We were supposed to go on vacation with my boyfriend; camping somewhere local in Colorado seemed like the best option given limitations with our new puppy and covid. We are not good planners and before we confirmed the trip, things came up for him at work and he couldn’t go. But I was tired and needed time off, so I decided to proceed anyways.
The Great Sand Dunes National Park has long been on my list, but all camping nearby was booked. So I decided for the Royal Gorge Bridge and Park where the highest suspension bridge in the United States connects two sides of a rugged gorge, and a hike in the nearby San Isabel National Forest. After some Googling, I found a campground on a ranch not far from the gorge. But…I was scared to camp by myself. We have camped with my boyfriend several times this summer and I love it, but I can’t say that my nights in the tent are very restful. I can’t find peace at night, knowing that bears and mountain lions and all kinds of other wild things are roaming around in the dark. I am the one who is securing our food on trees, waking up and spending parts of the night intently listening to the slightest sound outside, and praying that whatever is making the noise is not going to attack us. And this is happening with a man and often a dog next to me in the tent. I have never camped by myself before…
Given this, sleeping on a working ranch sounded like a great option – there will be people around, it won’t be in the middle of the wilderness, and there should not be wild animals. Perfect for my first solo camping. When I call to ask about a reservation, a cheerful, chatty woman picks up and informs me that coming tomorrow night will be fine. Yay! Then she asks me how many people and I say “just me”, which is followed by a longer than comfortable pause and then “aah, I see, ok”. Thanks for the judgment/not judgment.
The next day, I take off for my adventure, feeling empowered as I do in such moments. As I approach the general area of my ranch a few hours later, I notice how dry, desert-like, and remote it feels. Google maps guides me to turn right onto a dirt road, where I leave a funnel of red dust behind me. A few miles up, I turn left on another dirt road, following the sign to the campground. Gradually, my cell service disappears. As soon as I arrive, I know that my vision of a working ranch campground was very different than the reality.
I am in a beautiful valley, a couple miles wide and many miles long, wedged in between two ridges. As I pass a few RVs, without seeing any people, I arrive at a small house, or a hut, that looks like the reception. Before I find my wallet and put on my mask, a woman in her late sixties with short white hair, robust figure, and glasses, shows up next to my car and lightly scolds me that I was supposed to come yesterday and did not. I explain that I am 30 minutes later than our agreed upon time, but I was supposed to come this morning. She admits she might have gotten a few callers confused and asks me to come to check-in.
Inside the reception, she welcomes me warmly and within a few minutes I learn that another Czech camped there a few days ago, that she speaks Russian, and that she would love to sing a Russian song for me (I don’t speak Russian). We settle the payment in cash – family run business, she says. As we walk outside, she gives me the run down of things. She shows me the bathrooms and showers and explains that the campsites are further up the dirt road and I can just drive around and pick one that suits me best. The further you go, the more spaced out they are.
As she hands me the bathroom keys, she gives me the last set of important information. There is a mountain lion on the ranch that has already killed three other male mountain lions. If he kills another one, they will have to put him down. In my head, I go – so you not only have mountain lions, but you have an extra mean and aggressive mountain lion – great! Then she proceeds: “And you know, we have the bear.” I wonder if ‘the bear’ means that there is one bear on the property or if she means that generally there are bears in the area. I decide it is better not to ask. Then she looks at my outfit (shorts and a T-shirt) and suggests that if I go hiking on the ranch, which she highly recommends, I would be better off wearing long pants, boots, and make noise because “You know, this is a snake country.” Immediately, I realize I did not bring long pants aside from my sleepers and my snake phobia kicks in. She says hiking on the ranch is wonderful because it is vast and beautiful and with a wave of her large hand in a general direction to the west suggests a few trails. Then she adds “Just pay attention where you go. We had a few people who have gotten lost on the ranch.” And with that, she swing her arms wide and with a big, honest smile tells me “Go and explore! Have fun!”
After driving around for a bit, I pitch my tent in a beautiful open area. It gives me some comfort that I will see any beast coming towards me with a bit of heads up. I liked one other spot, but a relatively fresh and sizeable poop on the ground made me reconsider. I see a porta potty to my right. It’s quite an eye sore in this pristine nature and normally something I would like to avoid, but in this case, it reminds me of the possible presence of other humans, which helps appease some of my fears, even if all campsites in the vicinity are empty (maybe others will come later in the day?).
