I drove alone, heading south on highways 385 with more than 70 miles to go before reaching my destination. Passing by seemingly barren farmlands and derelict buildings driving 75 miles an hour, I wondered what I was doing. What I was doing in southwest Texas all alone two days before my 13th wedding anniversary? Life felt so impossible; I couldn’t do this. How can I be single and independent now after 17 years of being a we? I drove through the entrance station of the country’s 27^th national park feeling lost and unsure, but I left two days later an altogether different person.  

Where Desert Meets Mountains.

Big Bend National Park was established in 1944, encompassing over 800,000 acres of land along the Texas/Mexico border featuring the mingling of the Chihuahuan desert and Chisos Mountains. And it is a stellar place to feel alone when you are in search of quiet and solitude. 

Driving along the two-lane highway into the park, a deafening avalanche of thoughts crowded my brain. Will I encounter a bear or mountain lion? What happens if an unsavory stranger crosses my path? Will my truck’s tires behave themselves and not inexplicably deflate while I’m in the middle of nowhere proving me to be the hopeless female I fear is my fate? As soon as I laid eyes on the grand “Big Bend National Park” sign welcoming me into the park’s domain, my thoughts quieted. My brain felt less crowded, and my anxiety began to lift.

The Wonder of National Parks.

I was once again within the boundary of my favorite destination to travel to – a national park. Full of beauty and history, wonders and mysteries, national parks are places of endless discovery. Out of the more than 400 national park units, Big Bend seemed like the perfect place to visit at this time in my life. It is one that I had not visited and yet was within a day’s drive, it is one of the “big 62”, and I’ve been dreaming about visiting since first viewing Ansel Adams’ 1940’s photographs depicting the awe of Big Bend. 

I reserved a backcountry campsite permit for two nights, two miles from the overnight parking lot for my first solo camping experience. Camping near-ish to other people while being a relatively short distance from my car felt like a safe choice. After all, I was doing something inherently crazy; backpacking alone in a desert climate, just miles from the Mexico border, with no one to rely on for support and companionship. 

After stopping by the visitor’s center, I finally parked my Nissan Titan in the parking space it would occupy for the next two days. The weather was pretty perfect, full sunshine and in the low 50’s, minimum wind. I lowered my tailgate, hoisted my backpack, an Osprey Xena 70 liter, up and began making a quick lunch of dehydrated black bean chili on my camp stove. It was not yet one o’clock in the afternoon, and I had hours of daylight left and only two miles to hike. After lunch, I unpacked and repacked my bag ensuring all I needed to survive was snug within and I took a deep breath as I lifted all 35 pounds onto my back. 

The Climb.

Those two seemingly short miles proved to be tough as shit. The park is several thousand feet higher than my lungs are accustomed to, and I struggled. But I arrived at my campsite two hours later with plenty of daylight left. The view was absolutely stunning. When a park ranger visited a short time later to verify my reservation and asked if I enjoyed my site, I told her “If there’s a better view from a campsite in this park, I couldn’t handle it.” 

I was in fairly high spirits as I set up my new tent for only the second time ever, made my campsite comfortable and got everything ready to make dinner. After scarfing down my chana masala meal, I got ready for my wilderness bedtime as the sun began setting behind the trees. That’s when my leg lost an unexpected confrontation with a cactus (thankfully I thought to add tweezers to my first aid kit), and the temperature began to swiftly drop. And with the onset of cold, my anxiety crept back along with unwanted thoughts. Will I be warm enough in my new sleeping bag? Did I for sure stash all my food securely in the bear box? What do I do if I get hypothermia and no one knows where to find my frozen body?

The Most Bleak of Nights.

Reader, I will admit to you right now, the night of December 6^th was one of the most miserable nights I’ve had. I couldn’t stop shivering and shaking from the cold and my rampant anxiety exasperated my perceived situation, making it more unbearable. I knew a few facts, like my sleeping bag was rated for 9 degrees Fahrenheit and it was only supposed to get down to 30 degrees. And that I would survive better enclosed in my tent than trying to bail out and walk back to my truck in the dark while mountain lions might be active.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to bail, and I couldn’t do this, and who was I kidding, I’m not strong or capable or adventuress at all. It was a bleak night.

Swirling Thoughts.

Throughout the sleepless night, I had plenty of time to think all the thoughts I’d been pushing away for the past several weeks. Thoughts about my failed marriage, and how to move on into singleness. About what the future may hold, and different paths that could be taken. Attempting to answer pressing questions like, do I move out of our house immediately or wait and save money first? How do I find a job during a worldwide pandemic? Who am I kidding, thinking I can start over with no support or help? Do I seriously have to move in to my mom’s house, even though I’m a grown ass woman? And wait, will she even have me?

The Morning Light.

But, I survived.

At first light, I crawled out of my sleeping bag and immediately headed back to the bear box to boil water for coffee and oatmeal. As I slowly warmed up with hot coffee and sunshine, I was so proud of myself for staying the full night and simultaneously feeling more lost than ever. The one consistency in my life is that I’ve always been a walking contradiction.

As soon as the sun rose high enough over the tree line to warm my freezing bones, I began to pack up my camp. I had reserved the site for two nights, but I couldn’t do the cold misery a second night in a row. I decided it would prove nothing, and I would be slightly warmer sleeping in my truck in the parking lot. My bag repacked, although not quite as efficiently, I descended 1,000 feet in elevation back to my truck. 

Cell Phone Service.

With a mile behind me, my phone rang surprising me as I thought I had no signal, and I got to talk to my friend. He listened with patience as I lamented my failures, while he tried to convince me they were successes. The final mile went quickly and before I knew it, I dropped my third-grader sized backpack on the backseat and sighed heavily.

“I am not going back up the trail tonight. I’m going to sleep in my truck and leave the park tomorrow. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. Maybe I don’t even like camping… or backpacking… maybe not even hiking. I don’t know why I’m here; I’m so stupid to think I could be alone.” I rambled helplessly into the phone.

Warmth.

When he was finally able to get a word in edgewise, he talked me down and we spent the next couple of hours reminiscing over past adventures and dreaming about the endless possibilities of the future. 

That night as I lay warm in my truck, I gazed out the window and for only the second time in my life, I saw the Milky Way. 

Yes, this was worth it. I could do this. I will be okay.