I have two stories from the same camping trip. Yay.
Right before my first year of university, there was this orientational camping trip that they invited all of the first years on. Only about 10 or so actually signed up, and we went upstate to visit one of the reservoirs and the campsites there. It was quite a fun trip, actually. We went kayaking and visited an old airplane hangar, among other cool things. I’d definitely go again if I had the chance.
Anyway, on the first night of our trip, we ended up having to camp at a different site than we had originally planned. This site had some issues with bears (allegedly) so we were given the usual “how not to become bear food workshop before setting up our sleeping spot for the night. I was 17 and had never gone camping before. I didn’t know there would potentially be fucking bears just casually strolling about, so I was just a little terrified.
I was pretty socially awkward at that stage of my life so when I was given the choice to share a tent with a couple of other girls or have my own single tent, I went with my own. Right before it was time to tuck in, I noticed a guy who had set up in the tent next to me sneak a bag of chips from the van into his pocket. I didn’t really think anything of it until after night fell and we were all tucked in, and I heard the telltale rustling of the bag crinkling and Cheeto dusted lip smacking. This dude was a seriously loud eater.
Naturally, I couldn’t fall asleep after that. I kept imagining that wild angry bear from Brother Bear barreling in and just laying total waste to our campsite. I overthought every rustle, sure it would be the last sound I ever heard. I was just about to worry myself to sleep when I heard something…different.
Sounded like something huge, something heavy, moving slowly, like it had all the time in the world. The thing grunted, and each sound sent chills down my spine. Whatever it was, I know it wasn’t human, because it was pitch dark and no one‘s night vision was at a level where they could navigate our campsite without a torch. It came to a stop just outside my tent, right next to my head. I couldn’t breathe, I was so fucking scared. All I could think about was how flimsy the fabric of my tent was, and how easy it would be for anything to reach right through and crush my skull like a grape. Pop my vertebrae like a glow stick. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, it moved on, but I don’t think I ever went to sleep that night. The memory of dread and not being able to see its ominous, hulking mass still makes sleep a challenge on some nights.
On the last day of our trip, we were supposed to hike this beginner trail that was good for sightseeing. We were told to leave our shit behind because the hike was supposed to be a “short” one. At some point the “short” hike turned into extreme sports rock climbing up the side of a small mountain. I had never been rock climbing on an actual mountain before, but I trusted my group leader. By the time we made it down the other side, our group leader realized that we’d taken the wrong trail and were well and truly lost. There was no cell service, and no one was able to tell which direction we had came from. Did I mention we didn’t have climbing gear? I was wearing sandals. Also, there was no “trail”.
We’re about two hours in at this point, stuck at the bottom of a rocky, jagged ravine, hopelessly lost. It was at this point that the reality hit us—we could potentially die here. After freaking out for a little, our group leader picked a direction, and had all of us follow each other in a line to keep us from being separated. They put me and another kid at the front as we were most at risk of falling behind due to inexperience and asthma making it difficult to keep up. I know it was for our safety but I felt so guilty and horrible knowing that I was slowing everyone down.
We eventually found our way back to the top of the mountain, although, because it was in another area, we had to climb down a much rockier side. That shit was so fucking dangerous, looking back. I’m honestly so surprised and grateful that we managed to escape that situation without any injuries and only slightly dehydrated. Our group leader drove us into town and bought us pizza as an apology for almost killing us.
So yeah, bears and hiking safety. Take them seriously. Bring a map. No Cheetos after dusk.
I have two stories from the same camping trip. Yay.
Right before my first year of university, there was this orientational camping trip that they invited all of the first years on. Only about 10 or so actually signed up, and we went upstate to visit one of the reservoirs and the campsites there. It was quite a fun trip, actually. We went kayaking and visited an old airplane hangar, among other cool things. I’d definitely go again if I had the chance.
Anyway, on the first night of our trip, we ended up having to camp at a different site than we had originally planned. This site had some issues with bears (allegedly) so we were given the usual “how not to become bear food workshop before setting up our sleeping spot for the night. I was 17 and had never gone camping before. I didn’t know there would potentially be fucking bears just casually strolling about, so I was just a little terrified.
I was pretty socially awkward at that stage of my life so when I was given the choice to share a tent with a couple of other girls or have my own single tent, I went with my own. Right before it was time to tuck in, I noticed a guy who had set up in the tent next to me sneak a bag of chips from the van into his pocket. I didn’t really think anything of it until after night fell and we were all tucked in, and I heard the telltale rustling of the bag crinkling and Cheeto dusted lip smacking. This dude was a seriously loud eater.
Naturally, I couldn’t fall asleep after that. I kept imagining that wild angry bear from Brother Bear barreling in and just laying total waste to our campsite. I overthought every rustle, sure it would be the last sound I ever heard. I was just about to worry myself to sleep when I heard something…different.
Sounded like something huge, something heavy, moving slowly, like it had all the time in the world. The thing grunted, and each sound sent chills down my spine. Whatever it was, I know it wasn’t human, because it was pitch dark and no one‘s night vision was at a level where they could navigate our campsite without a torch. It came to a stop just outside my tent, right next to my head. I couldn’t breathe, I was so fucking scared. All I could think about was how flimsy the fabric of my tent was, and how easy it would be for anything to reach right through and crush my skull like a grape. Pop my vertebrae like a glow stick. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, it moved on, but I don’t think I ever went to sleep that night. The memory of dread and not being able to see its ominous, hulking mass still makes sleep a challenge on some nights.
On the last day of our trip, we were supposed to hike this beginner trail that was good for sightseeing. We were told to leave our shit behind because the hike was supposed to be a “short” one. At some point the “short” hike turned into extreme sports rock climbing up the side of a small mountain. I had never been rock climbing on an actual mountain before, but I trusted my group leader. By the time we made it down the other side, our group leader realized that we’d taken the wrong trail and were well and truly lost. There was no cell service, and no one was able to tell which direction we had came from. Did I mention we didn’t have climbing gear? I was wearing sandals. Also, there was no “trail”.
We’re about two hours in at this point, stuck at the bottom of a rocky, jagged ravine, hopelessly lost. It was at this point that the reality hit us—we could potentially die here. After freaking out for a little, our group leader picked a direction, and had all of us follow each other in a line to keep us from being separated. They put me and another kid at the front as we were most at risk of falling behind due to inexperience and asthma making it difficult to keep up. I know it was for our safety but I felt so guilty and horrible knowing that I was slowing everyone down.
We eventually found our way back to the top of the mountain, although, because it was in another area, we had to climb down a much rockier side. That shit was so fucking dangerous, looking back. I’m honestly so surprised and grateful that we managed to escape that situation without any injuries and only slightly dehydrated. Our group leader drove us into town and bought us pizza as an apology for almost killing us.
So yeah, bears and hiking safety. Take them seriously. Bring a map. No Cheetos after dusk.