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LIGHTS in every colour of the rainbow illuminated the forest. People wearing antlers on their heads wandered through a barrage of soap bubbles that released puffs of dry ice smoke as they popped. In the distance, I could hear the sound of music and video game bleeps. No, it wasn鈥檛 a rave, nor had I gone back in time to some kind of Druid ritual. I was on a tiny island off the coast of Washington in the US Pacific north-west, attending a five-day festival for hackers called .

According to security researcher David Hulton, one of the camp鈥檚 founders, it is the only hacker camp in the US (鈥渢oor鈥� is 鈥渞oot鈥� spelled backwards, a nod to the goal of hackers to 鈥済et root鈥�, which means achieving access to the deepest level of code on a computer). Modelled on European summer events like Germany鈥檚 and the UK鈥檚 , it is a place where artists, makers, tech tinkerers, hackers and amateur scientists meet to share ideas and toast marshmallows under the stars.

The theme of 2022鈥檚 ToorCamp, which is held every two years in July, was 鈥渄eerpunk鈥�. The theme inspired art and costumes that merged cyberpunk with the natural landscape where the camp was held, a modest private resort where yurts overlook a tiny beach and an organic garden supplied edible flowers to groups who entered the hacker cooking contest. Under a huge dome, experts gave talks on everything from crypto scams and ham radio tricks, to building autonomous sailboats for hauling cargo.

Bucking the stereotype of geeks who hide from the sunlight in basement server farms, these are nerds who love to combine outdoor adventure with soldering circuit boards and software tricks.

Hacker camps are different from typical tech gatherings in other ways, too. Nobody is here to promote their start-up and most attendees have a healthy distrust of corporate and government authorities. They have stickers on their laptops that say things like, 鈥淚 void warranties for a living鈥�. But there is a wholesome family vibe 鈥� it is more Doctor Who than Black Mirror. This year, ToorCamp hosted a couple of dozen high school students who came to learn more about careers in technology. Two of them gave a talk about teaching non-programmers to create machine learning algorithms using a 鈥渧isual programming language鈥� that allows people to write code using graphics. They told me that they hope to break down barriers to entry for people who want to shape the future of AI.

At ToorCamp, the lines between technology, politics and culture were blurred. In one area, called Beerocracy, attendees could try a terrifying drinking game where anyone who wanted beer had to wait in line, answer obnoxious questions from 鈥渁gents鈥� and fill out endless, complicated forms to get alcohol. If you wanted a second round, the forms got a lot longer. But if you didn鈥檛 have the right colour pen, all hope wasn鈥檛 lost. 鈥淏ribes accepted鈥�, a sign outside read. (I offered up a tin of candy.) Somehow, the game became weirdly fun, while also reminding everyone that bureaucracy is the enemy of freedom.

ToorCamp was on an island with pretty bad cell reception, so a group called ShadyTel built an extremely local telephone system that anyone could plug into. They also created a fake digital currency called ShadyBucks, complete with credit cards. The cards came with instructions that read: 鈥淧lease do not try to hack your card or the bank. If you attempt, the outcome may be rewarding for you. And we hate that.鈥� Of course, the hacking commenced immediately. By the last day of camp, several people managed to have more ShadyBucks on their cards than there had ever been in the bank.

We also managed to use the ShadyTel payphones to order tacos delivered by drone. Just call 4-NFT, because at ToorCamp, NFT stands for 鈥渘ifty flying tacos鈥�. Though the games at ToorCamp were silly, they also had a serious side. More than anything, hackers love to understand how systems work and make them better. When a system isn鈥檛 working 鈥� whether it is a bureaucracy or a currency 鈥� it can鈥檛 go unchallenged.

Like many people at ToorCamp, I came to have fun through sly trickery and an earnest desire to build a better world. ToorCamp proved to be a brilliant model of constructive disobedience, where people questioned the status quo by building a new one. It would be easy for a place like this to exude a 鈥渂urn it all down鈥� sensibility that is all too relatable in our world right now. But instead, organisers encouraged campers to imagine new ways to build everything from phone networks and banks, to schools and software. For a few precious days, we escaped into a small, autonomous society devoted to reimagining all that exists. And it felt good.