"Rock Point Sucks" was written in blood on the bathroom wall.  The message, although disturbing in its presentation, was inarguable.  Rock Point did indeed suck.

Situated on the shore of Lake Erie, just south of a little town called Dunnville, Rock Point features hundreds of camp sites, over forty toilets and eleven showers, lots of trees and a very long stretch of beach.  Sounds great.  What you won't find in the brochure is the millions of mosquitoes and deer fly living in the surrounding marsh and flying in on the stagnant afternoon air to feast on unwitting campers.  A few bugs aren't usually cause for complaint, but this was ridiculous.

The beach was accessed by descending a limited number of stair cases within the park.  Although we had a "water front" site, the closest beach access was too far to walk to in swim suits (unless you wanted to feed the mosquitoes).  Once you did get to the beach, you might enjoy the sandy sections, but more likely you'll find yourself in a sharp pebbly sections of beach which looked like it was saturated with rice kernels.  We think the "rice" was actually bits of shells broken up.

Although we walked along the water's edge, the huge dead fish (that's plural fish, not singular fish) that washed up on shore left enough of an "ick" factor to quell any desire to swim.

We decided to escape the bugs and head into Dunnville for an easy supper.  Something seemed a little off with that town.  An inordinate number of jeeps and pickup trucks wasn't enough to tip us off.  We were too busy trying to find a place to eat.  Restaurants didn't seem a huge priority for Dunnville.  We found a KFC, a Tim Hortons, a Subway in a Macs Store, and some strange restaurant called "Sub Venture".  It was empty of patrons, which is never a good sign, so we continued hunting.  We finally found "Squires Pizza" which had a fairly extensive menu beyond Pizza.  Nice staff, okay food.  But something started to dawn on us.  Everyone was white.  All of the men (and many women) were tattooed and those men who weren't wearing cowboy hats had buzzed heads.  Women were mostly dressed as the most stereotypical white trash.  Everyone was talking about the Mudcat festival happening tomorrow.  Surprise, it was a tractor pull.... with pick up trucks instead of tractors.

In the morning, the campground had a strong wind.  It was sufficient to keep the mosquitoes at bay, and suddenly the park didn't seem quite so bad.  We enjoyed wandering the large park, had an ice cream at the park store around lunch time, and looked for fossils on the rocky parts of the beach.  Among the fossils of coral and other things we couldn't identify, there were numerous cans of Busch and Budlight.  It was during this time that we discovered the "hiking trail" actually fronted a gun range where we found spent shotgun shells.  This left us feeling uneasy about walking amongst the trees, so we stuck to the camp roads.  Upon nearing our campsite, there was a big black pickup parked out front with a bunch of shaved head, tattooed, good ol' boys stowing long shotgun-looking objects in the back.  They left shortly after we arrived, but the unease lingered.

By mid afternoon the wind had died down and the bugs were back.  Rock Point went back to sucking.

Will I go back?  Not intentionally.