My heart raced excitedly as I pulled up to the Icehouse Canyon Trailhead. The mid-afternoon sun was high in the sky — luckily, the worst of the day’s heat had passed. As I worked through my last-minute checks, I got several puzzled and intrigued looks from those hanging out in the parking lot. This late in the day, most people were completing their hikes, not starting them. I, however, was about to embark on my first solo backpacking trip, not planning to return to my car until the next day. After ensuring I had everything I needed for the night, I laced up my hiking shoes, hoisted my backpack, and set off along the trail.
I’d grown up exploring the outdoors. Since my first time camping in elementary school, I’ve fostered a blossoming love for nature, wilderness, and exploration. Throughout my middle and high school years, I spent many days on hiking trails, by lakes, and in the desert. When night fell, I gazed up at the billions of stars above. As I entered college, I developed an interest in backpacking. What started as consuming YouTube videos in my dorm room quickly evolved into many gear purchases and hours spent route planning. Soon, I found myself on the trails.
Unfortunately, my ambitions surpassed those around me. At first, I wrangled my family on trips. However, they also had their own lives and interests to nurture. If I wanted to pursue this growing hobby, I had to graduate and eventually set out alone.
As I took my first few steps on the Icehouse Canyon Trail, I tried not to let my nerves convince me to turn around. Instead, I channeled that energy into experiencing the beauty around me. The large pine trees gave the air a fresh, woody aroma and blessed me with welcome shade. The large silver granite rocks scattered throughout the trail added a pop of brightness to the brown forest floor. Icehouse Creek bubbled below, a reassuring sign that water was close by.
Soon my anxiousness began to subside as I settled into the rhythm of hiking. Building up a thirst, I maneuvered my way down to the riverbed and pulled out my water filter. Drinking cold, refreshing river water, I smiled with contentment, grateful for this opportunity to be outside. But I couldn’t rest for long, as I needed to pick up the pace if I wanted to make it to camp before sundown.
I boogied my way up the trail without seeing a soul. With about an hour of sunlight left in the day, most people were already driving home. However, what should have been a manageable climb was beginning to take its toll on my body. My faster-than-usual hiking pace was aggravating a not-fully-healed Achilles injury on my right leg, and I was forced to slow down.
About a mile later, I saw a figure approaching. As we grew closer, I was surprised to see that it was another person. An uneasiness started welling up inside of me. This late in the day, I wasn’t expecting to encounter someone so far out on trail. Also, he was wearing work clothes that were not suitable for hiking at all. And he had no gear, food, or water. I debated turning around, but quickly brushed off that thought. I was committed to reaching my campsite.
Slowed down by my injury, I finally reached Kelly Camp just as the sun was setting. Even though it was a warm summer day on a somewhat popular trail, I was the only one there. It was a little unnerving to realize I was truly alone, but I didn’t think about it too much as I rushed to pitch my tent before darkness settled in.
I ate a small dinner, brushed my teeth, put all my scented items in a bag, and attempted a bear hang as the sky changed colors from blue to orange, then violet, and eventually black. Searching for an appropriate place to hang my smellables in the darkness, I took a step back and fell three feet off a ledge, landing on my back. Fortunately, I wasn’t hurt, but at this moment my reality hit home.
I was all alone at night in the middle of the wilderness, with wild animals and a potentially creepy man hiding among the trees. Plus, my still-healing Achilles wasn’t doing me any favors. I suddenly felt helpless, and the peace I experienced at the beginning of my hike was replaced with an almost overwhelming fear. It was going to be a long night.
I crawled into my sleeping bag and tried my best to fall asleep. But the sounds of the forest kept me wide awake. For hours, each snap, rustle, and crunch rang loud in my ears and my mind raced on what may or may not be hunting me. At one point, I heard footsteps circling my tent. I froze, wavering between whether I should confront what was outside or lay low and avoid drawing attention toward myself. Eventually, whatever it was walked away, but my heart was racing with no signs of slowing down.
When I set out on this solo backpacking trip, I envisioned a fun adventure. One with beautiful views, memorable experiences, and the calming power of the outdoors. One where I was confident, capable, and self-reliant. These issues, fears, and insecurities were not part of the equation. I knew that this adventure would push me out of my comfort zone. I didn’t anticipate how jarring it would feel.
As I curled up inside my sleeping bag contemplating these thoughts, a mantra began to arise.
“If the things outside don’t bother me, I won’t bother them.”
I started to repeat this phase whenever I heard an unnerving noise. Slowly, I could feel my nervous system relax and my body release the tension it was holding all night. Finally, at some point in the early morning, I was able to get a few hours of sleep.
I awoke the next morning and groggily crawled out of my tent. Surprisingly, my scented items were still intact. The commotion outside the previous night convinced me that something had gotten into my food.
I initially planned to hike a few miles further and summit one of the nearby mountain peaks, but given the harrowing night before and my body’s physical condition, I decided just to head back instead. As I walked down the trail to my car, the morning light cast everything in a soft hue. The pine-scented air brightened my spirits, and the sounds of birds chirping and the creek babbling below made everything feel idyllic. I couldn’t believe that just a few hours ago I was terrified in my tent. When I finally reached my car, I sat in silence for a few minutes, relieved and filled with a newfound sense of confidence having made it through the night.
There is an inherent risk when exploring the outdoors. Adverse weather, aggressive wildlife, and unexpected accidents are all challenges you need to anticipate and know how to handle in the outdoors. By venturing into the wilderness, you acknowledge that these risks are real. And it’s in this agreement that nature pushes you out of your comfort zone. Because on an outdoor adventure, problems will arise that will force you to problem-solve to find a solution. In these moments, you move past fear, persevere, and ultimately grow, both as an outdoors person and in your everyday life.
Looking back now at my first solo backpacking trip, I chuckle at how scared I was and all the mistakes I made. But I’m also proud because this adventure taught me that I’m strong, capable, and resilient. That I can push past my fear and survive the night. This experience instilled confidence in me to do bigger and longer adventures, empowering me to continue to explore the outdoors and learn more about myself. It taught me that I’m stronger than I think, a valuable lesson I carry with me both in nature and in my daily journey. Ultimately, it was a stepping stone to the person that I am today.
I’ve found transformative empowerment in the outdoors. And if you venture into the wilderness and embrace whatever challenges you come across, I know you’ll find wisdom out there too.
