Tag: OHI

Scrambling to insure Florida parks

In the aftermath of Hurricane Ian, 2022

Back in April, when Beryl wasn’t even a glimmer on the horizon and as national campground leaders continued to pretend they can do business as usual, I wrote about the especially dire situation in Florida. This is a state, after all, that has a front-row seat for the some of the most devastating hurricanes to afflict the northern hemisphere, a state that with an average elevation of just 100 feet above sea level poses no more than a speed bump for the increasingly savage maelstroms periodically pounding the peninsula. How do RV park owners cope with such a growing threat? Where do they turn for some measure of relief?

Piquing my interest was a half-page ad in an industry publication placed by K&K Insurance, advising readers that it “protects campgrounds with coverage designed for your unique needs”—mostly. Because even though the ad specifically stated that K&K is a licensed insurance producer in all states, the ad just as specifically stated that its campground coverage “is not available in Florida.” Only Florida. California and its wildfires, the entire Midwest and its tornadoes—hell, even Texas and its comparable hurricane and tornado exposure were not singled out for exclusion. Isn’t that special?

Nor is K&K an outlier. Indeed, property insurance has become so prohibitively expensive in the Sunshine State, when it’s available at all, that even the most resolute climate-change deniers have been forced to confront the one thing everyone understands. Think what you want about internal combustion engines and carbon dioxide and the greenhouse effect, but airy-fairy opinions don’t stand up well against the remorseless logic of cold, hard cash. When your business is on the line and every hurricane season means a fresh roll of the dice as to whether you’ll make it to December—well, what’s that saying about atheists and foxholes?

It therefore isn’t entirely surprising, although still to its credit, that the Florida-Alabama RV & Campground Association has taken a tentative first step toward dealing with a seemingly intractable problem. As recapped on its website, the association has started exploring the possibility of creating a captive insurance company—an insurer, as the name implies, that is owned and controlled by its customers. In one sense, this amounts to self-insurance on a grand scale, dispersing risk over a wider base than would be possible if each campground set aside only its own reserves. In another sense, a captive insurance company would be an attempt to insulate its members from wider market forces, such as “changing investor appetites,” which the association blames in part for its plight.

To make its case, the association recently hosted a “virtual Q&A” with Austin Gaines, a partner in Alabama-based insurer Starke Agency, and is currently seeking expressions of interest from its members. But while the session detailed the benefits of a captive insurer, including more control over insurance costs, profit retention and customizable coverage, it provided only a sketchy description of the downsides, diplomatically labeled “challenges and considerations.” Most notably that includes substantial up-front capital contributions, which Gaines apparently did not enumerate—although, to be fair, how much those might be will depend on how many campground owners sign up. “Economies of scale are crucial,” he said, noting that “the more members and premium dollars a captive has, the lower the fixed costs per member.”

Radical though such a concept might seem to some, it’s actually just an example of history repeating itself. Evergreen USA was the insurance company for campgrounds and RV parks for more than 20 years, created in 1989 with investments from privately owned campgrounds because conventional insurers didn’t know how to assess the risks of a relatively exotic business they didn’t understand. That’s a lot like the concept being examined in Florida, although Evergreen was set up as a risk retention group, which is similar to a captive insurance company but with several key differences that the Florida association might also consider exploring.

Evergreen, meanwhile, is no more: it shuttered its doors a decade ago, a victim of those same “changing investor appetites” that prompted the stuffy insurers who had turned up their noses at an upstart industry to suddenly decide this was a hot new product line, after all. Now the pendulum has swung the other way, and Florida won’t be the end of it. Other states, as alluded to above, have at least as perilous a risk profile as Florida’s, with their RV parks having just as many problems obtaining affordable insurance. At least California and Texas have the advantage, as in Florida, of having their own independent, active and well-subscribed state associations through which to raise the issue and explore solutions with their members.

