Name any part of a hospital, and there’s a good chance Carey Cowart has logged some hours in it over the past 30-plus years. “I’ve worked everything from materials management in the warehouse to sterile processing to operating room to pediatrics to intensive care, in different hospitals across the Valley,” he says. “Most recently, I worked as a dialysis technician at Sunrise Hospital.”

Cowart, a musician and DJ who came up through Vegas’ hardscrabble 1990s music scene, seems to regard his work as a healthcare worker with a soft disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe that he was the one who did it. “It was long shifts, 12-plus hour shifts, sometimes 15 to 18 hours,” he says. “It was already a high-stress environment … and then the pandemic started.”

The onset of COVID, and its effect on Valley hospitals, sent Cowart reeling. “It was scary to begin with, because of the unknowns. Then the first and second wave came through, and it started wearing down on the nurses just because of the physical sense of putting on all the PPE. And that was exacerbated when patients started dying.

“A lot of my patients over the years have died, and I’m used to that,” he continues. “But the sheer numbers … and the families not being able to be there was very difficult. And then when the nurses themselves”—his voice catches—“nurses that I’ve worked with for years, started passing, it got even more difficult.”

Cowart began to have panic attacks and emotional outbursts. “It affected me in ways I’d never been affected before,” he says. And then, during the summer of 2020, Cowart’s wife of 20 years, animator/illustrator Karen Jaikowski, suggested they sell their Vegas home and move to a property they had acquired in Dolan Springs, Arizona, about 80 minutes southeast of Vegas.

They had recently restored the cabin on the property, and it was ready for move-in. Cowart “ran the pros and cons” in his head, and decided to do it.

They spent their first six months working on the property. “I was gathering my thoughts, living the life that’s in front of me,” Cowart says. “Then it came to me, still being a caregiver at heart, that I had to share this place. I need to take care of the caregivers, and their families as well.”

Inspired, the couple purchased a “secluded, beautiful” two-acre campground property a few miles down the road, which they christened 22 Vikings Camp and Cabin. Beginning this month, car/tent and RV campers can set up on one of 22 Vikings’ trio of sites (a cabin and glamping dome is set to be added later this summer), and enjoy a few days of horseback riding, mountain or dirt biking, hiking nearby Antelope Canyon, bird watching, mineral hunting or simple peace and quiet.

And though everyone is welcome at 22 Vikings, Cowart says he’s hopeful his fellow healthcare workers—and their families and friends—will come to the campground to shed their work-related stresses.

“It’s a safe, positive environment for them to just be with their families,” Cowart says. “I know, from the hectic schedule of working 12-plus hour shifts, that you don’t get to see your wife and your kids. Even when you do, it’s not quality time. Out here, there’s nothing but quality time. … [And] Mother Nature is the best medicine you can have.”

Cowart has certainly benefitted from that medicine. He sounds energized. He and his wife are building everything pretty much themselves, with the help of volunteers and donated money and materials. They’re planning to introduce yoga, reiki, massage, guided meditation and the occasional “ecstatic dance session,” with beats provided by the man himself. (“I’ve been working on tons of original music,” Cowart says.)

And it will all be rooted in the character of the campground’s name, he says.

“22 Vikings originated with my wife. She’s an artist, and some of our artistic influences are [Frank] Frazetta, Olivia [De Berardinis]—you know, medieval fantasy and Viking art,” he says. “She and I believe that she was a Viking in a previous life. And we like the Viking ethos—not the pillaging and stuff, but an ethos of strength, honesty, solidarity.

“22 is an arbitrary number, but everyone can be a part of the 22,” Cowart says. “It’s about living your life in a show of strength, that a feeling of helplessness can be overcome.”

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