A month ago, I went primitive camping in the Davis Mountains by myself. It had been around ten years since I’d been backpacking (although I “car camp” around once a year) and more than twenty since I’d camped alone. The pandemic was a big motivator to get away but being off the grid is always rejuvenating. As it turned out, I got more than I bargained for.
Long shadows on a morning day-hike in Davis Mountains State Park
I chose Davis Mountains State Park and primitive camping for the cool nights and remote camp spots. My plan was to carry everything I needed in (no water is available) and then I could hike back down the mountain in the hottest part of the day. Well, it didn’t exactly work out that way.
Since it had been so long since I had backpacked, I was very selective with what I packed, my food choices, and thoughtful about how much water I would need. But something about state and national parks is that if you dare to plot a trip the rangers rarely caution you against it. I planned for four days and three nights—reserving the most remote spot in the park in advance—and the ranger who checked me in said it would be a two hour hike in when I arrived a little after 4 p.m.
As it turned out, the 10 liters of water the guy at REI had advised me to bring was a lot heavier and more unwieldy than I had factored. Between my aging pack pack, my aging body, and the weight of that water, it took me nearly six hours to get all my stuff to that camping spot. It was partially the heat and incline, partially the rock-strewn trail, and mostly having to leave some of my supplies part the way up then go back for it at dusk. But I was there and grateful by 10 p.m.
The next two days were a mixture of glorious and harrowing—not because I encountered any daunting wildlife or ran out of something essential but because the cool desert nights gave way to sizzling hot days and no place to escape it. For the aforementioned reasons, I couldn’t just skip back down the mountain and go into town so instead I mostly sat and just existed.
Serenading the peak was a favorite activity
The antithesis of being lost in technology, I the spent 8-10 hours a day I had outside of meals and other survival activities doing things like playing the ukulele, writing in a journal, and mostly looking at nature going about its business around me. My mind went to all sorts of places it hadn’t been in many, many years. I thought a lot about my early twenties especially, likely because that’s when I drove around the country by myself on summer, camping in 19 states, and also when I backpacked across Europe—also by myself although I did make some friends along the way.
That was a decade in my life of independence before I spent my days in front of a computer and it was also blissfully before the internet, iPods, smartphones, laptops, tablets, Netflix and smart watches took over. I was just me exploring the world. So, for the first time in two decades, I was just with nature and my thoughts. And even with the heat, the sunburn, the water scarcity and the lumpy ground on which I slept, it was blissfully peaceful. No news. No COVID-19 concerns. No social media. No texts. Just glorious views.
To say it was rejuvenating would be a gross understatement. The experience was an important reminder about so many things. I remembered what center feels like. I remember that even things like water and food and shelter are neither promised nor easy for everyone. I remembered that technology is not essential. I remembered that there’s a whole world out there waiting to be explored and revered.
After three nights of glorious stargazing and quietude, I drank my very last sip of water after breakfast and packed up for the hike back down the mountain. This time, I made it in under two hours since I didn’t have that food or water weight. It was great to get back to the comfort of my car and air conditioning, then talking to my wife and friends on the phone. But I re-emerged more at peace and with a lot more perspective.