The same can’t be said of the great swath of the country’s interior that gets pummeled by tornadoes, flooding and hail the size of softballs. Many of those states, like Iowa, Oklahoma and Arkansas, don’t even have state associations. Those that do, like Missouri, Kansas, South Dakota and Illinois, are too small to shoulder the burdens imposed by self-insuring, and the umbrella organization that should be filling the void, OHI (formerly the National Association of RV Parks and Campgrounds, or ARVC), is too busy rebranding itself as a marketing and lobbying group for the “Outdoor Hospitality Industry” to notice what’s happening at the grassroots level. Crippling weather events? Unaffordable insurance rates? OHI doesn’t recognize these as problems in any sort of public way, other than to periodically issue requests for contributions for campgrounds that have been pummeled by the latest weather outrage.

The route Florida has chosen is a tough slog, starting with having to convince individual campground owners to cough up a whole lot of paperwork and financial records going back at least five years so that valuations and risk can be properly assessed. But clearly something has to change, and the notoriously self-reliant campground industry just may be up to the challenge. Or as the Florida association’s recap concludes, the “captive insurance solution holds promise of stabilizing and potentially reducing costs for its members.” It’s been done before. Could be, it’ll be done again.

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Fiddling while California burns

California is burning once again, after a two-year hiatus, with something like 200,000 acres already turned to charcoal—and here it is only mid-July, with three to four months of fire season still ahead of us. The state’s property insurance premiums are getting hiked by 30% or more a year. Wildfire smoke, according to a National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) analysis released in April, is contributing to nearly 16,000 deaths annually across the U.S. as a consequence of large wildfires in the western U.S. and Canada.

Alarming, right? The kind of apocalyptic onslaught that would have any thoughtful outdoor industry leadership publicly fretting about a proper response—but hey, this is California, long renowned for living in an alternative reality. So when Dyana Kelly, president and chief executive of the California Outdoor Hospitality Association, recently took figurative pen to paper to address the burning (sorry) issue of the day, it was to go after . . . the organization formerly known as the National Association of RV Parks and Campgrounds (ARVC). And not for anything having to do with weather, wildfires, insurance rates or other existential threats to the RVing lifestyle, either.

No, what ruffled Kelly’s feathers was ARVC’s temerity in rebranding itself as OHI, or Outdoor Industry Hospitality, which aside from being an awkward three-legged stool of a name is strikingly similar to CalOHA, which is how Kelly’s organization usually styles itself. The rebranding is not news—it happened early this year—but Kelly greeted it as though it were, sarcastically congratulating ARVC for moving “away from the standard membership of RV parks and campgrounds by partnering with Hipcamp and allowing non-permitted parks, dispersed campgrounds and possibly even backpacking locations (as indicated by their release video) into membership.” Ouch.

This kind of frontal assault in an industry of glad-handers and back-slappers was notable enough for RV Business to seek Kelly’s permission to reprint her broadside, originally written for CalOHA’s members. But to be fair, Kelly was only playing tit for tat: it wasn’t all that long ago that ARVC took legal action against the California association after it dropped its affiliation with the national group but retained the CalARVC name. The similarity, ARVC contended, was causing “confusion” for park members. So rather than get embroiled in a trademark tussle, the Californians switched to CalOHA—only to now find their roles reversed.

“Is there confusion,” Kelly wrote, reprising ARVC’s earlier complaint. “YES. A number of parks have called to inquire about an invoice they received recently from ‘CalOHA’ when it was actually a well-disguised invoice from OHI.”

Yes, of course this is a problem—but not, I’ll submit, as big as the problem that both CalOHA and OHI are resolutely ignoring. Bookkeeping confusion pales beside the fundamental climate threat to RVing’s business model, which if nothing changes will make the current contretemps seem more than just a bit precious. And quite irrelevant. But both organizations are carrying on as though it’s business as usual—nothing to see here!

If Kelly wanted a truly righteous fight to pick on a national stage, she’d take ARVC/OHI to task for its history of climate change denial. This is an organization whose official policy maintains that there is still “considerable uncertainty surrounding the theories on climate change,” so much so that the only responsible thing to do is “more research, data collection and scientific analysis” before changing emission standards—or, indeed, doing anything at all that might have an economic impact on the industry. Of course, that economic impact is felt more severely with each passing year precisely because of such a don’t-rock-the-boat approach.

Yes, that would be a righteous rumble, but also a hard slog. And not nearly as satisfying as a quick and dirty couple of jabs over something as relatively meaningless as what we choose to call ourselves.

