A few thoughts on the architecture of Snow Peak Campfield Long Beach
Just got back from a couple of nights at Snow Peak Campfield in Long Beach. Most of the reviews I’ve seen (rightfully) focus the camping experience itself, so I thought I’d offer a slightly different perspective. I’m an architect, and for me, one of the most interesting parts of the our visit was seeing how Snow Peak’s approach to design and materiality translated from the scale of its products into the buildings and landscape.
Like most, one of the main things that drew me to Snow Peak was the design language of the gear itself. Good materials, careful proportions, things that are modular and adaptable without feeling overly complicated. I enjoyed seeing that same sensibility in the Campfield architecture.
The buildings are really well done. Heavy timber and board formed concrete feel appropriate to the logging history and landscape of the PNW region, while the charred shou sugi ban siding and Noguchi lanterns make the Japanese influence unmistakable.
I appreciated how the architecture quietly changes how you experience the place.
For example, at the entrance to the campground you actually pass through a physical portal as you move from the parking lot into the camping area. It’s a very simple gesture, but it creates a surprisingly strong psychological shift. You’ve left your car, but you haven’t quite left the outside world yet. Then you pass through this opening and suddenly you’re somewhere else. It’s a small piece of architecture that makes the act of arriving feel more intentional and meaningful.
The Ofuro Spa building does something similar. The building itself is low-slung and tucked into the trees, which immediately signals that it is a more intimate and private space. I especially liked the sequence you move through to get to the soaking pool. You first enter through a key-coded door in a solid exterior wall, then you are met by a solid, but freestanding wall with cubbies that doesn’t extend to the ceiling and can be walked around on both sides. Beyond that are the outdoor showers, separated from the soaking pool by a screen of vertical wood slats. So you gradually move from solid > partially enclosed > screened > before eventually arriving at the open soaking pool. It’s not something you necessarily think about while you’re doing it, but the experience of privacy is being carefully constructed as you move through the space. The architecture slowly removes you from the rest of the campground. Good architecture can change your state of mind without necessarily demanding your attention.
The experience of the Camp Store is almost the exact opposite. Where the Ofuro is low, quiet, and tucked away, the Camp Store is tall, open, and full of light. It sits out in the open and feels immediately public. There’s lounge seating inside, and outside there’s a patio with several takibi fire pits that encourage lingering and gathering. It was fun to see how the space encouraged social behavior. I watched our daughter making friends with other kids over board games, strangers discussing each other's film cameras, and campers demonstrating to each other how to use some of the gear. One night there happened to be live music and an unexpected pop-up sale of Snow Peak clothing from past seasons (my wife managed to score a pair of Japanese selvedge denim for $50). None of these things were planned parts of our visit. The building simply offered a comfortable space that naturally promoted gathering and interaction.
After admiring the buildings I went to look up who the architect was. I fully expected it to be a prominent firm out of Seattle or Portland, but I was pleasantly surprised to discover the buildings were designed by a small father/son practice (EFA Architects) from right there in Long Beach, WA. I realize that probably isn’t particularly important to most people but I thought it was really cool (think of it like buying from your local hardware store instead of Home Depot). They did a great job. (The Jyubako cabins are designed by famous Japanese architect Kengo Kuma, who some in the PNW might know for his work at the Portland Japanese Garden.)
Overall, we had a great time. Snow Peak has always been very good at making objects that feel considered without feeling precious. The Campfield extends that idea into buildings and landscape. The materials feel appropriate to the place. The buildings have different personalities depending on what they’re trying to do. The architecture doesn’t compete with camping or with the landscape; it makes both of them better.