When camping alone, I have a ritual that spans two or three nights. On the first evening, I stay up late with a novel, then half-sleep until sunrise, turning my ear toward every snapping twig. If one sleepless night doesn鈥檛 exhaust me, a second is sure to do the trick. By my third solo night in the forest, I could sleep through a horror film marathon.
I鈥檝e hiked and camped alone for 15 years, and my love of solitude balances out the stress of waiting for the dawn. A few seasons back, I began to talk with other adventurous ladies about my fear of sleeping outdoors by myself, and to my surprise, I heard similar stories from some of the toughest women I know.
Writer Kirsten Koza told me (between mountain biking Mongolia and leading trips to Transylvania) that she experiences a 鈥渘ighttime head trip while alone in a tent,鈥 circling through memories of grisly newspaper headlines and horror movies until she鈥檚 paralyzed with fear. Shey Kiester, a rock climber, adventurer, and undisputed badass, says fear of the dark infuses every camping trip she takes, a limitation she challenges so she won鈥檛 miss out on the places she loves. 鈥淚鈥檓 a strong, independent woman, but I know that there鈥檚 a certain point in my fear where I鈥檓 so scared that I can鈥檛 talk myself out of it and there鈥檚 no reasoning with my brain,鈥 she says.
It鈥檚 difficult to unwind the tangle of fear we share about sleeping alone in the wilderness: a snapping twig could be a curious bear, a stranger, or an early warning that a tree is going to squish your tent. I鈥檝e talked to both men and women about sleeping in the woods, and we have plenty of overlap in the things that keep us jumpy. Bears and trees aren鈥檛 picky about who they maul. But聽like the other women I spoke with, my fears circle around people and contain an unmistakable sexual tinge.
If worrying about sexual assault and violence is what separates nervous female campers from the guys, it鈥檚 not without reason. Growing up female means endless warnings about going out alone, and many women experience more sexual harassment as they begin to explore their outdoor interests, catching catcalls as they run, walk, or bike by themselves. The combination of those warnings and guys鈥 creepy behavior sends a clear message: our society views solo women as sexually vulnerable and that going it alone is tempting fate.
I鈥檝e hiked and camped alone for 15 years, and my love of solitude balances out the stress of waiting for the dawn.
You can鈥檛 get much more alone than in the wilderness. Backpacking solo flouts all the usual precautions that women are told to adopt in order to protect themselves, like going out in numbers, staying close to home, and always keeping a cellphone within reach. When I share stories about hiking and camping by myself, I watch eyebrows go up and hear well-intentioned advice that I find a friend to keep me safe.
When people say a woman choosing to venture alone in the wilderness is reckless, it鈥檚 very possibly due to a lack of understanding about the realities of sexual assault. Women are most likely to be assaulted in their own homes or in a private space, according to Jennifer Wesely, who studies violence against women at the University of North Florida. Fear of strangers seems like a misconception, too, considering that more than three-quarters of women who are sexually assaulted know their attackers.
Meanwhile, the woods turn out to be remarkably safe. The National Park Service 83 rapes (one in 3,527,951 visitors) on its public lands in 2014, compared with reported rapes (one in 3,794 people) in the rest of the country. In the same year, there were 16 murders on Park Service land and murders nationwide. Those numbers tell a very different story than my fears suggest. Like a person who fears airplanes and sharks over highways and heart disease, my nervous nights in the woods just don鈥檛 reflect the world鈥檚 real dangers. Knowing that makes me determined to take on the things that scare me.
A few years ago, I was backpacking alone on the Appalachian Trail in Georgia when a couple stopped me at a shelter and asked if I was by myself. 鈥淵ou better be carrying a gun,鈥 the woman said, then popped open her pack to show me a hefty-looking pistol. I don鈥檛 carry a gun in the woods or anywhere else, but I (and the women I know) have found other ways through our fears. Shey uses her headlamp to keep her mind focused on the scene in front of her, attempting to switch off her imagination. Kirsten noted that she sleeps best when she spikes her hot chocolate with a bit of rum, and, like me, she appreciates the insulating, isolating feeling of a storm, when rain seems to shut out the world.
If I can鈥檛 be wrapped up in howling wind, I鈥檇 just as soon sleep outside of the tent, where I can look around and match the rustling noises I hear to chipmunks or falling leaves. I picture the ludicrous, would-be attacker who would need to pack dehydrated meals and moisture-wicking clothing, then head into the forest to stalk unwashed hikers. And if all else fails, I just watch the stars tick by overhead on their way toward dawn. I do my best to enjoy the view, and the peace, and the quiet. It鈥檚 why I鈥檓 there in the first place, after all. And it鈥檚 why I won鈥檛 stop sleeping in the woods by myself, even when my nights are sleepless.