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Notes on an evolving RV landscape

When we bought our campground, in 2013, there was only one insurance company that would provide us with liability coverage. It wasn’t that we were an especially bad risk. Campgrounds were such a niche market, and so poorly understood, that the insurance industry simply didn’t want to touch them. The sole exception was Evergreen U.S. A., which had been founded almost 40 years earlier and was owned by campground and RV park owners precisely because that was the only way they could get the financial protection they needed. We were lucky they were around.

But that didn’t last long. Just as we acquired a campground because—among other reasons—we thought this was a dynamic industry, larger, more mainstream insurance companies likewise realized they were missing out on a sure thing and suddenly began piling on. By mid-2014, Evergreen’s board of directors had thrown in the towel and stopped renewing policies. Bigger, better capitalized insurance companies had the resources “to beat our rates and provide incentives we can’t always match,” explained Evergreen’s president, Lucas Hartford, at the time. “In these times, price is more important than ever to our customer’s success.”

Well, what goes around comes around. This month’s Woodall’s Campground Magazine has a half-page ad from K&K Insurance advising readers that it “protects campgrounds with coverage designed for your unique needs.” Campground owners should ask their insurance agent for a quote from K&K, the ad advises—unless their “unique need” is owning a campground in Florida. Because even though the ad specifically states that K&K is a licensed insurance producer in all states, with FL license #L007299, the ad just as specifically states that its campground coverage “is not available in Florida.”

Care to guess why? What is it about hurricane central, garnished with rising sea levels and appalling heat, that makes it unappealing for a company that exists specifically to underwrite risk protection?

K&K is just a canary in the coalmine, but similar redlining is all but inevitable. And it won’t be just Florida that gets hung out to dry, or just K&K pulling in its horns, as extreme weather becomes more widespread, more prevalent—and as campgrounds and other outdoor venues increasingly are seen as being especially vulnerable.

But unlike past decades, when RV park and campground owners rallied to meet a common need, the industry these days is far too fractured to respond in similar fashion. The big corporate-owned chains have deep enough pockets to self-insure or to package their various properties into more insurable risks. The national organization that once represented campgrounds and that might have taken a leadership role in addressing a common threat now has a new, androgynous name—OHI—and broader ambitions: it wants to be the spokesperson for “outdoor hospitality,” a role that apparently precludes any conversation about climate change.

That leaves the so-called mom-and-pop owner/operators fending for themselves, just as they did in the good ‘ol days.

Meanwhile, another slow-motion train wreck affecting the campground industry—and specifically those campgrounds chasing after algorithm-driven reservation systems—is shaping up in the form of lawsuits in Arizona, Tennessee and Washington, D.C. and criminal investigations in North Carolina and by the U.S. Justice Department. In their cross-hairs is RealPage, a Texas-based property-management software company that is being accused of illegally fixing apartment rental prices.

ProPublica reported extensively on this problem 18 months ago, and in a subsequent post I raised the question of how something similar is happening with many campground reservation systems generally, and with CampSpot specifically. As outlined in a second post, Campspot already has a lion’s share of campground business, which means it also has an enormous amount of reservation data to crunch, such as site and occupancy rates sorted by campground size, day of the week and any number of other variables. This data is then available to Campspot’s clients, in supposedly anonymized form, with those campground owners free to do with that information what they will.

That’s handy for the campground owner who wants to see how his property stacks up against others. It’s also a first step toward cartelization, enabling supposed competitors to adjust rates in lockstep without directly talking to each other, which would be an antitrust no-no. Whether RealPage—and by analogy Campspot, if on a much lesser scale—are nevertheless facilitating anticompetitive behavior is the question state and federal authorities are raising, but as a Wall Street Journal article a couple of days ago noted, the Biden administration is generally taking a much harder line on price fixing.

“Any rulings against Real Page could have legal ramifications for other business sectors, such as online retail, where companies also use algorithms to make pricing decisions,” the Journal noted.