The woman’s brother lives on the property and his house isn’t too far from me. Not that I expect that he would come to my rescue in the middle of the night, but you know, it’s nice to think he might. As I drove around, I saw one or two other tents (no people though) and considered staying closer to them, but those campsites were surrounded by bushes, which in my view is the perfect hiding spot for the beasts. And, in the end, I am not sure if I should be more afraid of humans or animals.
After pitching my tent, I go to the Royal Gorge Bridge and Park, which is amazing, and spent most of my afternoon walking around and taking photos. Then, I stop at Canon City. Aside from its large, sad prison, it also has a nice main street with a cool western vibe. I roam around, take photos, and buy my first painting. When I am about to head back, a storm rolls in. After the summer drought and the smoke-filled air of the past few weeks I know that rain is desperately needed. I keep telling myself that as I drive back to my campground in a downpour with gust winds and lightning flashing through the dark skies.
I get to my campground around 5:30pm, and it’s dark and windy, but no rain yet. I drove faster than the storm, but I know it will get here any minute. I park in front of the tent, which is bent terribly in the wind, to spare it the biggest gusts. Comfortable in my car, but scared of the storm, I begin to read a book to distract myself. According to my phone, the storm should be over by 8pm, just enough time to cook dinner and go to bed. The book is about French resistance to Nazi occupation, which is a curious choice on my part for a solo camping trip, but I get really into it and the next time I lift up my head it is 7:20pm. It is still dark, windy, with lightning in the distance. The rain still hasn’t arrived, but feels imminent. Cooking my noodles for dinner in these wind gusts does not seem realistic tonight, so I eat my ciabatta jalapeno bread and yogurt instead. I am really happy I brought them. I use wet wipes to remove at least some of the sweat and dust of the day from my body and in the driver seat change to my night clothes.
With each passing minute, the likelihood of me sleeping in the tent is diminishing. I am scared. I am not sure what specifically I am scared of, but I finally know it – I am not sleeping in that tent tonight. Despite all the reminders of Cheryl Strayed and her solo adventures on the Pacific Crest Trail, I know I do not have it in me to lay down in the tent that is thrashing wildly in the wind gusts. I muster the courage to go and secure the tent better. It feels silly given that I do not plan to sleep in it, but at least its thrashing sounds won’t be freaking me out at night. Briefly I consider packing it up completely, so that I am free to leave in the middle of the night if need be. For a brief moment, I also think about driving home. It’s three hours away and it’s 8pm, so it would be very doable. I am over this adventure at this point… But then I know that as much as I do not like the nights at campsites, I love the mornings when I am part of nature waking up for a fresh new day.
I plan to sleep in the passenger seat. I put my sleeping mat in the leg space to make my ‘bed’ in the car seat as long and straight as possible. I make sure that I have easy access to the driver seat, so that I can jump in quickly and drive away if some beast decides to attack me in the middle of the night. I carefully select spots for my flashlight, headlamp, car keys, and glasses – essentials that I will need in case of an attack. I crack the windows slightly open for some air through the night. The evening feels so long. Can it be morning already? Under the light of my lantern, I get back to my book. At 10pm, I reluctantly turn off the light and ponder in the dark if there are any people at all anywhere nearby. I laugh at myself for chickening out on the tent and at all of my safety preparation for the night. Well, I am doing my best…
My KIA provides me with the sense of security that I need to fall asleep. With the exception of a few wake moments, I sleep soundly until the morning light peeps in at 6:15 am. I look around and I know I made the right call to stay. The wind and rain cleared the smoke and the valley is waking up to a gorgeous blue-sky day. I make my breakfast of tea, oatmeal, and fruits, and silently enjoy the view. I write for a bit. Then I get ready for my hike. As I leave the campsite, the woman owner who did end up singing the Russian song for me the day before is just arriving back at the campground. We stop on the dirt road as we pass each other and she asks me how was the night. With a big smile I say: “Great!” If only she knew… We wish each other a good day and drive off, and I know it will be a good one because I survived the night!
