Solo Camping
Once a year, Christina and I take intentional retreat space— a tradition that has evolved to my having solo camping time and Christina holding the hearth and dog care. Each of us stays off-line and is inwardly focused.
As long as I am able, the best retreat space for me is camping—being immersed 24/7 in nature. In the early years I backpacked. In recent years I have car camped in an established campground. A clear marker of how I’m aging is how I camp.
My thoughts about which of our tents to take—small, medium, or large—were greatly influenced by my long-time adventuring friend, Janelle, who asked, “Why wouldn’t you take the larger, more comfortable tent?”
Christina cemented my choice, “You have nothing to prove, oh circumnavigator of Lake Superior, take the tent that gives you spaciousness.”
My campsite at Salt Creek Recreation Area on the Olympic Peninsula.
Camping in the Pacific Northwest in September along the cool, ever-foggy Straits of Juan de Fuca does pose some physical comfort challenges that are real to my aging body. So, in addition to many layers of clothing to stay warm in 50-60 degree F.(10-15.5 degrees C.), I have developed some “glamping” tips to stay warm and comfortable during the long fall nights.
Our large tent enables me to stand up. (We called it the “Grandma tent” because we bought it to take the grand kids camping, which we have done. And now its size and comfort are perfect for the grandmas!) I used a storage battery inside the tent so I could plug in my heating pad. And I brought a camping chair inside the tent to assist me in that unglamorous action of going from lying prone on the ground to standing vertical.
Spacious as a little cabin!
Wandering up the mountain
The purpose of my solo was to spend time journaling, exploring, and asking some of life’s bigger questions—How am I physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually in my elder years? Do I have any unfinished business with friends or family that needs tending? What is my activist role in these perilous times?
Walking or paddling in nature has always been the best way for me to access my inner, reflective thoughts. The Salt Creek Recreation area campground is situated at the foot of Striped Peak on the basalt cliff shoreline of the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the Olympic Peninsula. With a right hip flexor injury I had no illusions about climbing Striped Peak just enjoying views of some exquisite old growth Douglas fir, western hemlock, Sitka spruce, western red cedar, and big leaf maple. I followed the Strait Slope trail with its more gentle ascent.
I love maps! My route was the long, slow climb above the Straits up to the first switch backs.
Hiking through the early morning fog among Pacific Northwest old growth trees is exquisite.
Since I was hiking alone, I asked the campground hostess if she would mind checking to be sure I was back by 5:00 p.m. Twisted ankles, falls, an encounter with a cougar—the list of potential challenges hiking alone in the wilds of the Olympic Peninsula is long. Keeping my promise to myself and Christina to be safe, I also carried snacks, extra water and clothing, a first aid kit, bear spray, and two hiking poles.
So many things to marvel at on my way up the flank of the mountain— trees, fog, glimpses of coves, late blooming flowers, and the sounds of year round resident birds. I stopped often to hydrate and eat and jotted insights in my journal. At one point a tiny singing Pacific wren followed me for about 10 yards along the forest trail. I would walk and it would fly ahead to the next shrub branch and sing its happy chorus. My forest companion.
As the fog lifted, there were beautiful views down to the Strait below.
A remarkably tenacious cedar tree seemingly growing from a rock marks a place we call “the grotto”. It is the place we scattered some of our son Brian’s ashes last fall.
Wandering carefully up the mountain, I spotted this last blooming twinflower of the season. Normally my namesake flower, Linnea borealis, only blooms in May and June.
I climbed steadily and slowly vowing to turn around at the first sign of pain, which I did. On the way up I was in wonder. On the way down I was in hurt; probably caused by the extra weight of my safe pack. Whatever the cause, my 5.5 mile trek was too long for my injured hip.
When I had returned and was cooking dinner, Alice, the campground hostess, came by to check on me. She and her husband had drivenn their rig from Florida to volunteer at a number of western campgrounds so they could experience new parts of their country. In this time of budget cuts, campground hosts are essential maintenance crews serving the U.S. Forest Service, county parks (like Salt Creek), the Bureau of Land Management and other public agencies. They clean toilets, help with registration and patrol campgrounds.
Alice had never hiked the trail to Striped Peak and was curious what I had seen. We concluded our mutually appreciative conversation about nature with a hug. I shared much appreciation for the service she was providing on behalf of all of us.
Earlier that day I had made another helpful connection with a fellow camper. Pulling the pint of milk out of my cooler to add to my black tea, I discovered I could not physically twist that cap open! So, at 7:00 a.m. I wandered the campground loop looking for someone with stronger hands. A young mountain biker changing out a tire before his morning ride was more than happy to help! Neighbors helping neighbors. Neighbors not afraid to ask for help and share bits of story. These are the truths that weave communities. They always have. They always will.
