• Gen Z is driving the growth in camping, with many in the generation favoring glamping experiences.
• Camping spending is also rising, and Gen Z spends more daily on the pastime than other generations.
• KOA is expanding glamping options to meet the growing demand for luxury camping.

Camping — the ultimate budget travel option — is more popular than ever with Gen Z.

More campers today are younger, and although they may be looking for an affordable way to travel, they're not afraid to get spendy during their trips, according to Kampgrounds of America's 2025 Camping and Outdoor Hospitality Report, which was released Wednesday.

Toby O'Rourke, CEO and president of KOA, North America's largest network of privately-owned campgrounds, told Business Insider in an interview last month that Americans are sticking with camping, if not at pandemic-era levels, even after revenge travel had vacationers going big with international trips and cruises.

"Definitely, the growth is being driven by those younger generations," she said, adding that 61% of all new campers last year were Gen Z or millennials.

KOA found camping spending is also on the rise, reaching $61 billion in 2024. Gen Z campers spent more daily, $266, than any other generation, while baby boomers spent the least, $134. O'Rourke said that could be because younger campers are renting gear for activities or spending more on food and experiences in the local community.

Move over RVs

Between 2020 and 2023, the height of pandemic restlessness, the camping surge was so good for KOA it turned its owner, financier and investor Oscar Tang, into a billionaire.

When O'Rourke started at KOA 15 years ago, their customer base was overwhelming baby boomers — typically traveling in RVs. Today, while the retirees have stuck around, younger generations are making up a greater share and are more interested in "glamping," or more elevated camping experiences with unique accommodations.

KOA also found that 72% of campers consider it a cost-effective travel option, and O'Rourke said they continue to make it work even when facing economic uncertainty.

"They see high value in stays at campgrounds over how far their dollar goes at a resort or hotels even," she said.

"They're going to camp closer to home, or they're going to take a shorter stay versus a longer stay," she added, "or they might be canceling other types of trips and camping instead."

Travel industry experts previously told BI that while travel demand is softening in advance of a summer of economic uncertainty, many Americans will simply change their plans rather than cancel a trip altogether, instead opting for more affordable vacations like road trips or national parks.

Glamping's lower barrier to entry

Gen Z campers are also fueling the rise in glamping, which O'Rourke said is a priority for KOA, especially as luxury travel spending continues to grow.

"Almost every KOA has some form of glamping," she said.

Glamping is a broad term but generally refers to a camping experience beyond the basics, with amenities typically associated with traditional accommodations, like a hotel. Glamping can refer to a large, fancy tent with a real bed, a tiny cabin, or something unique like a treehouse or yurt.

For instance, KOA has a glamping resort in Maine — the Terramor Outdoor Resort, near Acadia National Park — with 64 canvas tents featuring electricity and wifi, a portable heater, and a noise machine.

While KOA added 15 new campgrounds last year, O'Rourke said the company is focused on upgrading existing locations with more glamping or specialty patio sites for RVs. She said she's always focused on addressing pain points or the aspects of camping that make it too difficult for someone to try for the first time or stick with.

"That's what I put a lot of my time into thinking about because otherwise if it's difficult, they're not going to do it anymore," she said. "How do we continue to modernize our parks to meet the demands and expectations of the current camper and the changing camper?"

• I spent over $900 to visit a gorgeous remote corner of the Grand Canyon region.
• Havasupai Falls is a series of stunning turquoise waterfalls located on the Havasupai Reservation.
• Before visiting, guests must reserve three-night camping reservations, which cost $455 per person.

When I came across an Instagram photo of waterfalls cascading over rocky red cliffs into turquoise pools, I knew I needed to learn more about this magical place and how I could get there.

A quick internet search led me to pursue my dream bucket-list trip at Havasupai Falls.

Havasupai Falls, which refers to a series of stunning waterfalls, is named for the First Nation tribe reservation where they're located — in a remote corner of the Grand Canyon ecosystem, outside the jurisdiction of the national park.

The first step in the journey was securing reservations

The first part of planning my trip was securing permits to visit Havasupai Falls.

Unlike other popular hikes like The Wave and Half Dome, which use Recreation.gov to issue permits, the Havasupai people manage their own permit process through their official website.

Havasupai management uses the term "reservation" instead of "permit" since the process involves reserving a physical space at the campgrounds. Reservations cost $455 per person for the minimum three-night, four-day reservation.

Through the Havasupai website, I created an account and accessed the cancellation and transfer list, which allows visitors to take over reservations made and forfeited by other travelers.

To my surprise, I was able to snag a reservation just 17 days in advance.

We packed up our car and headed out for our trip

My husband and I loaded our backpacks into our camper van in early February with everything we would need for the strenuous hike.

We waved goodbye to the comforts of our Las Vegas home and drove 2 ½  hours to our first stop: a required check-in at the Grand Canyon Caverns Inn in Peach Springs, Arizona.

We met with a Havasupai representative who issued all the necessary paperwork after providing our proof of ID and printed reservation documents.

We were given trail maps and directions for the 60-mile drive through the Havasupai reservation to arrive at our starting point, Hualapai Hilltop.

Once there, we hoisted our 35-pound packs onto our backs and took the first nervous step to begin our adventure.

We began the 10-mile hike to our Havasupai campsite

We started the 10-mile hike to the campground at noon. The sharply descending trail dropped us through layer upon layer of colorful rocks, and had my legs shaking from effort even though I'm an experienced backpacker.