The headlong rush by the industry to embrace new digital technologies—AI increasingly is coming into play, as well—is just one more step away from the fundamental aspects of camping that made it a worthwhile pastime in the first place. It’s all done in the name of improving business fundamentals, of course, but those “improvements” invariably reshape “the business” until it becomes just like everything else: more gentrified, impersonal, homogenized and packaged—and, above all else, expensive.

The glamping phenomenon is of course the apotheosis of this trend, exploding across the campground industry over just a few years. But just how far things have gone may be exemplified by the recent announcement that AutoCamp is now partnering with . . . Hilton Hotels, which has as much to do with the outdoors as Louis Vuitton. “This is the first time a major hospitality brand and outdoor lodging company have come together in this way to create even more choices for travelers while redefining the outdoor hospitality experience,” crowed a Hilton executive. How nice for OHI’s expanding portfolio. . . .

Which brings me to one final report, that of a Colorado entrepreneur who earlier this month broke ground on Kosmos Stargazing Resort, just outside Alamosa, in the San Luis Valley. The planned 22 glass-domed stargazing villas, which have received a special use permit as a “campground,” are to be rented for $700 to $1,200 a night.

Now that’s camping, eh?

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Milking a hollow Senate hearing

The outdoor recreation industry’s ambivalence about climate change and what it means for business was on ample display this past Wednesday, when the Senate Budget Committee held a public hearing titled “Recreation at Risk: The Nature of Climate Costs.” Scarcely longer than an hour in duration and sparsely attended by less than a handful of its 19 committee members, the hearing featured five witnesses, only three of whom paid attention to its ostensible subject matter.

Those threadbare qualities did not, however, prevent the Outdoor Recreation Roundtable (ORR) from trumpeting the event as an example of how it’s fighting the good fight on behalf of the environment. In a press release headlined “Outdoor Industry Highlights Impacts of Climate Change,” faithfully reproduced by RVBusiness, the roundtable reported that its president, Jessica Wald Turner, “emphasized the economic implications of climate change on one of the world’s largest and fastest growing industries.”

“As we’ve heard today,” the release quoted Turner as saying, “climate change is increasingly impacting how people can recreate outside, and businesses of all types and all activities know the climate crisis needs to be addressed.”

All of which may be true—Turner may indeed have said as much—but it wasn’t before the committee. The roundtable didn’t have a seat at the hearing. Nor did any of the largest outdoor recreation industries or businesses that one might think would have the most at stake in a fraying environment: not OHI, representative of the “outdoor hospitality” segment, nor the RV Industry Association, nor any of the big RV manufacturers, like Thor or Winnebago. Instead, the “outdoor industry” was represented by Theresa McKenney, a director of NEMO, a family-owned camping gear manufacturer with 50 employees; a Montana-based fly-fishing guide and shop owner; and a 23-year-old Nordic skier.

All had compelling stories to relate about how a warming climate and increasingly violent weather have severely affected their businesses and outdoor passions, but they were no more “the outdoor industry” than any cluster of three or four words on this page tell the story I’m unfolding. Arrayed against them, meanwhile, were two suits and one smarmy Louisiana politician. And the first suit, Joao Gomes of the Wharton School of Economics, must have wandered into the wrong hearing, because all his remarks were about “the dangers of excessive U.S. debt,” which while compelling, never once touched on the hearing’s subject of outdoor recreation.

The smarmy politician? That would be the unfortunately named Sen. John Kennedy of Louisiana, who sidled into the hearing apparently for the sole purpose of rattling an earnest but still young world-class skier by demonstrating the latter’s jejune understanding of greenhouse gases and carbon economics. Were this a debating society, Kennedy would have won hands down. Were this a serious exploration of an existential issue in which Kennedy was seeking to expand his own understanding—but that’s a silly supposition. (Kennedy’s 7-minute assassination can be seen here, starting at around the 1:08 mark, after which he just as promptly exited the hearing.)

The second suit, meanwhile—Scott Walter, president of the Capital Research Center—opened by lamenting the lobbying efforts of outdoor apparel manufacturer Patagonia, as though that were somehow un-American. His expertise, he claimed, is “in political operations from groups that try to influence public policy while enjoying complicated funding streams enriched by billionaires. The phenomenon often appears in environmental debates, including with pressure groups that claim to represent outdoor recreation interests but often engage in merely partisan political battles.”

