Alone In The Woods
After a sudden snap the taste of steel was joined by the unmistakable taste of blood. I slowly withdrew the blade from my mouth. Turning on my tent light I sheepishly examined the metal clasp which now hung broken from the knife. In the darkness I had been struggling to open my new switchblade, and stupidly decided to use my teeth. I had forgotten all about the safety clasp… a feature that was sadly not also idiot-proof. It was my first time camping alone and I wanted the knife open and within reach as I slept.
I have been camping fairly regularly for almost three years, enjoying the peaceful escape that being in nature brings. Sitting out with friends, listening to music, cooking burgers, and drinking beers. What was not to enjoy?
Well plenty of things; the cold, the rain, hiking with a full pack, leaky tents, sodden socks, and uncomfortable sleeps to name but a few. Enough reasons to deter most people, including my rapidly waning circle of willing friends. Instead of whining about a lack of participants, or kidnapping my compadres, I focused on what I could control, I could camp by myself. This would however, require a great feat of mental gymnastics.
On a number of occasions I had stayed up after the others had gone to bed. Finishing off a beer and turning off the music, I would always notice a distinct change in the air when sat alone. The forest can be a noisy place, filled with the rustling of leaves, the pitter patter of rain, animals in the bushes, birds flapping their wings, and branches blowing in the breeze, but what else lay hidden in the shadows?
One of our core evolutionary traits is our ability to recognise patterns, be it changes in the seasons, what ripe food looks like, or the sound of footsteps approaching. We are constantly surrounded by visual and aural patterns that leave us highly trained to identify a source as quickly as possible. Every animal’s existence depends on it.
When faced with completely random stimuli however, our brain has a very difficult time not turning these inputs into images. Our mind starts to race and our fight or flight response leaps into action.
Even with a host of friends asleep just feet away I would find it extremely difficult for my ears not to prick at every noise or to shoot a look over my shoulder. Soon I would be standing up, squinting into the darkness with adrenaline coursing through my body. I wanted logic to best my instinct, focusing on just how improbable it was that some dangerous maniac would be wandering the wilds of Wicklow in the middle of the night. Cowering in my tent I knew the only way to overcome these fears was by facing them head on and spending a night alone in the woods. How much harm could I come by?
It was late August and I had picked a quiet wood where I had camped multiple times. It was business as usual; set up my tent, gather the firewood, light a fire, cook my dinner, and kick back. I was camping close by a river, a decision I quickly regretted. In the still of the night the flow of water seemed deafening and would surely mask any approaching footsteps… Or so my paranoia told me. I met every unwelcome thought with a logical answer and soon the woods were making a lot less noise than the battle for supremacy in my head.
Concerned with imaginary threats I lost sight of the actual threats all around me. Myself for one. In a brief and stupid moment I picked up a stone that fell from the fireside. A sharp burn struck my thumb and began to grow. Not knowing how badly this might escalate I immediately grew extremely worried and aware of just how vulnerable I was alone in the woods. Trying to keep calm I let the river I had previously cursed run cool over my thumb. I had had a narrow escape.
I could not help thinking of the hundreds of thousands of generations of humans who knew this lesson since pre-humans had invented fire some 1.7 million years ago. ‘Don’t pick up rocks by the fire’ was a lesson I already knew, but now it was a lesson I would not forget.
Camping for me is the practice of mindful efficiency. Where you set up your shelter, what wood you gather, how you light the fire, the positioning of the frying pan etc. All simple and repeated activities that you get a little bit better at each time thanks to every little lesson. They are activities that connect us with a dormant part of ourselves that has become steadily neglected as we have evolved. In the space of just two generations our entire way of life has seismically shifted, and maybe there are parts of us that are struggling to keep up.
After dinner and drinks by the fire I was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. I was not too sure by what, but following the want to get up and stretch my legs I took a wander around. My eyes swiftly adjusted to the tranquil dark of the woods that now seemed a respite from the baking heat and blazing light. When I returned I sat a few feet away from the fire, watching over the scene as a spectator rather than a participant. I felt considerably safer and calmer in the shadows, maybe putting my finger on another primal lesson.
My final lesson about knife safety thankfully did not come at too high a price. The small nick on the inside of my cheek was shallow and the shame of the experience hurt far more. I was clearly more of a danger to myself than any would be threat. I had put off my adventure for most of the summer, busying myself researching how to stay calm while camping alone. I unearthed nothing groundbreaking. No big secrets. I had instead rediscovered just another reminder that the best lessons come in doing.
I had spent the night listening to my favourite music, watching the fire crackle and the stars appear through the trees. I had learned plenty. By the time it was time for bed my mind was as still as the night around me and I slept soundly.
