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It is never a goal to camp in a gravel pit, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do. My family must have camped in gravel pits when I was a kid, because it seems quite natural to me to use a gravel pit as a home for the night. But not everyone was raised like I was. On Labor Day weekend I was heading home with my friend Jan. We were focusing on getting home, no longer in the vacationing mode. We were in Fields, Oregon about 6 PM and were starting to think about where we would spend the night. I thought the BLM Page Spring campground an hour north may be full since it was a holiday weekend. I asked at Fields if they could recommend a place we could pull over for the night. Sure, there was a gravel pit a couple of miles north. A couple planned to go target shooting there that night, but we were not to worry, they were a nice couple. Sounded great to me.
View of the gravel pit from the “camp” site.
We arrived at an interesting site to visit but one of marginal camping appeal. We did our best to be away from the county road and away from a dirt road hoping that neither would have much traffic that night. We sat enjoying some wine, alternating looking at the interesting mountain of rock and looking the other way at green grass meadows outlined by trees. The area begged to be explored, it had a charming sweet feel. But exploring would have to be done by others. We were on a mission to get home and back to work. 
searching for the middle of nowhere 