Not, of course, that there’s any money on the opposite side of environmental debates—or that there’s any unraveling of outdoor recreation interests from partisan politics.

But to give Walter his due, the second half of his remarks touched on the inherent contradiction within the positions staked out by those outdoor recreation interests—the same contradiction that explains why those interests had such thin representation at Wednesday’s hearing. It’s the same contradiction that explains why the ORR’s press release highlighted its support of the America’s Outdoor Recreation Act and the Expanding Public Lands Outdoor Recreation Experience Act, both of which are designed to increase use of public lands—but completely ignored the Inflation Reduction Act and efforts to modernize the Farm Bill, both intended to reduce greenhouse gases, and both explicitly endorsed by McKenney in her committee testimony.

Reducing greenhouse gases requires moving away from a carbon-based economy, which is why a Louisiana politician can’t stoop too low to shoot down the idea. And it’s why the ORR, whose members include motorcycle, power boat, snowmobile and off-road vehicle interests—and, yes, OHI and the RV Industry Association—censors any mention of the subject even while patting itself on the back for its advocacy for “healthy people, places and the planet.”

Walter, on the other hand, pointed out that such lobbying efforts “never mention some obvious, powerful threats to outdoor recreation” posed by those very same business interests. “For example,” he contended, “it is obvious that in the foreseeable future, outdoor recreation cannot flourish without the availability of inexpensive transportation for ordinary Americans. And that transportation will require fossil fuels for cars, trucks and planes, and support for the roads and parking needed for those cars and trucks. . . . The hostility of environmental extremist groups to forms of travel that most Americans now take for granted is intense.”

One doesn’t have to accept Walter’s questionable conclusion about requiring more fossil fuels—there are alternatives—to acknowledge his underlying observation: more people traveling to outdoor recreation destinations adds to the environmental burden. So do the people flooding outdoor spaces in their boats, all-terrain vehicles, RVs and snowmobiles. No wonder, then, that those who profit from selling, servicing, accommodating or otherwise feeding off the motorized exploitation of outdoor spaces stay silent about the environmental consequences of such activities—even as they seek to make them more widely available.

The upshot was a meaningless public hearing that a shameless ORR nevertheless presented as some kind of bold statement by outdoor interests that would just as soon not look too closely at their complicity in a worsening crisis. On that score, a comment by committee chair Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse during his opening remarks should be especially eye-opening: one-third of this country’s prodigious national debt, he averred, was created in response to climate emergencies. Without a change in how we do business, that proportion will just keep growing. Tick-tock.

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ARVC/OHI: adrift without a rudder

The organization formerly known as the National Association of RV Parks and Campgrounds, or ARVC, is having one heck of an identity crisis.

Last November, supposedly after a year of vaguely referenced “surveys and interviews,” the association’s leadership announced that it was “rebranding” itself and henceforth would be known as Outdoor Hospitality Industry, or OHI. That awkward word jumble without a subject noun was explained away by ARVC/OHI’s executive director, Paul Bambei, as marking the association’s transition toward becoming “the trusted voice of all outdoor hospitality.”

Delusions of grandeur, anyone?

While Bambei and his enablers thus laid claim to global aspirations for their modest little industry association, ARVC’s dues-paying members couldn’t help but notice that they had been disappeared. An organization originally founded “for the purpose of promoting camping through the private sector and protecting the camping industry from unfair legislation and unfair competition” apparently had decided that “camping” was—what? Too old-school? Too limiting? Just not as focus-group attractive as “outdoor hospitality”? Whatever the case, “campgrounds” and “RV parks” seemed to have ceased as an integral part of the organization’s identity.

Predictably, the grumbling soon started. Critics pointed out that the outdoor hospitality industry’s “trusted voice” presumably would be speaking on behalf of not just campgrounds, RV parks and glampgrounds but also bed-and-breakfasts, inns, ski lodges, marinas, resorts and even hotels and motels if they were in any way connected to the “outdoors.” Worse yet, the new “outdoor hospitality” umbrella would cover Harvest Hosts, Boondockers Welcome and Hipcamp, long seen by many campground owners as unfair competitors who don’t have to comply with RV park licensing requirements. How would all these disparate businesses have their conflicting interests represented by a single voice except in the most abstract sense?

