OK, my recommendations - go with the excellent cooler idea - they actually make one that plugs into your vehicle for while you are driving, and one enterprising person figured out a battery setup to power it outside the vehicle, I might suggest a solar rig. Since you do not like their privy solution, set up your own privy with a small tent and a portable toilet. As medieval campers, I have seen more than one setup of a handwashing station based on a shower bag, and a basin, with a towel rail but this is a more modern take on it that you might like, it is foot pedal operated. You can get any number of convenient small plastic tables that you can sanitize, some of them have a small prep sink that you can use to wash stuff in as well, or have a clean taboe for your own use, and a folding camp chair so you don’t have to interact with any of their filth. You can buy already prepped quaterny wipes, bleach wipes and the like, so there is no reason to deal with their mess - and you can buy and provide your own face mask. If you are that concerned about the quality of their sanitation in camp, why not get a van and set it up for camping?
There is an unexplored option: You stop going to Deer Camp. You don’t enjoy it and I’m sure a wet blanket isn’t welcome. You’re not going to eat wild venison anyway so just don’t go.
I can just stay home, too. 
They insist I show up for the yearly supper. Stupid!
Deer camp? Hell if my mother’s cooking didn’t kill me there ain’t a germ out there that stands a chance. The woman fried spaghetti fer chrissakes. 
Beck…SWEETHEART! Listen to me!
All you have to do is a convenient sprained ankle! And since that ankle has been bothersome in the past, well, then, you MUST stay off of it with any subsequent re-injury!
That is, unless Mr Wrekker and Son of Wrek want to carry you around every time you so much as THINK you’re gonna step wrong!
Cry a tear or two.
Then insist you don’t want them to miss out on a time honored, treasured Male Bonding Ritual.
Then go to Sonic and get corndogs.
~VOW
Oh, ~VOW, if you only knew. I can be ill or injured in a nano-second.
I just HAVE to make an appearance to stop the incessant questions.
Thank heaven, it’s over for this year. Yay!
Now on to fun stuff…
And corndogs.
Just ate one, btw.
Big Wrek brought me a large Corona beer bottle and spices to make my uber secret Spice mix for the camp.
Recipe:
Black pepper
White pepper
Garlic powder
Onion powder
Coarse salt
And the super secret, never told, beck only knows ingredient: Old Bay Seasoning.
Funnel all into dry bottle. Cork and Shake up.
Yep. They think I’m a genius. 
Keep my secret, please.
Uhhh??? You just posted it on the internet, you know?
It’s not like it’s a state secret. Jeez, calm down.
You first.
Gato, you tickle me:)
placing Brag Crown on head
swirling on Queen of Short Hair cape, complete with red satin lining and stand-up collar dripping with every imaginable red sparklies
adjusting bandolier belt with appropriate tools for Super Hero type tools
(By the way, I don’t have a waist, never did, so this bandolier is BRILLIANT!)
Okay, here goes nothing!
I married the ONLY guy in the entire United States Army who never smoked nor drank. And he hates sports. In addition to these incredibly sexy attributes, he announced years and years ago, that he would NEVER, EVER be interested in camping.
Seems that twenty years of sleeping in the mud and also eating vast quantities of dirt completely turned him off “roughing it.”
I decided that since I am fond of beds with clean sheets, running water, and flush toilets, the “no camping” rule works for me.
A saint, I tell you.
He does participate in typical, annoying, aggravating behavior. I choose to let him live.
The grandkids worship him. I’m pretty crazy about him, too.
And both of us are deliriously joyful that there is NO Deer Camp in our relationship.
~VOW
~VOW can I be you?
Beck, you can hold up the hem of my cape.
~VOW
Why, thanks for the honor.
May I point out, my dearest Bekkers, said cape hem will NEVER be located in any Deer Camp.
“Oh, I am SO sorry, I cannot possibly go to Deer Camp! I have Very Important Royal Cape duties!”
Then you and I can go to Sonic.
~VOW
Alright, now you’re talking !:):)
DIL and I are headed to Texarkana for my regular monthly clinic with the nutritionist.(Yay! freebies)
DIL has a long list of stuff the Deer Campers need. She’s going to Sam’s Club while I’m doing my thing. I sure hope they gave her a debit card.
I told her to add Lysol spray and Febreze to the list. And bleach, lots and lots of bleach.
So …we drive to the camp to deliver the trunk load of goods the hunters needed. I really need to pee. We stopped at Sonic on the way. Being a savvy Sonic devotee’ I know the best deal on Lime-ades is during Happy hours (2-4pm) I order the big one. Bad idea. No where to pee between Hope(the little place, not the feeling) and home. Unless you are a road-broke female. IOW, a woman who can pee in the woods. A skill the average red-neck chick aspires to achieve.
Well, not me. I like a nice clean bathroom with a nice clean toilet and plenty of Charmin. And a locking door.
By the time we get to the camp my feeling of ‘hope’ is that I can make it to the bath-house before an embarrassing incident occurs.
Against my better judgement I go into the bath-house. I can’t describe the utter horrors.
I do achieve a position that allows me to pee without touching one thing. I got a cramp in my left thigh, but I managed. What relief.of course there wasn’t any toilet paper. Ugh!
Drip dry is all I can do. I’m not washing my hands in that sink. I have hand sanitizer in my bag.
I get out and tell the big Wrek there’s no paper in the bathroom. He sez “Yeah, I know, each guy has their own paper, they keep it in their stuff and only get it out to go to the toilet” WTH? What kind of rule is that? Apparently it’s in the camp bylaws. Saves hurt feelings and angry screaming for toilet paper at inopportune moments. I asked him, who came up with that? He proudly sez “Me” Holy crappola!
You know what? This man: the Big Wrek, fisherman, fixer of things, no talking, list making, snake killing, gone all the time, old redneck man may just be a ‘genius’. I’m stunned.
Still, I tell him, as I hand him the giant size bleach jug to clean that nasty bath-house.