Article By: Bernadine Wood
I just returned from a solo adventure weekend where I crossed off a beautiful Cape Breton remote coastal camping area and an epic mountain hike. I thought I wanted to tell you all about the successes of this trip, but by the end of it and two nights of camping alone (one without any cell signal), my topic has changed.
I just returned from a solo adventure weekend where I crossed off a beautiful Cape Breton remote coastal camping area and an epic mountain hike. I thought I wanted to tell you all about the successes of this trip, but by the end of it and two nights of camping alone (one without any cell signal), my topic has changed.
I got back tired and road weary. Everything dirty and wet
(including me). I got back feeling accomplished – yes – but also overly deprived
of human interaction and contact. The hike was a very rugged one, there were
unmapped and unmarked spurs that caused some confusion. It was active coyote territory
and there were droppings confirming this. I’ve been hiking alone for a year
now, camping alone all this season, but the feeling of unease doesn’t change
with each new trail or location. There is excitement, yes, but also the fear of
that unknown.
The first night I sat in the light rain alone at my picnic
table gazing at the ocean. I moved to the tent when the rain got heavier and
listened to the thunderous onslaught alone.
Although I’ve grown accustomed to the solitude of my
adventures, I realized that other people are not as comfortable with me. I was
surrounded in campgrounds by couples and families and groups of friends and
they regarded me suspiciously. Or even … sadly.
On my mountain hike I tried to keep an older couple behind
me within earshot because I was concerned about their wellbeing on the trail,
at the same time they were trying to keep distance between us. When I stopped
to speak to them at one point they seemed skittish, nervous. It occurred to me
that they were possibly afraid of me.
I clocked a solid 15 hours of driving … alone. The radio my
only companion. The Cabot Trail is a world-class drive with unrelenting tight
turns, ascents and descents. There were moments where my palms were sweaty and
I was anxious. There was no one to take over or be more experienced or
confident. I had to make it through.
When I got back I messaged a couple of close outdoor friends
who I know go out solo frequently and asked them the question: Do we do it because
we *want to* or because we *have to*? After some back and forth and setting aside bravado or coping mechanisms we all agreed:
Our first choice would be to have the right adventure partner to journey with.
The one who has the experience, the right gear, personality
matched, etc. I was relieved. Because to be honest I am just not feeling the
joy in going alone. And I was afraid to admit that lest it sound not tough
enough.
But the truth is that both life’s challenges and successes
are better and easier shared. Someone to do some of the cooking, driving, make
conversation at the right times and share comfortable silence in others.
Someone to say “You got this” when you’re wondering if you got this. Someone to
share the view from the top of a mountain.
I will always be a strong supporter of those who adventure
solo, and will continue to do it myself in the absence of the right adventure
partner. And it has its place and moments, when you really do want to get away
and be alone with your thoughts and nature.
But I am more than ready and willing to admit that I would
rather have that partner to take along for the ride.
What are your thoughts on going it alone? Leave us a comment in the section below.
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