Less than a month later, the grumbling became more serious when the Pennsylvania Campground Owners Association voted to quit its partnership with OHI. The national organization’s “mission and vision” no longer aligned with its own, PCOA leadership explained, adding that its members had grown increasingly concerned about OHI’s lack of communications and transparency about various changes it was implementing.

Decisive though it was, however, PCOA actually was slow on the uptake: ARVC/OHI had been signaling its intentions at least a year earlier, with little apparent pushback—and, indeed, may have been emboldened by the muted response. Early last year, for example, I wrote a three-part post making the case that ARVC had lost its way. (Indeed, in an ironic foreshadowing, I suggested at the end of the second installment that “perhaps it should rebrand as the National Association of the Outdoor Hospitality Industry.”) I observed at the time that ARVC had adopted a “mission statement” that was couched “in soulless corporate-speak,” to wit: “We empower outdoor hospitality businesses by providing industry-tailored resources, organic connections, consumer exposure, professional development, and proactive legislative action.” 

This past week, apparently in belated response to PCOA’s secession, ARVC/OHI backpedaled furiously. According to its press release, because the new mission statement neglected to explicitly identify its “core membership,” the wording would be changed to the following: “To empower RV parks, campgrounds and glamping businesses with the community, resources, professional development, and legislative advocacy needed to ensure successful futures for all Outdoor Hospitality Industry businesses.” (The new wording, it added, is to be approved at ARVC/OHI’s board meeting this spring—raising the question of just who decided this is a good idea that should be announced before board approval.)

No mention of the name change to OHI and its silence on the subject of camping. No mention of OHI’s “vision” statement—“an empowered outdoor hospitality industry”—also cited by PCOA as a point of contention.

The proposed new mission statement is known as trying to have your cake and eat it, too. As with most such efforts, however, it fails as a semantic construct, since there is no logical connection between empowering RV parks, campgrounds and glamping businesses on the one hand, and ensuring the successful futures of all outdoor hospitality businesses on the other. The “empowering” of a part does not ensure the success of the whole. On the other hand, the way this sentence is constructed, its unmistakable meaning is that RV parks and campgrounds need to up their game so that the outdoor hospitality industry as a whole can thrive.

Bambei, meanwhile, proved himself just as fuzzy-minded as the organization he leads by insisting in the press release that the core constituency he serves really hasn’t changed, “it’s simply expanded.” Which is not unlike saying our little town of New Amsterdam really hasn’t changed, it’s simply expanded—into New York City. 

But logical thinking and precise language aren’t the point: muddying the waters is. Whatever he may say after the fact about his primary concern for ARVC/OHI’s “core,” Bambei just can’t keep his grandiose ambitions from spilling into the open—and so, in that same press release, he goes on to to declare that “we know it is important that the hospitality industry has a national organization positioned to represent it well into the future.” And so, by golly, the RV park and campground industry might as well shoulder that burden on behalf of all those other unrepresented businesses. With Bambei at its helm, of course.

PCOA’s secession apparently had another, more salutary effect: almost simultaneously with its announced mission restatement, OHI’s board voted to allow direct RV park and campground membership across the United States. In doing so, it ended a much-criticized requirement that campgrounds in partnering states—like Pennsylvania—could belong to ARVC only if they first joined the state organization. (On the flip side, campgrounds that belonged to a partnering state association were in most cases required to pay national dues even if they didn’t want to be ARVC members.) That compulsory package deal was so unpopular that the country’s biggest state associations had been seceding from ARVC, one by one, with Pennsylvania’s departure the final straw.

But while long overdue, this change means that OHI will relinquish having captive dues-payers delivered by compliant state associations and will have to actually earn those members by convincing them it has their best interests at heart—a daunting prospect for an organization increasingly criticized for being out of touch with its grassroots and given to top-down decision-making. That, as much as any dreams of representing a vaguely defined but overarching “hospitality industry,” explains why ARVC/OHI seems so unmoored these days.

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O, hi! Did you know ARVC is no more?