A “simple” screw top was all that stood between a perfect cup of black tea and me . . . and I could not open it without help from a neighboring camper.
My second full day—delving into my intentions
Sunrise sitting in my camp chair next to my picnic table
Rising rested from my warm night’s sleep, I lit a candle next to me on the picnic table and began writing in my journal. Creating a sacred container in a semi-public place is an invitation to trust the people around you. With tea cup and candle next to me and pen writing in my journal, no one wandered into my camp. I was alone except for the resident Douglas fir squirrel and chipmunks who were an ongoing source of entertainment.
Candle lit on my picnic table
By mid-morning I was ready to stretch and headed out to explore the low tides below the bluff. I again had friendly conversations with fellow campers and visitors. People were curious if I was a birdwatcher (binoculars around my neck). “Do you know those shorebirds?”
“Black turnstones,” I responded. “It’s a big time of migration along the Straits. Birds are pouring down from the Arctic on their way to Central and South America. Soon only our year-round resident birds will stay the winter.”
Tongue Point low tide area.
Every interaction with a stranger is an opportunity for sharing and learning. If someone asks a question, I assume they are curious. If they choose to share a story, I am eager to listen. This is the conversational web of life that holds us in place. That web wobbles when we don’t trust each other, or when we judge someone without even a conversation.
A sea cave only accessible at low tide
Back at my campsite and relighting the candle, I picked up my pen and continued journaling, this time using a technique called writing in the third person, “Once there was a woman who went solo camping to gain more clarity about her life . . .” I wrote whatever came into my mind.
Whenever my thoughts drifted, I would write that initial refrain over and start writing again. This kept me busy for several hours. By evening, the combination of writing, immersion in nature, and human interaction had woven a thread of clarity. I felt restored in my generally optimistic, hopeful outlook on the world.
On the way home the next day, I stopped for coffee and a roll at a bakery several campers had recommended. I sat at the outdoor picnic table next to the Buena Luz Bakery in Pt. Angeles, lit my candle, and turned on my emails. Taking a news break had been hugely helpful, and I wanted to re-engage with the news in an intentional way. I was met with stories of ongoing political fighting in the U.S and ongoing horrors in Gaza, Ukraine, and elsewhere. No huge surprises, but ,yet, always a surprise to learn how poorly we humans are communicating with one another.
I had found in myself a way to hold the news and still hold onto my spaciousness. My soul had been filled with the long view of nature’s cycles and resilience. My heart was restored by interactions with kind strangers. My reset mechanism on gratitude was strong. I looked around at the little coastal port city below me and sat in awe of the privilege of my life at this time in the planet’s history. I am ready for the next act of courage that will be needed from me.
Sunset in the fog over Tongue Point at high tide.
Thank you for this delightful report of your annual solo adventure dear Ann. Your words inspire me to reach out more to strangers to connect and leave them with the kind gesture of engaging and listening.
Thank you, GG, your words mean a lot to me for you have done so many solo camping quests yourself.
Your time with the trees, growing beings, birds, and web of life along with tea and a journal sounds deeply nourishing for the heart and soul, Ann. Good for you for taking the big tent — smart!
Hugs from Toronto.
James
Dear James, I always love hearing from you! And I appreciate the support for taking the big tent. Ann
Thanks again for sharing
You are most welcome, Larry!
Every word added light, grounding, and breath to my body. Thank you reminding me to take retreats as needed in these times. I appreciate the way you allowed us to follow you in on this journey. Lots of love. This is just what I needed.
Appreciate the kind words, Sarri. We each are doing so much in our lives. I think it is important to trust that when we step back and retreat others are stepping forward to do the work of tending the world. And when we return, we are a much stronger community member ourselves, ready to take our turn at tending again.
Ann it is always a joy to hear about your adventures in nature. I am always inspired by your love and gratitude for the world. Thank you for sharing this story as we celebrate the Equinox tomorrow. Much love to you and Christina.
And thank you, Sharon, for bringing forth the honoring of this big time of the year in the north. Night and day are equal now. The creatures around us are so busy preparing for the long winter—the migrating birds, the seed gathering squirrels, the garden giving forth everything it’s got! To pause and notice is to become more in tune with the earth which supports us in so many ways.
Thank you AnnLinnea for sharing this. Very helpful and deep. The photos are amazing!
You are welcome, Irene. The Salt Creek area is amazing!
Dear Ann,
Reading your post while laying dizzy on the couch with a cold. Thank you for
taking me into the beauty of your solo camping. With greetings from Berlin and best wishes, Franziska
Greetings back to you in Berlin. Be gentle as you heal yourself from that cold! Ann
Thank you for these soothing words, images, and thoughts on the final day of summer. You continue to calm and inspire me.
And writing in the third person…useful to me in the past, but it has been awhile; thank you for the reminder.
Peace to you my friend.