Admittedly, I was anxious about what was to come for the rest of the hike if this was just the intro.

My nerves gave way to excitement when the trail led us gently downhill through gorgeous, picture-worthy canyons before arriving in Supai Village.

As we walked into Supai Village, we saw signs stating that photography is strictly prohibited. The tiny village is an active community and a home-base hub for the Havasupai people, who cherish their privacy.

We hiked past wooden houses with grazing horses and burros lingering in side yards, nodding to the few hikers who had opted to stop to rest their legs.

The well-marked route led us out of Supai Village, with a bend in the dirt road quickly obscuring any sign of the community we left behind.

Our feet were officially tired by this time, but the remaining 1.5-mile hike to the campground gave us a glimpse of Havasu Creek, the legendary source of the blue-green waters.

After 9 miles of hiking, we encountered our first waterfalls

At around 9 miles into our hike, we encountered our first three Havasupai waterfalls — Fifty Foot Falls, Little Navajo Falls, and Old Navajo Falls — before arriving at a makeshift plywood bridge.

We crossed the bridge one by one and ventured on until we got our first jaw-dropping look at the cascading Havasu Falls.

Suddenly, we understood why Beyoncé filmed her "Spirit" music video at this unique natural wonder.

We grabbed a spot at the Havasupai Campground

After taking pictures of Havasu Falls, we headed down the steep path to the official entrance to the campground.

We slowly hiked through the long stretch of first-come, first-served campsites, designated solely by a picnic table nestled within the narrow confines of soaring canyon walls.

My insistence on finding the perfect place to pitch our tent paid off when we came upon a beautiful campsite in Havasupai.

We inched toward the drop-off into the canyon 100 feet below and realized we were looking over the edge of one of the most famous Havasupai waterfalls: Mooney Falls.

The highlight of our trip was hiking the Havasu Creek Trail

Time went fast during our four days in Havasupai.

Our favorite hike of the trip was on the Havasu Falls Trail, which stretches from Mooney Falls to Beaver Falls.

This "Goonies"-style hike was described by the Havasupai people (and the ominous waiver we signed) as being "extremely treacherous."

We descended stone tunnels and moss-covered wooden ladders to get to the bottom of Mooney Falls. But in the end, we saw a view worthy of all the pictures we could take, frame, and hang in our home.

The 2.5-mile trail led us past grazing bighorn sheep, through multiple river crossings and countless unnamed waterfalls.

Soon, we arrived at our turnaround point and Beaver Falls, a terraced work of art created by minerals deposited by Havasu Creek.

Before leaving, my husband and I vowed to return to Havasupai Falls

When our time at Havasupai Falls came to an end, we didn't mind the long 10-mile uphill hike to get back to our car or the over $900 we spent on this utterly unique adventure.

We begrudgingly trudged along like two kids who didn't want this one-of-a-kind trip to ever end.

We consoled each other by swearing that we'd be back again to see Havasupai Falls, a place we'd fallen hopelessly and insatiably in love with.

This story was originally published on February 28, 2024, and most recently updated on April 3, 2025.

• In the fall of 2022, I left Colorado in a Ram ProMaster to test out van life.
• I headed to Taos, New Mexico, where I spent my first night in a forest I'd camped in before.
• I thought the spot's familiarity would provide comfort, but the lack of cell service was unsettling.

I barreled down New Mexico State Road 150 in a Ram ProMaster.

Just as I reached Taos, New Mexico, the curves in the road were familiar, and I recognized brown national forest signs pointing to different campgrounds.

It was familiar for a reason. Five months earlier, I'd spent two nights camping on the same road in Carson National Forest with 10 friends.

This time, though, I was alone. It was my first night on a two-week road trip in a van rented from Native Campervans.

I was testing out van life and figured I'd ease my way into the trip by staying at a familiar campsite.

It was a mistake.

I realized too late that the lack of cell service left me on edge the entire night. An unfamiliar spot with service would've been the smarter choice for night one.

I should've prioritized cell service versus familiarity

I pulled into an empty Cuchillo Del Medio Campground. I looked down at my phone, and it had zero bars.

I expected this. My weekends camping and backpacking in Colorado often involve unsent text messages, unread emails, and no service.

I was prepared for this, too. I had a satellite phone and bear spray. But what I wasn't prepared for was how uneasy I would feel without service.

I shot over a satellite message letting my friends know I had safely arrived at my campsite for the night. Then, I was left with solitude.

I've spent plenty of days alone without service, but I was on edge my first night without the comfort of being able to easily call 911 or a friend. Sure, I could use the satellite phone, but it wasn't the most user-friendly, and I worried about needing to rely on it in an emergency.

Every sound outside rattled me: a loud truck on the road, voices from the campers who arrived later in the night, and branches breaking off a nearby tree. I constantly peeked out the van's windows and checked to see if anyone was lurking at my campsite.

I attempted to fall asleep but never quite reached the deep sleep my body craved.

On the other hand, if I'd had cell service, I'm convinced my mind would've allowed me the REM sleep I needed.

I knew I wanted moments without service, but night one wasn't the right time

A lack of cell service was something I craved with van life. I wanted to be in nature with fewer distractions.

I could read without accidentally winding up on TikTok, journal without needing to reply to a text, and soak in the outdoors without worrying about an unsent email.

It took a couple of days to get comfortable, and peaceful nights filled the rest of my itinerary.

Ultimately, a lack of service made me feel like I was diving headfirst into van life, and I realized too late that I wanted to slowly wade into the experience.