The RV park and campground industry, increasingly dominated by investors with a background in hotel management, has for some time put on airs by claiming to be in the “hospitality” business. Today, it went one step farther: the National Association of RV Parks and Campgrounds has renounced its name and rebranded itself as Outdoor Hospitality Industry, or OHI.

Announced at a plenary session of ARVC’s annual convention, the name change was justified in a letter to members from executive director Paul Bambei as being more representative of “the breadth of the industry, where it is today, and—especially—where it will be in the future.” OHI, he added, “will continue to grow as the trusted voice of all outdoor hospitality businesses and will continue to be the organization that is at the forefront of a growing and dynamic lifestyle for the Outdoor Hospitality Industry and camping consumers.”

Although Bambei claimed that the rebranding is responsive to “surveys and interviews conducted this past year” that found 80% of “participants” felt a name change was warranted, he did not offer any particulars about who was surveyed or interviewed, nor exactly what they were asked. Nor is there any indication that ARVC’s current campground and RV park membership had pushed for a name change, or that it wanted its organization to represent a more generalized “outdoor hospitality” industry that presumably now includes many hotels and motels as well as bed-and-breakfasts, Harvest Host sites, inns, ski lodges, marinas, resorts, glampgrounds, and so on. This clearly was a top-down initiative, driven by ARVC’s leadership wanting to play in a bigger sandbox.

I’ve written before about this loss of focus and why it’s detrimental to ARVC’s core constituency. But grasping after a broader mandate isn’t just a disservice to existing members; it’s out of step with current events, coming at a time when “hospitality” at campgrounds and RV parks is becoming ever more elusive. These days, with institutional money piling into the industry, it’s really all about efficiency and return on investment, goals inherently at odds with a labor-intensive aspiration.

Hospitality, after all, requires interaction with one’s customers. It means face-to-face encounters. As one industry website summarizes it, it means “making your customers feel special and even spoiled,” which “is an art that only dedicated, trained staff can achieve.” Yet staff, dedication and training are in woefully short supply at all except the very largest and the very smallest campgrounds and RV parks, the former because of economies of scale and the latter because mom and pop are not being overwhelmed by a flood of customers.

Just how dire the situation has become can be seen in ARVC’s annual industry survey, released this week in ironic juxtaposition to the name-change announcement. As flawed as the survey is, as detailed in my last post, its less granular, more reliable findings reveal that many campgrounds are hard-pressed even to take the trash out, with the typical (median) campground of 90 sites employing just three full-time and two part-time workers during its main season—and that’s actually one full-time employee less than in 2022.

To call such staffing skeletal is generous. Consider, for example, that a campground with an office-store open 10 hours a day—or 70 hours a week—will require a minimum of two employees just to put one person behind the counter. Additional staffing during the busiest hours—say, 2 p.m. to 7 p.m.—will require at least one more full-timer or two part-timers. For the average campground that also wants its bathrooms cleaned at least once a day, its cabins and “glamping” accommodations cleaned at check-out, its swimming pool maintained and its lawns mowed and edged, the choice comes down to shorter office hours or not getting some things done—and don’t even think about hosting activities of various kinds.

Why not just hire more employees? Aside from the question of whether some campgrounds choose not to because they prefer a fatter net income, one very likely reason is because most people don’t want jobs that pay at or barely above the $15 minimum wage in effect in some of the biggest camping states, including all three West Coast states and Colorado. As the ARVC survey reports, the typical park pays general staff a median rate of $15.01 an hour, which in much of the country—issues of minimum wage aside—is barely competitive with fast-food restaurants and big box stores that also provide year-round employment. “Dedication” won’t be bought that cheaply. By comparison, hotel front-office managers get paid on average $42,740 a year, according to Glassdoor, while directors of housekeeping receive $55,266.

The National Association of RV Parks and Campgrounds was always a mouthful, and the ARVC acronym didn’t even track, but at least the name conveyed whose interests the organization represented. Outdoor Hospitality Industry isn’t just awkward because of its lack of a subject noun (is it an association? a coalition? a cooperative, federation or guild?), but it borders on false advertising at a time when “hospitality” is found more in its rhetoric than in reality.