Peace back to you, dear Laura. It is an important time to share and find any calm possible. Ann
Wow, what a beautiful spot, campsite, and story! A standing-size tent — such a great idea. I’m so glad you’re taking such good care of yourself, and at the same time expanding our imaginations about what good camping can be.
As always, I’m touched by this blend of the secular (practical camping arrangements) and the sacred (intentional quest, journaling, seeking insights and visions for the future). And by how you keep weaving communities together (wherever you are): among humans, and between humans and the more-than-human world.
Sending love on this late-summer day from Slovenia!
Thank you, dear Marjeta. This is one of the tents you can borrow next summer! Appreciate your acknowledgment of the blend of the sacred and the secular. This has always been very important to me. And finding insights between the human and more than human is certainly a crucial part of my whole life journey. Be well in beautiful Slovenia!
I’m so glad you did this, Annie!
I kind of feel like you did it for all of us.
😘🤗👋😁
Aww, those are kind words, dear Julie. Thank you.
I love this! Both the story and inspiration behind it. I have only ever “camped” as a young adult when I would venture into the woods with friends in our party days. Now, with many others inspiring me to take another step beyond my solo hiking, this sounds like something I would really enjoy. I agree with your friend who said it felt like something you did for all of us. Brava. And thank you.
Hello Bonnie Rae! You would enjoy solo camping. And the incredible photographic eye you bring to nature would have a wealth of opportunity to inspire! Ann
I love your courageous spirit. Just what I needed to read as I age. Thank you for sharing this.
Yes, Bonnie, we all need to encourage each other as we age to keep on trying things! Ann
It doesn’t look like my early-this-morning comment landed. Darn. I don’t know what I wrote. Except that I love this. And absolutely: nothing to prove. Definitely take the semi-glamping tent! I love mine, with 14-inch-deep airbed, rug, table, chair. Also, campground hosts ARE the best! One jumped my dead battery yesterday at Takhlakh Lake, after I’d had a couple of lovely conversations with him.
An excellent example of the fine work of campground hosts and a reminder to reach out and get help from our neighbors. You who camp so often and well are quite the inspiration in your own right! Ann
Thank you Ann, for this wonderful reflection. It inspires me to do my own walk about. I learned so much from you and Christina on a vision quest years ago. I can immediately conjure up the “feeling” of being alone and yet not alone with nature all around me. Time for a retreat!
Hello Betty! “Time for a retreat” makes me smile. These are times that demand so much from us. It is important to keep our inner reservoirs full. Be well, Ann
Dear Ann,
I copied your “conversational web of life” paragraph into my journal–a physical, tactile way of bringing your meditation through my mind, into my heart where I can hold it close. It enters the realm of memory and becomes part of me. I am profoundly grateful for you.
Hello Bruce, I am honored that my words would find their way into your journal and hold a place of meaning there. Be well, Ann
I remember reading last year’s retreat story and feeling so moved as I did with this one to hear from the “once there was a woman” who is so grounded and at home on the earth. It helps sustain me/us to hear these stories. The outer tending the inner and vice versa.
Thank you, Jana. Appreciate knowing that my stories offer sustenance to your own journey. Ann
Perfect capture of how to care for ourselves as we age. No apologies, just finding ways! Reentry has become more difficult but love reading how to journal our way through it. Not very good at it but you have inspired me to try again. TY
Than you for writing, Dianne. IF my words have inspired you, then my writing has succeeded. Yes, we do have to care for our aging bodies so we can continue, at some level, to do the things we love and care about. Ann
A beautiful photostory of a wise woman’s ways of honouring life, her life, and her relationship with Nature and beyond. Your intentionality is deeply inspiring, Ann. Much love to you.
Thank you, Katharine. I receive that love and bow to your kind words. Ann
Dear Ann, thank you for sharing this personal story.
I came back from a 1-1/2 hour gathering of community singing with 50-some people here in my city. This ancient community singing practice, this sharing of song together, had my heart and soul wide open. Then I read your story and unexpectedly my eyes started pouring out with tears.
Funny how life can be. You traveled sola to spend time with the earth, to walk amongst the trees, water and sky, and to sit with questions, expecting answers from wise Mother Nature. All the while in this special spot, you never totally left regular life behind, as it turned out. Your time on the land was in part about encounters with other humans and witnessing the real human heart as well as sharing your humanness and your heart. What is that if not life itself! And how could you not return home with all that you went for and with more joy and calm to carry you forward. Life can be so unexpectedly rich that way. Your story inspired me, Ann. Grateful for your willingness to share some of your life experiences.
Oh, Jeanne, thank you so much for writing. You got the soul and heart of my story. Could not ask for anything more from a reader. Bless you for bringing song to your community. It is time for us all to be fierce about holding joy so we can manage to hold what is going on around us. Love, Ann