A 1972 Shasta Compact, Not My First Rodeo

By Leon White

I’ve always been drawn to vintage things—objects from a time when quality materials, craftsmanship, and thoughtful design mattered. Vintage trailers capture all of that in one rolling package. While my wife and I aren’t collectors by nature, we reached a point where tent camping lost its appeal. Comfort, especially when weather turns, started to matter.

This 1972 Shasta Compact is our second trailer. Our first was a 1985 Scotty, a 13-foot project that I purchased sight unseen from Massachusetts. Shipping costs were outrageous, so instead I turned it into a ten-day road trip from Seattle—visiting friends and family along the way. The total cost was far less than shipping, and the experience was unforgettable, even if I caught some good-natured grief for trusting a seller so far away.

As Carl Holm says in the book Vintage Camper Trailers, “Anyone who has an old trailer knows it turns into a sickness.” That rang true for me. As a professional artist and stone sculptor, I recognize the same shared obsession among craftspeople—we’re drawn to things made by hand, with intention.

Our first rally visit in 2017 sealed the deal. Walking through rows of vintage trailers felt like finding a long-lost family. The personalities, the creativity, the relaxed vibe—it all clicked. I remember turning to my partner, Tony, and saying, This is what I want. Age, style, and size mattered.

Not long after, a Craigslist ad for a 1972 Shasta Compact popped up on Whidbey Island. I bought it the same day. We sold the Scotty shortly after—avoiding what my partner feared would become a “trailer trash” driveway. I prefer to think of it as trailer class.

The Shasta was largely original and road-ready, requiring mostly deep cleaning and thoughtful personalization. But one issue surfaced quickly: a sagging ceiling over the kitchen hinted at an old leak. Eventually, while inspecting it one winter, the ceiling gave way entirely—rotted wood and soaked insulation. Not ideal, but I’d learned a lot from the Scotty, and round two was easier.

I resealed the roof, repaired the ceiling supports, replaced insulation, and installed patterned vinyl paneling without removing the cabinets. A fresh white vinyl ceiling throughout brightened the interior and made the compact space feel larger. Sometimes small visual changes make the biggest impact.

We also made practical upgrades. Wanting a toilet, I reconfigured the closet space and highly recommend the Thetford Curve Porta Potti—comfortable, adult-sized, and thoughtfully designed. Lighting throughout was upgraded to LED, both 12V and 110V. Every exterior trim piece was removed, cleaned, resealed with fresh butyl tape, and reinstalled using stainless steel hardware—hundreds of shiny new fasteners well worth the investment.

Rather than pay for a paint job that cost more than the trailer itself, I painted it by hand using spray cans. Multiple light coats did the trick, resulting in a soft, antique white finish with green accents that complement our SUV. Inside, we kept the original green-speckled linoleum and coordinated fabrics throughout. I sewed new cushions, curtains, and pillows—keeping the palette calm and cohesive.

We replaced the original aluminum ceiling vent with a white plastic one to bring in more light and added a simple insulation trick for hot days using foil-backed foam. Practical, inexpensive, and effective.

Other modifications included removing the unused bunk, adjusting seating height for comfort, restoring dried-out paneling with stain, and embracing the slightly lifted stance from a flipped axle—perfect for rougher roads. A fold-out step made entry easier.

One of my favorite upgrades came from rally inspiration: a crowned awning supported by rigid rods to prevent sagging. After some research and sewing custom pockets into our awning, the result was both functional and elegant.

The finishing touch? Baby Moon hubcaps and a custom logo designed by my brother-in-law—a hammock-shaped emblem named Relaxin’. It fits perfectly.

This Shasta is our keeper. We’ll officially christen it on an upcoming camping trip celebrating our 30th anniversary—and I can’t imagine a better way to mark the occasion.

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