro hears is those right wings that are yelling," he said. "And the rest of us are tired of yelling and are just trying to enjoy life."