I just returned from my first solo camping expedition, and by using the term "expedition", I am making it out to be more than it was. Due to the heroism displayed during this event this post will be over-long and diverge into several different, almost completely unrelated fields. I was originally going to title this post something like "Trail of Fears" or "Oregon Trail: Texas Style". However after a moment of reflection, I picked the present title based on that book/movie about the guy who abandons all his possessions and goes to live in the woods in Alaska. I'll assume it has a happy ending, I never saw it.
With a brand new backpack, tent, lantern, compass, sleeping bag, water bottle thingy, flashlight, book, fleece jacket, hat, three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, crackers, bananas and last but not least, toilet paper; I set off to hike and camp in Bastrop State Park.I was heading for the "Lost Pines Trail" but I wasn't sure that it wouldn't have been better titled the "Lost, Pines Trail". I was going to do what I found is called, "primitive camping". Primitive camping is camping in an undisturbed natural area with no benefit of water, electricity, bathrooms and it seems, people. All that you need, you bring with you and that's what you leave with. So all I needed I brought with me, six and half hard miles into the woods and out again.
Jean-Paul Sartre once famously said "Hell is other people", and if this is true then I must have been in heaven. For over 24 hours I did not encounter a single living human being, or a dead one for that matter. I did not see people until I exited the trail on my way out. I entered the trail like Frodo Baggins, energetic, with my staff and departed like Yoda, bent over and clutching the staff for dear life. I hiked, a lot. I was carrying a great deal, it seemed, and I went as far as the park allowed me to go, away from civilization. The day was warm, not overly, but with a little up and down terrain and some gear, it was warm enough. After reaching the furthest extent of the park I found my campsite, a hill behind another hill, a few hundred years from the trail.
On a side note I must bring more water next time, I brought what I thought was an adequate supply for drinking and bathing, but it wasn't. I needed all the water for drinking and so was completely filthy, as well as being extremely thirsty. I had to many salty snacks too. I dare you to try to three eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without a liter of water at least. I conserved and never ran out but I was cautious and thus always thirsty as I made sure to only take sips now and then. I stopped on the return from the park and consumed three bottles of water.
So the day passed and then it was night, and it was as dark as it could possibly be, which left me with two options: read in my tent or read right outside of my tent. So I read in my tent, I had with me a slim volume called "Nothing To Be Frightened Of", by British novelist Julian Barnes. The book is a quasi-memoir that discusses death and the various horrors and beliefs associated with it. The book, while dark at times, is also irreverent, serious and could be quite amusing. The author pulled no punches in examining the various thoughts about death over the ages and his feeling that as an agnostic, all that awaited once the icy hand of death gripped, was the void, nothing. The book is Julian Barnes' attempt to deal with this idea as he approaches his later years and eventual demise.
It seems this was some heady reading for a camping trip, especially one where I was completely by myself in the dark woods miles away from anyone or anything. This did not really occur to me at the time, the book was quite interesting and it was only after I had finally finished it around 2 am and turned off my lantern that I had a realization. As the light dimmed to nothing I realized my small backpacking tent was shaped exactly like a coffin and this utter night I just descended into was as close to experiencing the grave as I will ever get. While this thought may sound deep, dark and perhaps even perverse it did not strike me as such. I was in a good mood and dark thoughts of the next stage did not weigh on me. Besides, I plan to be cremated.
Jean-Paul Sartre once famously said "Hell is other people". Most people misunderstand this. What Sartre meant is not that people in general are awful and should be avoided but that we view ourselves and build our perception of self through other people. True hell, true horror only comes from criticism, or rejection by others. Of course Sartre was a communist, so we must take everything he said with a grain of salt.
I made it out of the woods with soreness and some mediocre pictures. The trip did give me time to think and reflect however. And what conclusions and intellectual epiphanies did I achieve in this time? Hell is not other people, it's being really thirsty in a coffin shaped tent in the middle of the night.
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